FIFTY-ONE
Gigi
The communal changing room at Pixies is embedded in the darkest parts of my brain, likely to assault my nightmares, now I’ve paced the area for the hundredth time. Bile creeps up my throat at a rapid rate, threatening to spill from my mouth, when my seventh call to Harry goes straight through to voicemail.
The Boss’s voice booms, “Where is she!”
It echoes through the small space that reeks of perfume, bad decisions, and fear, scaring the performers into silence. Struck with panic, I catch the glances of other petrified women who watch me with a mixture of remorse and fear. Poppy looks about ready to throw me to the lions, yet one young girl rushes forwards. She ushers me out of the room, pushing me through the secret passageway.
Dashing down the steps, I stumble into the crowd of tables. I rush to the bar to retrieve a shot and chuck it down my throat, trying to ease the nerves.
Harry hasn’t shown up.
Despite promising he wouldn’t let me down he’s failed to show, aware of the repercussions we’ll both face if the performance doesn’t go ahead.
The blonde wig is uncomfortable on my head, my dress feels itchy, and my skin crawls with the effect of a thousand spiders as Richard’s intimidating footsteps approach. A strong hand grips onto the back of my arm, forcing me around.
“Why aren’t you up on that stage?” he growls.
“I was just getting a drink to ease my nerves.”
I’m stalling, and I know it.
The door to the club opens, and I quickly avert my gaze, silently pleading it’ll be Harry who walks through. My disappointment is clear as a regular walks in, and the Boss catches the movement within a matter of seconds.
“Where. Is. He?”
I press my lips into a thin line, remaining silent.
“Fuck!” He drops my arm.
His sudden outburst draws attention from surrounding tables, and he raises his hand apologetically. Pacing in front of me, he runs a hand through his greying hair.
“What about Andy? Where is he?”
“He’s out on the heist.”
Tables start to whisper in speculation, the lack of presence on the stage raising suspicion with the customers. A few start to rise from their tables, gathering their belongings as the lack of entertainment onstage brings a sombre mood to the club.
“Don’t leave just yet!” Richard calls. “We’re just having a few technical difficulties. Please sit!”
They cautiously return to their seats.
My boss turns, whipping his head towards me with such speed I’m unprepared for his harsh grip. He grabs onto my upper arm with a force that makes me hiss.
“You’d better fix this right now.” His gaze darkens and the pressure of his grip intensifies. “I will not have a Thomas making me look bad.”
“Y-you’re hurting me,” I say, stumbling into his grip, attempting to ease the tension.
“What’s going on here?” someone asks.
The Boss’s chest rumbles with a groan. Despite the audacity of whoever’s interrupting his business, he turns, plastering on a smile.
Arms crossed, Hudson watches us with suspicion.
What’s he doing away from the booth?
He doesn’t ever get involved in the girls’ drama.
“Hudson,” the Boss sighs. “Everything’s fine. Please take a seat. The show will be resuming shortly.”
The line of concentration deepens along Hudson’s brow as he narrows his gaze on my bicep, captured in the Boss’s grip. Initiating his power, the grip tightens, and I gasp with the pain.
“Let go of her.”
An order.
Not expecting the demand, my eyes widen in surprise. Hesitantly turning my head towards Richard, I note the tightness of his jaw and the way his neck pulses with restraint. He releases me from his grip. I clutch onto the sore area on instinct, rubbing at the patch to try to ease the redness.
“Now … is someone going to tell me what’s going on?”
The Boss straightens his suit jacket. “A performer has failed to show up. We’re without a dance partner.”
Hudson drops his head, his eyes running over me. “Gigi needs a dance partner?”
Richard nods.
Silence stretches between all three of us.
“I’ll do it.”
Taken aback, the Boss sputters, “You don’t know the—”
“I know the number.”
My eyes hover between the pair, watching their heated exchange, until the Boss grinds the word out between his teeth.
“Fine.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to refuse, but I know if I deny this offer, it’ll result in a fate worse than death. Instead I smile hesitantly. “I’ll see you up there.”
Either way, this is going to be a disaster.
Hudson can’t possibly know the number. He doesn’t watch any of the performances. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.
Soft music filters through the speakers, and as if he’s done this a hundred times before, Hudson’s hand drops to my hip, pulling me forwards. Slowly, his hand slips down my spine, allowing me to arch my back.
I pull myself back up to his chest. Rather than dropping his hand to my cheek in a gentle caress as Harry would have done, Hudson’s touch hovers over my arm, focusing on the fingerprint bruises. He blinks uncertainly, fighting his true expression.
My gaze narrows, but Hudson quickly spins my body, pressing my back to his front before I can think twice about his reaction. His hand travels up from my lower stomach and over the valley of my breasts before he softly cups my jaw and turns me to face him.
How does he know every move?
The momentum picks up, the song knocking me from my dazed state as I turn to Hudson slowly. When my fingers hesitate on the buttons of his shirt, he presses his hand over mine, helping with the movement. I slowly move around to the back of his body, bringing my palm over his shoulder and down his muscular chest.
I slip the shirt from his broad shoulders, discarding it on the floor. In time with the lyrics I approach his front. As I stand before him, his gaze drops to the thin straps on my shoulder.
Hudson’s fingers dance over the straps before he slips them slowly down my arms. The room feels utterly silent as the dress pools at my feet, exposing my lace underwear, when he drops his head to caress my neck with gentle lips. I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the betrayal as my lungs are assaulted with breathlessness.
My hands run up Hudson’s neck as I would’ve done with Harry, my fingers threading through the soft strands. Holding onto my bare upper thigh, Hudson presses it against his hip, encouraging me to arch backwards.
My back bends. The music picks up tempo. When I return my posture, the action brings our faces just inches apart.
His lips are just a hairsbreadth from mine, a hand still remaining on my thigh.
The lights dim and applause rings in our ears.
Even through the darkness his heavy gaze confirms my suspicions instantly.
I was wrong …
Hudson doesn’t watch the girls’ performances.
He watches mine.
“You were amazing!”
“It’s pretty easy when you have a great dance partner.”
I roll my eyes, responding with, “Now I know you’re lying. ”
As the last performance of the night, we were potentially left with unsatisfactory customers, but we prevailed. The crowd ate up our performance, and it’s safe to say Hudson smashed it. Thanks to the low lighting, they were completely oblivious to his identity.
With it being so late in the evening, he offers to walk me to my car. Normally, I’d decline such a gesture, but after his favour tonight I can’t refuse. I’m desperate to change clothes. A short-sleeved cream dressing gown conceals my underwear, the thin material igniting a chill to my skin.
After attempting the handle of my dressing room, I search through my pockets to retrieve my key. I swear I left it unlocked before I took the stage. A gentle touch on the back of my arm diverts my attention. I turn to Hudson to find his face tight and grim.
“Is everything okay?”
He says nothing.
Cautiously I drop my eyes, watching as he delicately runs his fingers over the bruise on my upper arm. Instinct tells me to flinch at the touch, but the caress is gentle … safe.
He traces each dark imprint. “Does he do this often?”
“Why do you care?”
“A man should never lay a hand on a lady,” he whispers. “Just say the word, and I won’t ever let him touch you again.”
My breathing falters as he slowly raises his hand, cupping my cheek. Hudson’s eyes drop to my lips, his thumb caressing my cheekbone.
“Just say the word …”
“Hudson, I—”
I’m cut short as the door to my dressing room swings open. Hudson darts his arm out, catching me around the waist by the crook of his elbow. My hand drops to his bicep to save myself from stumbling to the floor.
I glance over my shoulder to meet a dark stare .
Harry.
His eyes are troubled, falling immediately to where my hand rests on Hudson.
Finally, he meets my eye, and my body threatens to crumble beneath the weight of his stare. Harry doesn’t pay Hudson a single glance, intensifying the fear in my stomach. Regaining my balance, I retreat backwards, separating myself from the businessmen.
Silence stretches between all three of us.
I stare at Harry, trying to read him. Trying to contemplate why he left me this evening despite promising he wouldn’t.
“I’ll be waiting outside,” Hudson says, breaking the quiet. “I’ll give you both a chance to speak.”
Schooling my features, I say, “Thank you, Hudson. But Harry will lead me to the car.”
Hudson remains absolutely motionless for a moment until he finally nods. His lips part, and for a brief moment it appears as if he’ll say something else. But he closes them, and I exhale silently, relieved.
“Have a good evening,” he says, leaving us alone.
Turning back to Harry, I push past his body, feeling the stiffness of his side. Rather than face him, I start packing my bag. I can’t stand to even look at him. He left me stranded tonight. He could have been God knows where, and I was none the wiser. Who knows what execution the Boss would’ve chosen for me if Hudson hadn’t stepped in. Harry knew the consequences.
He left you , that nagging voice in my head says. He broke your trust.
There’s no orderly fashion to my packing. I grab vital belongings and anything within reach, shoving everything in.
“You danced with him?”
“Yeah,” I say, keeping my head down. “What other choice did I have? I was waiting around for you. ”
“You didn’t look like you were.”
I whip around to face him. “I was worried!”
“You had a pretty good distraction. I hardly doubt it.”
“Don’t play the jealous boyfriend. It doesn’t suit you.”
Harry takes aggressive steps forwards, his long strides eating up the distance in a matter of seconds. He crowds me to the point I’m forced to crane my neck and meet his fiery gaze.
“You clearly know nothing about me then, princess. If you knew me at all, you’d know that if a man even looked at you wrong, I’d be serving a life sentence.”
“What was I meant to say?” I ask in disbelief.
“You say no! You decline a dance like that when you’re with someone else.”
“It’s not as if I can say I’m with you!” I yell, my temper flaring. “We don’t have the pleasure of flaunting our relationship to everyone. That’s not my fault!”
“And whose choice was that?” He tears his stubborn, arrogant face away. “I told you never to join.”
“Are you being serious right now? Are you not going to tell me where you’ve been? The Boss was about to lose his shit when you didn’t turn up—”
“What!” he roars, blowing his cool.
“I called you a dozen times, Harry.”
He takes more steps, forcing me to retreat until my back hits the vanity table. “Richard put me on Andy’s job last-minute. He said he was going to tell you tonight and call off the final show.”
What. The. Fuck?
The Boss knew.
I shake my head no, the betrayal too much.
He embarrassed me in front of so many people. Hurt me. Humiliated me, even though he knew exactly where Harry was. Why would he even do that ?
Tears sting my eyes, and I grip the sore part of my arm on instinct, rubbing at the bruise as if it’ll help to ease the mental and physical pain. Harry charges forwards, grabbing the tip of my elbow. His grip is strong, but he avoids the delicate flesh as he drags my upper arm closer to his eyes.
“He did this to you?”
I rip my arm free and bow my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does!”
The voices in the hallway suddenly dull to a quiet hush. I trudge over to the door, smile my apology to the people lingering in the hall, and close it shut.
Turning back to Harry, I plead, “Can you stop acting like a child? You’re causing a scene.”
“A scene?” he counters. “He hurt you! And you’re letting him get away with it.”
“Keep your voice down!’”
“Why? Another secret you want to keep? Why are you protecting him?”
Taken aback, I gasp.
“What has gotten into you? Are you crazy?” I ask, expecting him to throw his usual words back.
“No, princess … I’m in love.” He meets my eye, but his are cold and lacking in empathy. “There’s your fucking difference.”
The confession impales me right in the stomach like shards of broken glass, rendering me speechless. They sink deeper as the impactful word hits, threatening to knock me off my feet.
Our imagining of Romeo and Juliet lingers in the silence.
But I shake my head no.
No.
No.
No.
Harry can’t love me .
We were never the love story. It will only ever end in tragedy.
“You don’t want to love me,” I say. “You can’t love me.”
“Can’t you see what’s happening? He’s getting between us. He’s getting into your head—” His voice breaks off mid-sentence. “I’ll fucking kill him.”
Harry’s tone is deadly, and I have no doubt he’ll attempt to follow through on the threat. I jump in front of his body as he charges towards the door. I press my hands to his chest, feeling his heart pounding hard beneath my palms.
“You need to sit down.” I force him onto my chair.
Reluctantly, he obeys.
I crouch down in front of him, reaching up to his cheek. “What’s gotten into you? Tell me.”
He forces his chin to the side, running a hand down the front of his face like he’s exhausted. “If I ask something of you, will you promise to listen even if I can’t give you context?” He retracts his hands, his eyes meeting my heavy frown. “I would never ask you to prioritise your feelings for me over your happiness. But if there is one ounce of you that cares for me – one ounce of you that feels love for me like I do for you … you’ll quit.”
“What?” I sputter, rising to my feet. The impact of his words hits me more profoundly than whatever love I may have for him. “You can’t expect that of me. Not after everything we’ve been through. We’re a team!”
Grimacing at his own words, he says, “If you care for me, then you’ll leave.”
How can he possibly ask that of me? We’ve been through hell and back to get here. I’m not turning back now.
I forbid it.
“He’s always had a soft spot for you. I reckon we’d be able to get you out. I spoke with Andy and—”
A smile starts spreading over my features, silencing his words. Pride, like I’ve never known it before, overwhelms me. The Boss does have a soft spot for me. I knew it .
“I can’t.” I struggle to hold back my grin. “I really like the person I’ve become. This is what I’ve ached for my entire life. And while I don’t want to admit it, I’m good at what I do—”
Harry jerks to his feet as if propelled by an explosive. “At what? Begging for attention?” he scoffs and motions to my outfit. “Christ, if your brother could see you, he’d be fucking embarrassed.”
I flinch, and for the first time since he entered the room his eyes soften. I can pinpoint the exact moment he regrets his toxic words, but the damage is already done. The hole in my heart is too significant.
Cursing instantly, he reaches towards my body. “Baby, I—”
“Get out.”
He looks at me as if I’ve hit him. Yet the harrowing pain doesn’t hurt nearly as much as my heart as it screams betrayal.
As fury threatens to choke me, Harry tries to reach for me again.
“GET OUT!”
“You love me,” he says. “I know you do.”
“We are nothing ,” I say, my voice cracking with the lie.
The urge to fight swarms his eyes, his green-eyed stare threatening to pull me under. But as if he can feel the bands tethering, feel how impactful our words are, he slowly withdraws his steps and leaves the room.
When the door closes a scream rips free from my throat, and I swipe all the contents off my dresser. Makeup, hair tools, jewellery, a glass trinket, and a vase – they all smash against the floor with a loud crash. The broken pieces shatter, breaking and scattering at my feet.
The sight on the floor looks so pretty, yet it’s so devastating at the same time.
Gripping the sides of the dresser in my fists, I bow my head. Hot tears tremble on my eyelids, spilling to my cheeks. They burn, as does my chest, and I exhale a slow breath, vowing I’ll never feel this kind of weakness again .
I will never allow someone to alter my life for me.
This is my life.
And I’ll decide how I want to fucking spend it.
Without Harry.
Without anyone deciding for me.
When I finally lift my head and make eye contact with the girl in the mirror – the girl that was once me – I don’t recognise her. I see someone desperate to please everyone but herself. A girl who became a shell of herself once her brother died, constantly living in other people’s shadow.
In the mirror’s reflection, my eyes flicker to something shiny, and I crane my neck over my shoulder to spot it fully. I reach down, picking up the dainty little tiara, and stare at the flimsy item in my hands.
It doesn’t matter what it’s made from or how much it weighs – the message is impactful and exactly what I desire.
Straightening my shoulders, I lift the tiara and place it on the crown of my head.
When I catch my reflection, an enticing shiver washes over me. I see a woman.
A force to be reckoned with.
A weapon of mass destruction.
If given the opportunity, Jack said, I could become the greatest weapon the Circle has ever seen. So that’s exactly what I’ll do.
I’ll show him.
I’ll show everybody.
“This is only the beginning.”