Chapter 5 #2
The main floor is packed, bodies writhing beneath strobing lights. I keep to the edges, working my way toward the bar. I need a drink. Need something to steady my hands, to quiet the thoughts ricocheting through my skull. Richard Blackwood's offer echoes in my head, persistent and unavoidable.
Your skills, when I need them.
The bar comes into view, and so does the shock of purple hair I've been looking for. Orchid's working tonight, mixing drinks with the fluid precision that's made her one of Rhapsody's most popular bartenders. Her purple wig catches the light, shifting between lavender and deep violet as she moves.
She spots me and her face breaks into a genuine smile—a rarity in this place where most expressions are calculated, performative. She finishes serving a customer and makes her way over to me.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in," she says, but there's warmth beneath the teasing. "Thought you'd abandoned us for good, med school."
"Not yet," I say, sliding onto a barstool. "Just... figuring things out."
Orchid studies me, her eyes sharp behind glittery purple eyeshadow. "You look like shit."
I laugh, the sound raw and unexpected. "Thanks. That's exactly what I needed to hear."
"I've never been one to sugarcoat." She starts mixing a drink without asking what I want. She knows. Has known since our first shift together, when we bonded over shitty customers and shared trauma. "So what's going on? Besides the obvious clusterfuck going on upstairs."
I watch her hands as she works, the practiced movements soothing somehow. "You heard about that?"
"Everyone's heard." She slides the finished drink toward me—vodka cranberry with a twist of lime.
"Management's losing their minds. Security's on high alert.
" She nods toward the far corner where Ian stands, his attention focused on the crowd, his body coiled tight with tension.
He hasn't seen me yet. "Your boy toy hasn't taken a break in eight hours. "
I take a long sip, the alcohol burning a welcome path down my throat. "He's not my boy toy."
"No? What is he, then?"
I don't have an answer for that. Don't know what to call this thing between us—this fragile, dangerous connection that feels too big for any label I could give it.
"Complicated," I say finally.
Orchid snorts. "Honey, everything about this place is complicated."
She's not wrong. Rhapsody has always existed in shades of gray, in the spaces between legal and illegal, moral and immoral. It's what drew me here in the first place—the promise of good money with no questions asked. The perfect solution for a desperate med student drowning in debt.
But now those gray areas are expanding, darkening. Richard Blackwood's offer hanging over me like a storm cloud.
"Blackwood came to see me," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
Orchid freezes, her expression sharpening. She glances around quickly, then leans closer. "At your place?"
I nod, taking another sip of my drink. "This morning."
"Shit." She whistles low. "What did he want?"
I hesitate, uncertain how much to share. Orchid and I started at Rhapsody around the same time, bonded over late-night shifts and shared cigarettes on the back loading dock. She's the closest thing I have to a friend in this place. But Blackwood's offer feels dangerous to speak aloud.
"He offered me a contract," I say finally, keeping my voice low. "A different kind of work. Medical."
Understanding dawns in her eyes. "Ah. He wants a pet doctor."
"Basically." I trace the rim of my glass with my finger. "Said he'd pay off my student loans. Set me up for the future."
"That's a lot of money."
"Life-changing money," I confirm. The weight of it sits heavy on my chest—the possibility of freedom from debt, from the constant struggle to stay afloat. "But..."
"But you're wondering what you'll have to do to earn it," Orchid finishes for me.
I nod, relief washing through me that she understands without me having to explain. "Yeah."
She's quiet for a moment, mixing another drink for a waiting customer. When she returns, her expression is thoughtful.
"You know what I think?" she says, leaning against the bar. "I think all money is blood money. The whole fucking world runs on it."
I blink, surprised by the bluntness of her statement. "That's dark, even for you."
She shrugs, the purple strands of her wig shifting with the movement.
"It's true though. You think the money that pays for your textbooks is clean?
The cash that funds your scholarships? The bills that patients hand over for their care?
" She shakes her head. "It's all dirty somewhere down the line.
Exploitation, corruption, suffering—it's baked into the system. "
I stare at my drink, letting her words sink in. There's a harsh truth to them that resonates, that aligns with the cynicism I've cultivated over years of watching the world reward the ruthless and punish the vulnerable.
"So you're saying I should take his offer?" I ask.
"I'm saying I wouldn't blame you if you did." Orchid's eyes are steady on mine. "We're all just trying to make our lives a little easier in a world designed to grind us down. The question isn't whether the money is clean—it isn't. The question is whether you can sleep at night after you earn it."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Can I sleep at night? After whatever Blackwood will ask of me? After crossing lines I've promised myself I never would?
"I don't know," I admit, my voice barely audible over the pounding music.
Orchid's expression softens slightly. "Then that's your answer, isn't it? At least for now."
She's called away to serve another customer, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my half-empty drink.
My eyes drift across the club, landing on Ian again.
He's speaking into his earpiece, his expression tense, his body radiating controlled power.
He hasn't noticed me yet, too focused on whatever security issue demands his attention.
I watch him work, this man who makes me breakfast and holds me through the night and kills for Richard Blackwood without hesitation. This contradiction of tenderness and violence that I can't reconcile no matter how hard I try.
Is this what my life will become if I accept Blackwood's offer? This constant dance between light and shadow? This fragmentation of self?
Orchid returns, her purple wig slightly askew from the heat and movement. "Your boy's spotted you," she says, nodding toward Ian.
I look up to find his eyes locked on mine across the crowded club. Even from this distance, I can feel the intensity of his gaze, the silent question in it.
"He's not my boy," I say automatically.
Orchid laughs, the sound surprisingly genuine in this place of manufactured pleasures. "Keep telling yourself that, med school." She slides another drink toward me. "On the house. For whatever you decide."
I take the drink, grateful for her friendship, for her understanding. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it." She winks at me. "Just remember me when you're a fancy doctor with your own practice."
"If I make it that far."
"You will." Her certainty is startling. "With or without Blackwood's money. You're too stubborn not to."
The faith in her voice catches me off guard, warming something cold inside me. I didn't come to Rhapsody looking for friendship, didn't expect to find connection in this place of transactional relationships and performative intimacy. But Orchid sees me—really sees me—in a way few people ever have.
"I should go," I say, finishing my drink. "Early class tomorrow."
Orchid nods, already turning to her next customer. "Take care of yourself, Claire. Whatever you decide."
I slip off the barstool, making my way toward the exit.
I can feel Ian's eyes following me, but he doesn't approach.
Too busy with whatever security crisis demands his attention.
It's probably for the best. I don't know what I'd say to him right now, how I'd explain the storm of confusion and fear and temptation raging inside me.
As I push through the exit into the cool night air, Orchid's words follow me.
The question is whether you can sleep at night after you earn it.
I don't know the answer. Don't know if I ever will.