Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
I got fired.
I stand outside the grocery store, staring at the cars that come and go, the rattle of the carts filling the air.
I got fucking fired.
Do you even know who Mr. Newman is? Mrs. Todd had asked, her face red. Do you have any idea?
Turns out, ‘Mr. Newman’ is a fucking executive with the company. As in, his family started the store.
Fuck my life. Fuck my life.
My anger got me fired. I know I have a problem. I get angry over things that normal people would just let go of. But I can’t let them go. I burn up inside, and I can’t fucking stop.
I didn’t use to be like this. I was lovable back in the day. Back before…everything.
What the hell am I going to do?
I spin in a circle, running a hand along the top of my head.
I can’t go back. I can’t. My next paycheck isn’t for another week, and rent is due at the end of the week.
At this point, panic is becoming a familiar friend.
So I do the only thing I can do. I start walking home.
It’s weird going home during the early evening. There’s so much traffic out. As I’m moving past the next strip of stores, a car honks. I jerk my head up as tires squeal and two cars narrowly miss crashing into each other.
I glance around. No one seems to have noticed or cared. Then, the glowing sign of the strip club catches my eye. It’s neon pink with a skimpily clad witch on it, and the parking lot is full.
Which means there are customers there.
Paying women money.
I need money.
Before I can think twice, I cross the street. My heart races, and once I get in front of the doors, I stop.
I can do this, right? Waltz in and ask for a job? In my sports bra and grocery store polo?
I’m stuck there, staring at the one-way glass. There are cut-out skeletons placed across it that shiver in the wind.
I can do it. Who needs to twerk anyway? You can dance without twerking. I tried tossing it back once in the bathroom and horrified myself so much that I never tried again. But I can do other things.
“You going in?”
I jump and turn. There’s an older man behind me, rubbing his hands in the cold. He has an expensive coat on and shifts impatiently.
My lip curls. He’s probably been handed everything in his life, yet still can’t wait two seconds to go inside? What’s his rush? He doesn’t worry about bills. He comes here to throw money away while other people starve.
Ah, see? There’s that anger again. It’s threatening to smother me alive.
I shake myself out of it. The man asked me if I was going inside.
“Yep.” I grab the handles and step in.
I think about asking for a job right there, but in a last-minute bout of critical thought, I realize I know nothing and have brought no clothes or shoes.
So I pay for my entry with the last of the bills in my wallet in the hopes that I can at least watch a girl dance, memorize it, and then come back more prepared.
I might be a little impulsive, but when I set my sights on something, I plan on getting it.
The club is dark, with multicolored lights flashing all around, and the music pounds. The base settles deep in my chest, thumping away until it’s all I can feel. It’s peaceful in an overwhelming way.
There are a few guys here, so I settle into a seat on the other side of the room. There’s a dancer on stage in a bright pink bikini. She twists and turns in a way that makes my gaze lock onto her in fascination. The way she moves is… liquid. Can I do that?
The song switches, and the dance she does is slower. I watch her closely, trying to get down the moves she’s doing, but even the slow stuff is complicated.
Then, someone sits down next to me. I stiffen, immediately moving to the edge of my chair, then blink. It’s the guy from the bar’s bathroom. The one I had on his knees and then ran from.
Immediately, my mood sours.
“Hey.” The bathroom man gives me a bashful smile.
I stare at him. He looks even older and more worn in here.
Fucking nasty.
He slides a drink my way. “Sorry about the other night. I was pretty drunk.”
I just stare at the drink, then back at him.
He adjusts his tie. “I just thought… I don’t know…” His pupils are blown.
“Yeah, I don’t care.” I stare at the stage again, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him smile wider.
So he’s come back for more.
Pitiful.
However… I currently give zero fucks about anything. Degrading a shitty ass man might actually make me feel better.
I make Bathroom Man get me a new drink. He jumps to do my bidding, and I watch him closely the whole time.
The way I see it, Satan has given me this chump in the form of a sorry-I-fucked-up-your-life-at-least-get-drunk sort of gift.
And then, at the end of the night, I plan on pinching the change from his wallet. It’s the least he can do.
I down drink after drink, becoming more and more confident in the space.
I could absolutely work here. Mr. Bathroom keeps pushing me to go to the bathroom with him, and I keep turning him down, partially because I want to keep watching the dancers and partially because it’s fun to watch his disappointment.
When he tries for a third time, the lights are spinning in circles in front of me, and I’m not sure if it’s from the alcohol or if they’re programmed to do that. I wave the annoying pest off.
I blame the alcohol for missing the way his gaze tightens with anger. Suddenly, his hand is on my arm, and he’s yanking me up roughly.
“You’re such a flirt.”
I’m falling into his body, and then we’re moving. Ah, there it is. He’s going to hurt me. He’s so predictable that it makes me want to laugh.
Are we moving? I’m drunk, and the world is spinning. He smells like sweat and yeast and beer.
“Fuck you.”
“I know you want this.”
I reel back, trying to yank myself out of his grip. “I’ll cut your nuts off, you disgusting fuck.”
We’re already almost off the main floor, and I pull away again, but the man’s grip is digging into my flesh.
“No.” But the word even sounds hollow to me. He won’t listen. Since when do men ever listen?
A bitter laugh makes its way through my chest. Anger wars with helplessness inside my chest.
Suddenly, the man dragging me stumbles. I fall partially forward with him; his grip loosens on my arm, and I yank away.
“Don’t think she wants to go with you,” a deep voice grumbles.
There’s a leg outstretched into our path, and I look up to see the one and only Axel Newman sans glasses.
For a second, my mouth drops open, and all I can do is stare. He looks just as handsome as before. Maybe more so in the low light with his sharp cheekbones and light eyes. What is he doing here?
Axel just flicks a bored gaze at the man who had been dragging me.
“Fuck off, John.”
The man sneers at Axel. “We were just going to the bathroom.”
“No, you were just leaving.” Axel waves his hand at him.
When John doesn’t do anything, Axel’s voice lowers, and the menacing depth of it makes me shiver. “Get out.”
“You mother…” John falters on his words, then turns on his heel and walks away.
I watch him start down the hall, then turn on his heel and stalk out of the club, but my vision is twisty, and for a second, he looks like he’s walking on the wall.
There’s movement, and I see Axel lean back in his seat, throwing me a look.
And that look ignites the quick fire of anger again. This motherfucker just got me fired, and he’s what, here kicking back like he didn’t just fuck up my life? The heat roars through my body, fueled by the alcohol.
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
Axel barely looks at me. Just turns his gaze back toward the stage. I see that he’s left his glasses on the table beside his hand, where his finger taps against the tabletop.
My life just fell apart, and all he can do is tap that damn finger on the table. I’m so hot I feel lightheaded.
“You know, stalking is illegal,” I spit.
There’s a pause. Then Axel says, “I know.”
“I could call the cops.” I hate the bored look he’s giving.
Of course, he doesn’t care. Why would he?
I see his glasses sitting there, and in an impulsive move, I snatch them up.
“Fuck you, Axel fucking Newman.” I know I shouldn’t, but the anger is fully in control now, and I can’t stop it. I throw the glasses on the ground and stomp on them, crushing them under my foot.
Axel looks at the ground, then up at me, squinting. Then, there are black spots in the shadows of his cheekbones. I blink, but they get bigger.
Is he… is something happening to him? Is he turning into Satan in front of my eyes? Or maybe I’m Satan, and I’m getting yanked back to hell. It would almost be fitting. Hell would feel safer, with all that fire to protect me. You wanna hurt me, you gotta get hurt too.
But instead of fire, everything feels fuzzy. I have to lean on a chair for support. At least, I think it’s a chair.
And then, things go black.