To Burn In Brutal Rapture

by Nyla K

  Both of our eyes widen at the same time. Instinctively we jump apart, frantically composing ourselves without a second thought, all the while staring at each other with panic-stricken faces.

  “Fuck,” she straightens her shirt and pulls up her shorts.

  “Is he really here right now?” I remove the condom and tie it, internally freaking the fuck out. “Is this really happening??”

  “How did he find out where I live?” She squeaks as quietly as possible.

  We both scramble off the couch, Traci pacing around while I yank my pants up quick to the sounds of Damien knocking on the door.

  “Fuck fuck fuck, oh my God!” She shakes her head over and over.

  “Can you pretend you’re not here?” I blink at her with what I’m sure is visible terror.

  “Trace, come on, I know you’re home. I can hear you in there,” Damien’s voice mumbles from the hall. “Don’t be mad I found you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  I freeze. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

  Traci stares at me for a moment before a look of determination crosses her face. “Okay, go hide in Merci’s room. I’ll keep him distracted.”

  I fully hate what she’s saying because this is the scariest shit ever and I honestly feel like my whole life is about to fall apart before my very eyes. But there’s no time to hesitate, so I rush into her roommate’s bedroom and close the door.

  Standing up against it, I try to control my breathing while listening to the sounds of Traci rushing around on the other side, shuffling about and briefly running water in the bathroom.

  “One minute, Dad!” She shouts at Damien, my heart rate jacked up so high I’m jittering.

  All that bliss from just a minute ago, gone in a flash.

  This is what you get. You’re evil and you deserve this.

  Realizing that I’m still holding the stupid condom, I throw it away in Merci’s trash and make a mental note to have Traci properly dispose of it when her dad leaves.

  If I thought fucking my best friend’s daughter was the worst thing I’ve ever done, clearly I didn’t anticipate hiding from him inside her goddamn apartment after we just engaged in some very dirty sex.

  There’s no way I can stay in here the whole time. What if he wants to hang out with her for hours??

  No, I’m sure Traci will get rid of him so I can escape. God, I’m such a monster. I deserve to be hacked apart by a machete, piece by piece.

  I listen closely to the sounds on the other side of the door, Traci letting Damien inside and them wandering around. I can vaguely hear their conversation.

  “How did you find me?” Traci asks.

  “I know this is going to sound ridiculous, so don’t judge me…” Damien. “But I saw a new delivery address on the Grubhub account. I figured you logged in to use it. You know you used Laz’s credit card, right?”

  Damien huffs a small chuckle and I slap a hand over my heart to stop the bleeding.

  “I’m sure he’ll get over it,” Traci mumbles.

  This is insane. One stupid mistake like ordering pizza from me and Day’s Grubhub account that we both use since we’re always together, and he almost catches us.

  “So you stalked my food deliveries. Real nice, Dad,” Traci gripes.

  I can’t hear Damien’s response, but I just know it’s something loving and apologetic because that’s who he is. He’s the best guy in the world, and I’m fucking him over. After he’s done nothing but help me for my entire life.

  “So aren’t you going to give me the tour?” Damien asks. “I won’t say I necessarily agree with you living in a place like this, but it seems… homey, I guess.”

  “Dad…” Traci sighs, and I can hear the emotion in her voice.

  She feels guilty, too. This is all my fault. I swear, I could throw up everywhere.

  Listening closely, I hold my breath as they walk past the door I’m on the other side of.

  “This is Merci’s room,” Traci says. “She’s not home, so you can’t see inside. She’s pretty private.”

  “I should’ve known you’d move in with her,” Damien rumbles. “How’s she doing, anyway?”

  They continue chatting for a few minutes, and I’m thinking I might be stuck in here all night. I look around the girl’s room, seeing no sign of escape at all, getting ready to take a seat and buckle in for this shitshow, when the door opens a crack.

  I hide myself behind it, fear lancing through me. But then I see Traci’s wide eyes.

  “He’s in the bathroom. Go now.”

  And I don’t stop to ask questions. I just bolt, out of the room, out of the apartment, taking the stairs two at a time, power-walking around the block and away from Traci’s building as fast as my legs will carry me without running, since I don’t want to draw attention.

  My lungs are tight, pulling in air as quickly as possible while I walk far enough away to call a car. It comes to get me in less than five minutes and as I sit in the backseat, my head falls into my hands.

  That whole jarring experience was a new low. Hiding from my best friend after nailing his daughter…

  I can’t believe who I’ve become. I’m so disgusted with myself I can even look at my reflection in the car’s tinted windows.

  When I arrive home, I immediately get into the shower and stay there for a while. Just standing with the water cascading over me, contemplating everything I’ve ever done.

  I’m sick. This thing I have inside me, it is a disease. I thought I cured it when I met Damien, but it turns out I held no hope, because I’m not a good person.

  I’m the curse. Born and bred from this brutal malediction.

  It wasn’t Birdie’s fault. It wasn’t any of my Four. It was me, all along.

  I get out of the shower and throw on some sweatpants, meandering to the bar for a drink, hoping to regain my buzz that’s since turned into a splitting headache. My phone rings and when I check it, I see Traci’s name on the screen, along with three missed calls from her.

  I answer hesitantly. “Hello?”

  “Hey. I didn’t know you were going home,” she murmurs, sounding just as spent as me.

  “What was I going to do? Wander around your ghetto neighborhood for an hour until he left?”

  She’s quiet for a moment, and I feel bad. This isn’t her fault. I’m the one who brings contagious destruction with me everywhere I go. She was a pure young thing before I sunk my claws into her.

  “Well, he doesn’t know anything,” she finally chirps, like she’s trying to give me some assurance. Unfortunately, it falls on deaf ears.

  “Not yet. But he will.” I take a sip of my scotch.

  “Lazarus…”

  “Traci, this isn’t going to work,” I speak fast, before I can change my mind, like my heart is screaming at me to. “We can’t do this.”

  “Lazarus, please. It’s not that bad,” she begs. “We can figure something out. Maybe I could talk to him, or -”

  “That’s not the point, though,” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter what you say to him. This is wrong, and I never should’ve dragged you into it. Into all my issues…”

  “I love your issues, though,” she sniffles, and it breaks my heart wide open.

  “No, you don’t. You think you do, but you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.” I pause and let out a ragged breath. “Even if Damien could understand what happened with us, it could never go further than this.”

  “Please don’t do this,” she whispers. “You said you wouldn’t say goodbye yet.”

  “There are things you don’t know, Tracien. It’s so very complicated.”

  “Then tell me. Help me understand.”

  “I can’t. It’s too much.” I squeeze my eyes shut while rubbing my temples. “You’re better than all this, Trix. You’re just too good.”

  “I’m not good, Lazarus! I’m just like you. Why do you think I’ve been chasing you all this time? Since I was thirteen goddamn years old, o
r maybe even before that. I’ve always seen you differently. The problem is that you’re too much of a coward to let yourself see me.”

  Her words are a blade that stabs me right in the gut.

  “I’m sorry…” Is the only bullshit response I can give.

  I hang up the phone.

  And drink myself to sleep on my living room floor.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Traci

  My walk to The Boom Boom Room is with purpose.

  I barely slept last night, and I’m running on fumes in the form of iced coffee and several morning lines of my new Xanax-Adderall cocktail I’ve become quite fond of.

  After that whole drama yesterday with my Dad showing up then Lazarus freaking out and breaking off whatever this thing is between us, I knew there was no hope of me getting any rest. I spent hours pacing and obsessing until I finally turned my neurosis productive and started cleaning the apartment. Merci came home from her shift to me scrubbing the kitchen floor and was ready to have me committed.

  I’m losing my cool. My emotions are all over the place, the constant highs and lows creating a crippling anxiety inside me, much worse than any I’ve ever experienced before.

  Being with Lazarus, the man I’ve loved for five years, catapults me up into joy, and then the guilt of hurting my father weighs me back down until I crash. Him showing up last night after Lazarus and I made each other come on such a carnal level was like a bucket of ice water in my face.

  Worse than that. It actually hurt. The pain in my heart at seeing Dad, and then watching Lazarus sneak out of my apartment, hearing his voice afterward on the phone, riddled with all the self-loathing and hatred he’s carrying for himself at this fucked up shit…

  I can’t help but feel responsible. I know Lazarus says it’s not my fault, but if my stupid heart wasn’t so hopelessly in love with him, maybe I wouldn’t have felt inclined to ruin a lifelong friendship.

  He told me it’s complicated, and that I don’t understand, but I’m hoping he’ll come to his senses and at least let me try.

  I need him to know that I love him, with all my stupid heart. And if he loves me too then there has to be a way we could try. I refuse to believe that what we have is just physical. And I refuse to believe that a deep, raw love like ours would have to be snuffed out just because I’m his best friend’s daughter.

  There has to be a way around it.

  Last night was a close call on many levels. If my dad could find me from something as silly as ordering pizza, then he could obviously find out I’ve been stripping, too. Which is why I’m quitting this ridiculous job. Right the fuck now.

  I don’t need the money anymore. I’ve saved enough and I’m making a steady wage working at Aton. Plus, it’s just not worth my dad potentially losing his shit. I can waitress if I need cash. Fuck it, I’ll work at McDonald’s if I have to.

  I’ll admit, it was fun learning to pole dance, and seeing how much money I could make from performing. I enjoyed working with Merci and Viktor, Dante and Candi. But I hate Kurt, the misogynistic scumbag, and having guys like Ted harassing me for sexual favors.

  There’s an enticing power in stripping, but I draw the line at men treating me like a whore.

  The other reason to quit, as if there aren’t enough already, is that if there’s even the slightest chance me leaving this job could get through to Lazarus, then I have to try.

  He’s wanted me to quit since he found me at Boom Boom, and I think my leaving the stripping thing behind as a very entertaining couple months could show him I’m not just some immature girl, flitting around as if her actions have no consequence.

  It’s reaching, but again, I need to give it a shot. I know he’ll be happy to hear that I’ve quit either way, and we all know how much I love making him happy…

  I wander into Boom Boom, and although it’s still light out, it’s pitch black inside the club, as usual. It’s too early for much of anything to be happening, but there are still some regulars hanging out by the stage, watching a few of the new girls who work day shifts.

  Paying no mind to any of them, I make a beeline to Kurt’s office in the back, knocking once then letting myself in.

  “Trixie, what the fuck are you doing?” Kurt hisses, quickly shuffling papers around on his desk to hide the lines of coke he was clearly about to snort. I roll my eyes. “You can’t just burst in here!”

  “Yea, about that. Listen, Kurt, I just came to tell you I’m giving you my notice,” I fold my arms over my chest. “The notice being that I’m done working here and I’m never coming back.”

  He gapes up at me from his chair for a moment, looking a bit stunned, which is comical since I know for a fact girls quit all the time. The place is a revolving door of skanks.

  “You’re quitting this job? After I stuck my neck out for you?” He seethes, his round face turning redder than usual. “Big mistake, sweetie. I have connections, and I could easily ruin you.”

  I lift a brow before turning away from him. “Okay. Good talk, thanks. Have a nice life!”

  I’m about to storm out of his office and never look back when his weaselly voice slithers, “I can make your girl Merci’s life very difficult.”

  I halt and turn back around slowly, narrowing my loathing glare at his greasy face. “Is that so?”

  “Yep. You wanna screw me over? Fine. I’ll screw your friend… Maybe in more ways than one.” He smirks, showing off that creepy gold tooth that makes me want to bash his face in with the lamp on his desk.

  Threatening Merci is lower than I thought this asshole would go. I know Merci could easily find a job somewhere else, but I don’t want to disrupt her life just because I’m quitting and Kurt’s a cocktail-weenie-sized prick.

  I step up to his desk and smack both hands down flat, leaning in closer to him until he actually looks nervous. This guy’s such a clown, I’d be tempted to laugh if he weren’t so disgusting and pathetic.

  “If you so much as breathe wrong near Mercedes Huntington, I’ll make sure the police know you have underage girls working here,” I snarl with anger coursing through my veins.

  “That’s bullshit! All my girls are of age!” He stands up, beady eyes popping out of his skull.

  A sly grin crosses my lips. “I’m hurt you forgot my birthday, Kurt. Eighteen is a big one…”

  His face drops in concern and I witness him swallowing hard.

  That’s what I thought, asshole.

  Straightening up, I roll my shoulders.

  “Don’t play with a trickster,” I wink. “You’ll lose without even knowing it.”

  This time when I turn to leave his office he’s quiet. And with adrenaline radiating off my skin like a superpower, I walk through this nasty club for the last time, head held high in victory.

  That is, until Ted Jennings stops me at the door.

  Fuck, I can’t get out of this place, can I?

  “Look who it is!” He sneers and I step back, my eyes following Karma, the bitchy stripper I can’t stand, who’s lingering a few feet away like she has something to do with this scumbag.

  My brow furrows in confusion. “What do you want?”

  “Now now… Is that any way to treat your father’s client?” His horse-teeth are prominent as he grins at me, a sickening feeling slithering through my gut.

  He knows.

  I stand frozen, wondering what the hell I could say or do. I’m at a loss.

  Somehow Ted Jennings has found out that I'm Damien Wright’s daughter. I’m sure it wasn’t difficult. All he’d have to do is a little research on my father, find a picture of me, then deduct that I changed my hair, grew up a little and started stripping. I assume that’s what happened.

  And now I’m fucked. He’s going to tell my dad what I’ve been doing, if he hasn’t already.

  “What. Do. You. Want?” I repeat, standing my ground. Because I’ll be damned if I let this pervy motherfucker take me down.

  “I’ll admit, I felt a little foolish whe
n I found out who you were,” he ignores me and keeps talking, like he’s the bad guy in a heist movie who just revealed himself for the double-cross, when in reality he’s just a rich dickhead who spends way too much time in sleazy strip clubs. “Here I thought you were at that party because you’re just a whore. Come to find out you’re actually a trust-fund whore.”

  Red splashes the edges of my vision and I step up to his face, not giving a single fuck that he’s taller than me. I’m already jacked up on prescription drugs and the agony of my life as I know it, and this loser is choosing the absolute worst moment to fuck with me.

  “What’s wrong, Ted? What is it that has your needle dick so hard for me?” I hiss, squinting in rage. “Or is that teeny tiny prick lusting after my father instead?”

  His reaction is slightly different than the last time I stepped to him, at the party. His eyes harden and he’s visibly fuming, but he doesn’t move or lash out. Instead he just smirks, thin lips set in a line, eerily twisting up at both ends.

  I’m uneasy. He thinks he’s going to ruin me, or my dad, or both of us together.

  What he doesn’t know is that I have no intention of letting him do that.

  “Little Traci Wright…” he sighs and shakes his head, making a tsk tsk noise. “You should’ve just fucked me when you had the chance.”

  “Oh, you’ll be getting fucked alright,” I mutter, and brush past him, shooting a withering glare at Karma on my way out of the club.

  The second I set foot in the sunlight again, my stomach knots and I’m frantic.

  I need to get to my father before that asshole. I need to tell him I’ve been stripping, now. Hearing it from me is better than hearing it from one of his asshole clients. I don’t even care. I know he’ll be pissed, that much is a given. But I just can’t let him find out such a personal, disrupting thing from anyone other than me.

  I owe it to him to tell the truth. And after all the lies I’ve been spreading, the secrets I’ve been holding to my chest, this one is hardly the worst.

  I’m well past worried.

  I haven’t been able to reach my dad all day. I’ve called him a dozen times since I left the club earlier, and I’ve yet to get a response.