I did because spending the evening high on cocaine, drinking champagne and being fucked until I was physically sore would give me the release Doug had promised me.
I was kneeling on the floor, my face over the mirror, a rolled up twenty in my hand and a bloodstream full of drugs when I heard that voice again. It was my fourth hit, and when I looked up to see Jack standing there, I giggled, before my face fell. I swallowed and sat back on my heels, my hands dropping slowly as I took in the look in his eyes again. It was still there: the pain, the hurt, the disbelief... His jaw flexed and his eyes flitted over the scene, the people, and then Doug. I watched as his fists clenched and unclenched and his eyes narrowed before he spun on his heel and left.
I was was on my feet without a second thought, my inebriated body tripping over itself and everything in its path to get to him. “Jack.” I felt Doug’s eyes on me as I stumbled past him, through the curtain. “Jack. Please.”
The top floor was still fairly full with bodies that I hurried past, scouring the area and pushing onto my toes to see over shoulders and the tops of heads. “Jack!” My voice was becoming urgent when a break in the crowds revealed him jogging quickly down the stairs. I made a beeline for him, my heart thundering and my eyes stinging.
Reaching the bottom step, his name tore from the back of my throat like a strangled cry, causing him to stop and turn.
I stood with my body leaning forwards, my fists clenched tight and my heart on my sleeve.
The time between us seemed to slow and then halt as everyone around us continued about their business. He remained still, looking at me, no words falling from his lips. I straightened, my chest heaving from exertion and emotion, and pushed my hair from my face, tipping my chin slightly: armour to guard my heart.
The language of his body was closed off. His eyes were glassed now and nothing was shining through them. He waited, for what I wasn’t sure, and then he turned to leave again.
“No.” It was a scream. “Don’t go.”
It stopped him, but he remained with his back to me.
Stepping forwards so I was merely feet from him, I begged a final time, this time my voice a whisper. “Please. Don’t go.”
His head dipped and then he turned to face me.
And there it was again: heartache and confusion in the storm of his eyes. He narrowed them, shaking his head slowly. “Why?”
I bit down on the insides of my lips and closed my eyes, silent, unbidden tears falling as my lashes met. I didn’t have an explanation for him—I never had an explanation for him. I wasn’t a psychologist. I couldn’t explain why I sought out experiences that would ultimately destroy me from the inside out.
I felt the sweep of his thumb across my cheek, but not before I smelt the familiarity of him: the leather, the diesel, the unique scent of my best friend—the one friend who didn’t sneer, or judge, but who had always stood by me and been there regardless of my behaviours.
But now it was different. Everything was different. Our relationship had changed; I knew that. We cared too much, and that would be the death of us.
He pulled me to his chest, running his hand up and down my back as I fisted his leather jacket. He kissed the top of my head and whispered into my hair. “Why are you working for him? Why, Sy?”
I shrugged a little before pulling back and looking up into his eyes. “You left me.”
“He’s dangerous. Promise me you’ll look for something else.”
“It’s just a job.”
He dropped his hands and ragged his hand through his hair. “Damnit, Syra.”
I mourned the closeness of him immediately and wrapped my arms around myself. Swallowing, I let my thoughts trickle from my lips. “I miss you. Come home.”
He lifted his eyes to mine and shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t watch you fuck yourself up and do nothing. I can’t be an impartial friend to you, Syra. It’s too late for that now. I’m in—” His words faltered and he shook them away with his head. “I have to go.”
My chin trembled and I wiped at my cheeks to try to hide the emotion that was bubbling inside of me, desperate to spill over the top. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you, Jack. I’m sorry I can’t be what you want me to be.”
He nodded. “Me too.”
Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, he kicked at the floor and turned towards the exit, stopping at the last minute to twist his head to look at me. A sad smile tipped his lips before he walked away from me for a second time. “Happy Birthday, Sy. I’ll see you around.”
Syra
Skin by Zola Jesus
THE WEEKS AFTER I last saw him rolled into one in my mind.
I slept during the day and I worked my arse off at night.
I fucked random punters during the week and partied hard with Doug and his friends at weekends, finishing the night with Trent between my legs.
I neglected my mother and fell into a world of drugs and alcohol that kept me permanently numb and permanently sore in all senses of the word.
My wages paid for my food and bills, and the rest was saved for a new place.
Freddie continued to chance his arm, sometimes cornering me and begging me to give him and us a try. I avoided his advances as often as I could, but on occasion, when my head was alive with guilt and anxiety, when the need to control how I was feeling and punish myself for the past, I would be weak to his closeness and the way he looked at me. I would take advantage in the worst of ways and then hate myself after.
He knew, though.
The other girls continued to alienate me. I was never invited to their gatherings or their parties, but that suited me. Clara was the only one I had any time for. She didn’t care what I got up to and certainly didn’t care about being booked. We didn’t talk much, not about in-depth stuff at least. Our conversations remained light, and I enjoyed the banter we shared.
It was the day after my mum had woken me in the afternoon, demanding money again, that I found myself sitting in my kitchen on a rare day off with a bag of coke staring at me. Up until that day, it had only been weekends. Up until that day, I’d been able to brush it all under the carpet because I could make the excuse that I’d ‘just been partying’ with the others.
As I stared at it over my mug of tea, a pounding in my chest, I recalled the moment I approached Doug the previous night to ask him for it. He’d smirked a little and led me to his office. He’d given it to me as a gift and had let me leave quietly with a knowing look and a smug expression on his face.
My mother was a junkie.
Was I a junkie? I refused to believe it.
I didn’t crave drugs every day.
I didn’t go out of my way to acquire them.
I enjoyed a hit now and again. It helped. That was all.
It was easy to judge others and to kid yourself, though, right?
I locked the questions away and headed upstairs to get a shower, and once I was ready, I checked my phone. There was a text from Freddie.
Hey, Sy. Doug has requested that you work today. He’s organised a big birthday party for one of his clients and wants you to come in and help and then work VIP this evening. He needs you to be here in an hour. F x
I shot a message back about it being my day off and how I’d not had a day off for three weeks, but the reply that came back had me leaving the house twenty minutes later and walking through the doors of The Release, just in time for Doug to sling his arm around me with a beaming, but almost menacing smile.
“Thanks for coming in, princess. It’s going to be a busy day.”
You didn’t give me a choice.
“No worries.”
It was unusual for him to be there during the day, but after Freddie filled me in on the iminent party, I understood why he was hanging around to oversee things. By all accounts, this guy was big in Doug’s world, whatever world that was. I was beginning to see inside a little, and as much as I only saw snippets, I
knew it couldn’t possibly be honourable.
The club had been closed to the public for the day, and every member of staff was on hand to polish, chop fruit, fill ice buckets and clean until the place was sparkling. I learned that the party had been organised for months, but that as a new recruit, the request for me to work had been overlooked until Doug asked where I was. Freddie got a roasting for it, apparently.
I kept myself busy, trying to leave my tiredness behind and keep my aching body moving. I ignored the snickers and the glances from the other girls and made sure I kept my nose clean.
Mid morning quickly turned into mid afternoon and we were all called into a staff meeting. Marissa, the head bar manager, always pristine and business-like, stood at the front of the whole team and ran through the way everything was going to work. Clara and I were to be on the VIP bar in the first part of the evening with Zach working the floor and keeping it clear of empties, keeping stock filled. For the most part, everyone would be downstairs drinking and dancing, but the VIP would be open for anyone who wanted a slightly quieter atmosphere. The voiles would be pulled back until later on so that all the booths and couches could be used. Three hundred people were expected to arrive, and all of them were to be treated with the utmost respect from all of us.
As she was finishing off, she signalled for Freddie and Rick to come forwards. They had huge boxes in their hands and Marissa held out what she explained were the uniforms we were to wear. We females were handed short black skater skirts that barely covered our arses and black, fitted halterneck crop tops. The guys were given black waistcoats to wear over their usual white shirts and bow ties.
There was an excited buzz amongst Amber and her friends, and I turned over my shoulder to watch them pouting and fluffing their hair. It was like a fashion show for them—a competition to see who could snag the most men, the most attractive men, the most wealthy men. I was their enemy as far as I could see, but I wasn’t here to make friends. I was here to do a job, to keep myself busy and earn money.
We all congregated in the dressing rooms fifteen minutes later with an instruction to wear our hair down, to ensure make-up was immaculate and to be back on the floor by four thirty pm.
Clara and I got ready side by side, passing each other products like we’d been doing it all our lives. She’d become a friend: not a confidant, but someone I could laugh with and bullshit with, and I was beginning to enjoy spending time with her.
Once we were all ready, we moved to our designated areas of the club, and the doors were opened. I expected a trickle of people, a steady stream, but three hundred guests seemed to arrive at once. It didn’t feel any different to working a normal Saturday night to begin with. The punters were more lavish and extravagant with their money, but the job was the same. More people ended up in the VIP area than I expected, so I was kept on my toes for a good few hours.
I didn’t see Doug again, nor did I see Trent and the others. I didn’t know if they’d be there. For all I knew, this could be an entirely different circle of friends.
At eleven, the guests were called downstairs, and Clara, Zach, Rick and I hung over the banister to watch as they all congregated on and around the dance floor. Doug stood in the DJ booth and took control of the mic, inviting his friend, a short, balding man in an expensive suit, to come and join him. He gave a speech that had everyone laughing, raising glasses and toasting the birthday boy. He was charismatic there was no doubt. Spending more time with him made me see how he had people eating out of his hands at the click of his fingers or the narrowing of his eyes. He was influential and he was dangerous, and as I watched him command the attention of three hundred people, I began to wonder what it was that brought him so much money and social standing.
As my mind wandered, Clara tapped me on the shoulder and pointed towards one of the doors to the back. Four scantily clad women shimmied out, four of our bouncers following them with four chairs. Everyone cheered and Scott, the DJ, cranked up the music.
The whole place came alive as the four women danced around the chairs, on the chairs, on the railing and then all over Doug’s birthday friend. It was quite the show.
The party seemed to erupt from that point. The music was louder, the dancing was raunchier, the drinking was more excessive. I was literally exhausted. I wasn’t expecting to be asked to hang around after my shift and was counting the minutes until it finished at two, so when when midnight rolled around and Trent grabbed my hand as I was walking towards the staff rooms to use the toilet, I was taken aback.
He pulled me into his chest. “Where are you off to?”
I glanced up at him and stepped back. “Erm, the toilet. And then once my shift is over, I’m heading home. I’m fucked.”
A glint in his eye had me rolling mine.
“You will be fucked if you’re very lucky.” He caught my bottom lip with his teeth and pulled on it. “Come on. Come and party with us.”
My mind flickered to the bag of white powder that lay on my kitchen table. I could so easily go home, take a hit and go to bed. But the thought of having access to more if I wanted it and the reckless sex that Trent promised was so tempting.
“Doug wants you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Wants me?”
He laughed. “I don’t doubt that. We all want you, Syra, but he wants you to come and hang. He wants to introduce you to a few new people.”
I’d learned very quickly that I shouldn’t ignore Doug’s requests, so I nodded, told him I would grab my stuff and meet him upstairs.
“We’re not going upstairs tonight.”
A frown twitched at my brow. “Where are we going?”
He winked. “Get your stuff. You’ll see.”
I moved warily through the door and to the staffroom, locating my locker and pulling out my bag and my jacket. The flush of the toilet had me turning my head to see Amber exiting the cubicle.
Great.
“Skiving are we?.”
“I’m leaving.” I shrugged into my leather jacket and slung my bag strap over my head. “See you tomorrow.”
“Leaving? Wait.” Amber leaned her hip against the sinks and folded her arms. “How d’ya do it, huh?”
“How do I do what?”
She shrugged. “How do you manage to bag the hot men, how do you manage to get booked for VIP in your first week and maintain the position, how do you get to fuck Trent Thompson every weekend?”
I swallowed nervously. How did she know about Trent and me? Not that we were as together as she was likely imagining.
“What do you mean?”
Reaching her fingers out, she lifted my dreads from my shoulder and let them fall. “He’s Faymere’s most eligible bachelor and you’ve somehow managed to snag him so he’s not interested in anyone else.”
I didn't believe that for a second. Trent could have whoever he wanted. I was merely his play thing at weekends. “It’s not what you think.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Probably not, but I still don’t get it. I mean look at you.”
“Goodbye, Amber.”
She laughed as I turned away. “You’re a skank. It won’t last.”
“Perhaps I don’t want it to last. Perhaps I’m using him for what I can milk him for.” I shot a sarcastic smile over my shoulder and left.
Trent grabbed my hand as I walked back into the club and led me across the floor, down the steps to the dance floor and along the side wall. We reached the back of the room and came across a door I’d never noticed before. He knocked on it, and it opened just before we slipped inside. It felt vaguely familiar once we were in the darkened corridor, the only light coming from ultraviolet strips along the middle of the ceiling. He pushed me up against the wall and lifted my thighs so my legs were wrapped around him, his erection pushing against my barely covered core. It took me by surprise, but I ran with it, dropping my bag to the floor and letting him put his mouth all over me. I stared at the ceiling and wished for the
pleasure to come. He lifted my crop top up and over my breasts and sucked hard on my nipples, squeezing the flesh with his hands.
He was different tonight: more urgent; more demanding. It hurt when he moved my underwear to the side and invaded my body. I winced and couldn't hide it, but it seemed to encourage him to be harder, rougher.
“Trent, man. For fuck’s sake.” Doug’s voice bellowed from the end of the corridor and his eyes caught mine. There was something dark and even more dangerous in them tonight, and as Trent laughed and finished inside of me, pulling off the condom, I found myself completely under Doug’s spell.
I was dragged towards the door that was still ajar, and my mouth fell open as I took in the sight before me. It was a huge room, full of the beautiful people, all of them in various states of consciousness, but all of them draped over huge couches, pool tables and bar stools.
What the hell was this place?
The low lighting hid people who were wrapped around each other in the corners and disguised the drug-taking from anyone who might glance at the scene with little interest. Doug resumed his hobnobbing, and as I was ushered inside, a drink was handed to me by a waitress I’d never seen before. There were five of them. All in starched white shirts, a-line skirts and their hair in tight, neat buns—quite the contrast to how we were expected to dress.
In the corner were a group of men, all young, all handsome and all with that look in their eye. Trent seemed to know them, and so we moved towards them. I sipped nervously on my drink, curious enough to not make my excuses but wary enough to keep my wits about me.
These people didn’t have a fucking care in the world. Or so it seemed. Was that the lifestyle? The money? The drugs they took each week?
I’d already gotten into a routine of looking forward to weekend nights where I was invited to forget it all.
Amber wanted to know why, but I had no idea why Doug chose me to join him and no one else. All I knew was that when I was under Trent with cocaine in my system, I’d never felt more empty of all that filled my mind and soul.
Too Good Girl Page 13