Page 5

I shove my phone in my bag and stuff the whole thing under the vanity, wedged into the darkest corner.

It’s the only place I can leave it and reasonably expect it will be there when I get back.

The girls here aren’t exactly Girl Scouts, and desperation can make thieves of us all.

So I keep the bag hidden. Out of sight. Out of mind.

Just like my dignity and every dream I had before I wound up in this neon-lit purgatory.

Then I head over to the stage, waiting for my name to be called. Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths, hyping myself up to think about anything but the leering men below me.

“Let’s all welcome Miss Scarlett Cherrywood.”

I take my first step onto the stage, ignoring the drunken applause as I reach for the metal pole in front of me, and start to wiggle my hips.

It’s all I do. Like I said before, I can’t dance, and somehow this pathetic display is enough of a novelty for them.

Me in an outfit that hangs off my frame while clinging on to an old pole for dear life.

At least he hasn’t pushed for more yet. I haven’t crossed that particular line with Luke, but I know it’s coming.

It’s just how he operates. He works in increments, and although he never outright asks for your soul, he takes it so gradually you barely notice you’re being hollowed out until you’re nothing but an empty shell with his name carved inside.

It’s just an hour or two behind the bar…

It’s just one dance…

It’s just one skimpy outfit…

It’s just three dances tonight…

That’s how it works. He keeps pushing my boundaries until I forget where they stop.

I’ll keep working, though, saving up all the tips I get to eventually pay that asshole off.

Even though I had to quit working at the diner to pick up more shifts here and combat the interest of Luke’s first loan, I still have a friend there.

Chloe. She always saves her free meal for me, which means I’ve been able to save up a little money that Luke can’t touch.

Nowhere near what I need to pay him back, but it’s a start. It’s the only bit of hope I have.

I’m in too deep.

I know that.

I’m just trying my best to get out of it.

I close my eyes, twirl around the pole, and force my lips into a fake, slow smile, pretending to wave at the crowd. The only thing that can get me out of my head when I’m up here is to pretend I’m somewhere else. With someone else.

That’s when I imagine him. The only thing that gets me through every dance here.

Dark hair. Green eyes. Dimples for days.

I didn’t know his name back when I first saw him fighting, but now his features are etched into my soul.

How was I to know I’d end up sitting next to him in economics every week?

I’ve watched the veins in his arms pop from typing too quickly.

I saw the kind of damage he could do to an opponent stupid enough to step in the ring with him. Imagine what he could do to Luke.

He gives me comfort without even trying. Without knowing.

The first time he spoke to me, I felt dread deep in my stomach.

I couldn’t meet his eyes that day. Still can’t because if he ever found out that I think about him every time I step on that stage—that I use him to survive this—he’d either run or call security.

He’s too kind. Too good. The kind of guy you don’t just look at, you flinch from, because deep down, you know you’ll ruin him.

I’ve tried to avoid him at all costs, but fate’s a bitch with a twisted sense of humor. He sits next to me in class. He’s in my study group. He’s asking me out for lunch.

And I hate him for it.

Hate that he gives me hope I don’t deserve. Hope that he could save me, but I’ve been down that road before, and the last time I believed someone could do that, I ended up here.

The crowd cheers a little louder, and my body moves on autopilot.

Smile, spin, sway.

Every night plays out the same, but I let myself have this moment with him. A stolen fantasy that he doesn’t know about. Never will.

In my mind, I pretend that maybe it’s him I’m dancing for. His gaze, dark and hungry, follows my every move like he owns me. I imagine his hands on my waist, his lips finding mine as he kisses me slowly at first, only for the desperation to build with every touch.

I’d let him press me against the wall and he’d whisper promises against my skin, swearing to take me away from this place and let it all burn behind us.

What a stupid, ridiculous dream.

Am I smiling?

It sure feels like it.

Maybe after I finish this nightmare shift, he'll be waiting for me at the diner.

That he'll somehow see past my beat-up sweatshirt and leggings so threadbare you could read through them.

That he'll love the real me hiding underneath all this bullshit, and I'll finally get to kiss that infuriating smirk right off his gorgeous face.

It's a beautiful lie I tell myself, and for three minutes and forty-five seconds while this song plays, I almost believe it.

It's not going to happen, I know that deep in my bones, but all I have left these days are these pathetic little dreams, so why not lose myself in them?

They're better than my reality, after all. And reality is a cold bitch who never stops reminding me exactly how far I've fallen.

“Hey, Sav,” Luke says as I leave the backstage area. It’s late and the bar is closed, but my heart still races, concerned he’s going to ask me to do something. “Are you still looking for a place to stay?”

I blow out my breath and grip tightly onto my bag.

As if I needed to be reminded that I’m homeless and that jerk of a realtor took my money, or that when I came here and naively believed Luke when he said the loan he gave me had no stipulations.

I thought my luck was finally turning. He spoke to Daniel and got me an apartment, but it was only after a few months that I realized I’d been duped.

Luke was adding interest to my initial loan.

Doubling it by the day and Daniel kept telling me the water and electric bills were increasing even though I wasn’t there.

The bills piled up until I couldn’t afford it, which is how I ended up in my car again.

“Um, yeah. Seeing a few apartments soon,” I lie.

“Still not sure why you won’t stay with me.”

My blood runs cold. Stay with him? Being stuck here is punishment enough. Imagine living with Luke? There’d be no escape. No line he wouldn’t cross. No debt he wouldn’t cash in.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” I say, trying to be nice about it. I don’t want to get on his bad side, after all. I’ve seen what happens to girls who do, and I can’t afford those kinds of medical bills.

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. You can subsidize your rent by doing chores around the house.”

My flesh crawls at the suggestion. I can only imagine what kind of ‘chores’ he’d want me to do.

“Hell, I might even lower the interest rate on your loan.”

An enticing offer, but I see through it. It’s all part of his plan. Help me get an apartment, then offer for me to stay with him after I can’t afford the rent. He wants to own every part of me, and I’m doing my best to resist it.

“I’m good.” I wave him off, heading toward the front entrance. “My friend’s letting me stay with her. She said I can stay as long as I need.”

It was a lie. A flimsy one, at that, but he doesn’t need to know.

Luke takes another step forward, close enough that I can smell the beer on his breath. “Where does this friend live?”

“Close by,” I answer, opening the door, and flick my hair over my shoulder. Don’t react. Don’t let him see the way your muscles lock up when he’s around. “Gotta go,” I quip, forcing the pep into my voice again. “See you later, Luke.”

And then—slam. The door shuts hard behind me, rattling on its hinges as I power-walk to my car. My chest is still tight, and my hands are shaking, but I refuse to look back.

I never do.

As I park my car for the night, I consider texting Chloe and seeing if I can get a burger, but I’m too late.

The diner’s closed and she’s probably already heading home.

Ignoring the grumbles in my stomach, I lock the car and reach into the back seat, grabbing the blackout curtains I picked up from the thrift store a while ago.

They’re nothing fancy, just some old fabric with suction cups attached to the corners, but they do the job.

I stick them up one by one, covering each window until the world outside is completely shut out.

The small, enclosed space makes it feel a little more private, and a little more mine.

I settle into the back seat, lying down with my legs bent awkwardly because the space isn’t quite long enough to stretch out fully. The worn fabric of the seat presses uncomfortably against my back, and I shift around, trying to find a position that doesn’t leave me aching.

It’s no use. The car is too cramped, too cold, too hard to ever be truly comfortable. I close my eyes anyway, willing myself to fall asleep. But sleep doesn’t come. Instead, my mind races and my thoughts swirl in a chaotic mess of worry and memories.

With a sigh, I sit up slightly and reach for my phone.

The screen lights up, casting a soft glow in the darkness.

I scroll through my photo gallery, and my finger hovers over the images of my family.

Pictures from before everything changed, before my parents passed away, before Adley and I were torn apart.

I pause on one photo and study it. We’re standing in front of our house and my dad has his arm around my mom. Adley is perched on my hip and her chubby little hands clutch my shoulder as she grins at the camera. We’re smiling so brightly and I still remember the sound of Adley’s laugh that day.

A lump forms in my throat as I swipe through more pictures, each one a snapshot of a life that feels so far away now.

Birthdays, vacations, lazy Sunday mornings when everything felt safe and whole.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I blink rapidly, trying to hold them back.

But it’s no use. The memories are too vivid, too overwhelming.

A tear slips down my cheek, followed by another, and soon I’m quietly crying in the back seat of my car. The sobs are silent, just a trembling of my shoulders and the occasional hitch in my breath. I clutch my phone tightly, the images of my family blurring through the tears.

I miss them so much.

After a while, the tears slow, and a strange sense of calm settles over me. The ache in my chest remains, but it’s accompanied by a soft comfort in remembering the good times, in knowing that those moments, however fleeting, were real.

I lie back down, this time resting my head on a sweatshirt I’ve been using as a makeshift pillow.

The exhaustion from the day finally catches up with me, and despite the discomfort, my eyes grow heavy.

The memories of my family are still fresh in my mind, and slowly, I drift off to sleep, comforted by the echoes of a life I once had.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to get a semblance of it back.