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“Don’t feel stupid, just remember some people voted for Donald Trump,” the nice guy tries to joke, but I can’t find any mirth left in me.

He’s giving me a pitiful look. God, I hate that look.

“Drink.”

Another shot goes down.

“Better?”

“Worse.” The tears keep rolling down, but I’m not sure if it’s because of Uri or the burning sensation the vodka is creating.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were serious about him, I’ve never seen him with the same guy here. I expected more of an angry soap opera reaction.”

Maybe I should do that.

“I have to leave you now. My pet is here. Do you want me to call you a cab?” He pats my head like you’d do…a pet.

“No,” I sniff pathetically. “I have a driver and two bodyguards waiting for me outside.”

“Okay. If you decide to try something new, come visit us in room six. You can watch if you want.”

I nod as he leaves, but I know what I have to do. It’s the reason why I came to the club. I take a couple of deep breaths and suck some courage inside my body as I slide off the stool and wipe off the tears from my cheeks. I don’t feel drunk, and that’s okay, I need to see this with clear eyes. I need to see thePain Giver.

I slowly but purposefully walk toward the black corridor. There are gray doors on each side, the numbers are not in order. I can hear a moan coming from room number nine, then a scream. I quickly step away and keep going until I get to room three’s gallery. My trembling hand grabs the knob, and I let out a long trembling breath as I open the door and step inside. My heart feels like it is about to leap out of my chest.

“Cry for me!” It’s the first thing I hear. Uri’s voice, the exact same words and the exact same tone he used with me.

My stomach lurches, my whole present narrows down to him and him alone. He steals my undivided attention, wearing blackleather pants and a black button-up shirt with rolled sleeves. In his hand is a long whip that almost reaches his bare feet. It feels like I’m having one of my X-rated dreams where Uri is the protagonist. But my usual heart-pounding euphoria is missing.

A whimper resounds, and it’s like a veil is lifted from my eyes and I can see my surroundings. The king bed covered in black and gray silk sheets, the table filled with sex toys and condoms, and the whimpering man tied to a wooden pole wearing only lace lingerie and fishnet stockings.

The scene in front of me is like a mental punch in the gut. My stomach lurches again, but this time my dinner is dangerously close to climbing back up.

The guy turns his face toward me. He has a ball gag in his mouth, long black hair tied in a braid, pale skin, a frail constitution, and blue eyes so similar to mine but filled with utter ecstasy. As soon as I realize how alike we are, I can’t keep it in anymore. The contents of my stomach go right onto the red carpet. I kneel on the floor near one of the chairs facing the glass wall and grab a napkin from the table on my right to clean my mouth.

My eyes move again to the scene of their own will. The long, thin, red marks on the man’s back are from the whip—the whip that Uri is holding. Those are the marks of envy and betrayal—a betrayal so deep, so bitter, it is making a hole into my chest.

Uri growls—such a hot sound. I can read eagerness and bliss in the tense lines of his jaw and shoulders, not for me but forhim.

What did I expect? This is a sex club. And Uri likes to make people suffer. Why didn’t I ever connect the dots? He doesn’t find me disgusting. He simply doesn’t want to give it to me, but this guy, he looks like a regular for Uri’s attention.

I focus on him again and the pleasure filling his features. Ones so similar to mine. Did I remind Uri of him? It’s crazy, but when I saw them at first, I thought he stole from me when perhaps I took something that was his. Uri just took pity on me because I was high, and then again when I was shaken up because of the stalker. I made all the rest up.

Can a heart shatter this quietly? Because mine has just exploded, but I can’t hear a single sound.

It’s like the carpet was yanked from under my feet, and I’m lost in the dreadful expanse of this club. The strangled noise leaving my lips echoes into the gallery. It makes Uri slowly turn toward the glass wall where I am. For the first time in my life, I feel disgusted by the thought of him near me. Looking at me. Touching me.

An overwhelming impulse to flee the room engulfs me, and I yield to it. I turn and once again run away. There’s a funny ringing in my ears, and I have to stop for a moment to lean against the black wall and take a deep breath. My vision turns blurry, and I feel cold even though my heart is racing. Everything feels fictitious, disjointed. It shakes me down to my soul. The number seven on the door in front of me comes into sharp focus, and I remember the words of the nice guy at the bar. Was it room seven?

I hear heavy footsteps coming my way and a bellowing voice. Gritting my teeth, I turn the handle and get inside the room, quickly closing the door behind me. I don’t know if it was Uri or if he saw me in the gallery, but I saw him, and I wish I didn’t.

“Hello.” A male voice makes me spin around with a gasp.

It’s not the nice guy. It’s the other one. The one who hit on me after I sat down at the bar. He’s sitting on a chaise lounge with a glass in his hand. Is he alone? I don’t see anybody else in the room.

“Changed your mind? This must be my lucky night.” He smiles too smugly. Annoyingly so. But that dark, confident stare, I think it can help me right now.

“Can you really make me forget?”