by Selina Marie
Slipping on my figurative mask for the night, I take a deep breath and hope to God it’s nothing like the last time we went out. No Lukas—no men, not for me. I send a silent prayer up, setting my intentions for a fun, care-free night with my girl. Dancing, drinking, laughter, then straight home so we can fall into our respective drunken comas.
We agree on taking a taxi tonight. There will definitely not be any designated drivers between the two of us, that’s certain. Our stilettos click against the marble as we make our way out, and into the cab that is parked outside of the gates of the Carmichael estate.
“La Rouge please,” Mel tells the driver as we ungracefully slide into the back seat of the cab, and I try not to flash my thong at the guy in the driver’s seat with his beady eyes fixated on us through the mirror. I always find it weird getting in the passenger seat next to the driver—it just doesn’t make sense to me.
Twenty-five minutes later, we launch ourselves out of the taxi, paying the driver through the window even though he didn’t deserve a single cent. I’m surprised we even made it here in one piece. The creep stared in the mirror for almost the entire journey staring at Melody’s tits, gross.
There are a lot of people here tonight and the entry line curves around the side of the building. We can hear the thudding of the bass so clearly from outside, even as I make my way to the back of the line around the corner of the street. I don’t get far when suddenly I’m gently tugged back, walking closer to the entrance. I frown, confused at why we aren’t joining the back of the line like everybody else. Looking at Mel suspiciously, she purses her lips.
“Now, you know I would never normally do this, but I’m so freaking desperate, I really need a drink and you’re not about to like what I’m going to do.” She says, as she pulls me closer to the entrance where the bouncer refuses the group at the front of the line entry because apparently, they’re at capacity.
Mel saunters up to the bouncer who could easily be around seven foot tall and clears her throat capturing his attention away from the group, who are still whining about being denied entry.
Reaching into her bag, Mel pulls out her ID, even though it shows her real age.
“Melody Carmichael,” she tells him as she waits expectantly. The bouncer, who resembles a mixture of a pit bull terrier and a boxer dog looks down at us, his eyes moving up and down over Melody. She pouts her lips slightly and raises her brow in challenge.
“Mel, they’re at capacity, we can just go wait like—” He reaches forward and pulls the door open, holding it and waiting for us to enter. Mel pulls me along behind her as she struts in, her sass well intact. I can imagine my expression looks rather entertaining right now, confusion strong in my frown and my lips still form an "O" after being cut off, and also because I’m a little shocked at Mel.
I know it really isn’t a big deal but using her name to get us in to anywhere is not her style and is not something she ever does. She really must be desperate for that drink.
“I have no words for you right now,” I say as I match her steps, weaving in and out of the people standing around in the club, drinks in hand ready to forget their own realities for tonight.
It’s a temporary escape, an illusion. No matter how many volumes of alcohol we drown our livers in, no matter how many pills you pop, it doesn’t last; and I guess that’s why so many people struggle with addiction, because the high feels so liberating and so overwhelmingly thrilling, that when you finally come down the low is too much to bear.
It’s like a homeless person winning an all-inclusive vacation of their dreams to the most luxurious destination, and then coming home to the bed made up of carboard and a sleeping bag. The high too good that all you want is to feel that ecstasy running through your veins again, so you don’t have to feel the emptiness that is deep down in the brittle of your bones when your system is void of the high.
Even knowing that, it’s an endless cycle that will never truly fulfil you. It doesn’t stop so many people from chasing the high. That’s what we’re doing tonight. Self-destructive? Maybe, but for now we’ll take it because it is fucking necessary.
By some miracle we find an empty booth in the back corner and Melody goes to order drinks at the bar. Taking out my phone I scroll through Facebook and Instagram mindlessly, not even sure why I have either of the apps, I never post anything. Melody does though and there are a few selfies of us on her Instagram feed, so I keep it mostly because of that. It’s also fun to stalk people occasionally.
Before I know what I’m doing, I load up Google and type in "Lukas Elin" and holy shit. It seems while I have been utterly oblivious to his real identity, I can’t help but gasp at seeing his photos, seeing his face again. It’s been a few days, but I miss him. I keep scrolling through Google and my God the man has been with some seriously high-profile people. Famous actresses, models, and I can’t figure out if the feeling in my chest is pride that he wants me, or it’s anxiety that he’s been with all these women… and then me. Does he compare me to them?
That thought fucks me up in more ways than I want right now, so I instantly shut it down. Everyone has a past right? I can’t get jealous over this—and the fact that I am jealous, pisses me off more than I care to admit.
Our relationship has been built on a foundation of lies and I don’t know if I can come back from that. The trust that took all of me to give is gone, but my heart still beats for him. I notice in almost every photo he wears the exact same expression, a close-lipped smile. It gives nothing away and leaves you wanting more. No wonder he is one of America’s most wanted bachelors, which Mel had told me before.
The thud of a glass hitting wood makes me jump slightly when Mel places my drink in front of me. Her eyes peer over the top of my phone as she leans over peeking at the screen. Even from her position she can clearly see that I’m looking at pictures of Lukas.
Dropping into her seat and picking up the fancy cocktail she ordered with one of those orange and pink paper umbrellas, which is almost falling over the side, she brings it up to her mouth and takes a sip.
“Finally, you’re doing what every girl on the planet would have done in the first five minutes of meeting a guy. Honestly, I feel like you’ve let us down,” Mel says, full of sarcasm. She smirks when she looks up at me and makes eyes contact.
Shaking my head at her, I laugh.
“Sorry to disappoint, but even if that was my style, which you know it isn’t, he still gave me a fake name so…” I don’t finish my sentence because my words make my point.
“No more boy talk, please?” I raise my glass to hers,
“I second that. Cheers to a night we will never forget, but probably will.” Mel taps her cocktail glass against my tumbler, the glass clinking melodically as we take a few mouthfuls.
I don’t know why, but her words set off a feeling of unease throughout my body. An ominous chill darts straight from my head to my toes. It happens fast but lingers a while, until I shrug it off and sway my hips, leading us to the dancefloor, ready to move my body.
Sweat beads on my skin as I snake my body around, letting my hips take the lead as they always do. The sound of Reggaeton does something to my body, the rhythms and the beats set me off. Mel is mimicking my movements with her own, hips in full swing. It’s the Spanish music. I think it releases some hidden Latina goddess within us, even though that’s inherently impossible. I can’t explain it, but it feels electric.
My bourbon is hitting me harder than usual tonight. I only had a double, but my vision is starting to blur a little. I blink my eyes several times hoping to clear it, but it doesn’t help to clarify my surroundings. Some guy in a hoodie approaches Mel and grabs her arm. But before she can respond. I’m already in his space telling him to fuck off. Who wears a hoodie in a club that is like a thousand degrees?
He backs off a little, but I think I can make out a creepy smirk across his mouth before he turns and walks away through the writhing bodies. It sends an ice-cold sensation throug
h me and I can’t explain why.
“Who the fuck wears a hoodie in a club?” Mel asks, voicing my exact thoughts.
“Right?” I agree.
“I’m going to go to the bathroom, the bourbon hit me harder than usual, but I didn’t eat much today so that’s probably why. Can you get me some water?” I ask, as Mel nods watching me, a slither of concern in her eyes.
“Yeah sure, I think I need one too. I’ll meet you back in our booth?” I nod before making my way to the bathrooms, located right at the back of the club, around to the left where the back doors for deliveries are. I know this because I would walk by La Rouge a lot when I was posting flyers around town searching for Alexis and would see the deliveries passing through the back.
I stumble a few times on my way, my stilettos not helping my chances of not breaking my ankles. I make it to the bathroom door, my legs feeling like jelly, and I can’t feel much except for the tingles flowing through them.
I need air badly. The sweat now dripping from my body as if I have a fever, or I’m going into shock. Am I getting sick?
The back exit door is next to the ladies’ bathroom and I decide then that I need fresh oxygen more than I need to pee, which isn’t at all actually. I need privacy more than anything, but my breathing is getting shallower by the second, I pray it doesn’t set some kind of alarm off, but I don’t care.
Pushing the door handle down and throwing the door open with as much strength as I have, I grab onto the door frame for support. Thankfully there’s a railing lit up by the dim yellow light, but I can only make out shadows and shapes. I pat my hands against the flat, rough surface behind me that must be the wall, and slowly lower myself to the ground.
My head hangs low between my bare knees, I suck in desperate, deep breaths and continue to blink my eyes rapidly, hoping for them to clear. I know something is wrong and can feel it cemented like a weight pinning me to the floor. My ears fill with the thudding of my blood pumping around my body, and nothing else exists outside of that sound. Everything inside of me senses threat. I’m outside alone, the door is closed, and I can’t move my body. It isn’t the alcohol and I know that because my head is clear, I can think straight. I’ve been drugged.
Fuck—I don’t have my phone so can’t call for help and even if I did, I don’t think my hands would be able to operate it, but at least I could try. I try to call out but only a whimper escapes my lips; combined with the breathlessness, lack of movement in my body and the gradual loss of my sight, I’m fucking useless.
A crunching sound breaks through the repetitive thudding of blood in my ears, startling me, though you wouldn’t know because despite my brain trying to fire off orders and action, it is mute against the effects of the drugs. I’m unable to move anything apart from my head. I tilt it up toward the sound, my heartbeat erratic and my skin clammy.
The air changes around me into something dark and sinister, and through the blurry haze I can make out a dark figure. I don’t know if I’m hallucinating but the one figure transforms into two. I am already pressed into the wall so much that the rough stones scrape against the bare skin exposed at my shoulders and my back, the thin material of my dress doing nothing to shield me from the harsh edges.
There’s nowhere for me to go, and my breathing increases with each step the shadows take toward me. One is smaller than the other, quite noticeably, but I don’t care because every instinct firing through my body tells me they are dangerous, that they mean to cause harm.
The larger, taller shadow crouches down until it is hovering in front of me. All I can see is black, but I know it’s a man—a man with a strong, impeccable jawline so sharp it cuts through my blurred vision. He tilts his head as if he is talking to the shadow behind him without actually turning.
“How much did you give her?” he asks, his voice sounds distorted but that’s probably just me.
My body shivers violently now that it has registered the sudden change from hot to cold, or maybe it’s trying every trick to protect me, and I hope the aggressive and feverous tremors of my body are enough to freak them out and send them running. I know better though. They aren’t going anywhere.
“Enough,” shadow number two says, the voice at a much higher pitch—a woman.
Why do they want me?
Who are they?
I just want to go home. I want to be safe and warm, loved and protected.
Mel is going to be panicking, losing her fucking mind. I’ve just vanished, and nobody knows where I am.
“Please,” I beg, but it comes out as more of a sigh than an actual word, but he hears it. The man’s face moves closer, until his face is a blurred masterpiece only a few inches away from mine.
“It’s nothing personal, sweetheart,” he whispers to me, before he moves fast, and everything turns dark.
◆◆◆
A bump jolts my body violently and I can’t see anything. I feel vibrations underneath me, and the humming of an engine. I’m in a car, they’re taking me somewhere.
Trying not to panic and hyperventilate, I take slow, deep breaths through the material that covers my entire face. It isn’t tight but it is pitch black and I’m in no better state than I was before, when my vision was hazy.
Another bump jolts my body. I am so cold but at least I’m no longer outside, although I would much rather be outside with more of a chance to escape, than being carted off to God knows where with shadows one and two.
My thoughts are interrupted when I hear them speak.
“What about the other one, did you get her?”
The masculine deep voice rumbles through the vehicle all the way into my bones—it sounds oddly familiar, but I can’t put my finger on why.
“Do I ever disappoint?” the female voice responds and it’s smug. I can hear it in her voice—which again sounds weirdly familiar, but I’ve been drugged so my mind is most probably fucking with me. Who is he talking about?
Everything is hazy and sounds a little distorted still, not as bad as it was before—which makes me question how long we’ve been driving and where we are going. Another jolt throws my body but propels me forward—or back maybe, slamming into something hard. I feel a sharp pain in my temple and I’m out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Emilia
There are moments, those few seconds when you wake up from a deep sleep where your mind doesn’t register its surroundings just yet. Those moments are the ones where we often question if the dreams we had in our subconscious was real or only a dream. This is not one of those moments.
Pain ricochets through my ribs vibrating every bone with agony as a blunt force hits into my side again and again. I scream out clutching my side where the burn is; it feels like someone is continuously booting me in my ribs and it fucking hurts.
A door opens somewhere, and I swear I hear a low growl. It stops for a moment and I suck in a breath, squeezing my eyes shut trying to stop the tears.
I hear movement again and my entire body tenses, waiting to be struck, but it doesn’t come. Instead, the material covering my face is ripped off taking me from blackness to a dark, cold and dimly lit room. I blink a few times, the tears falling down from the corners of my eyes wetting my face, and I lie on the stone-cold concrete floor.
It looks almost like a jail cell but it’s an open space, across the room I can see a single wooden chair placed centrally and directly beneath one swinging light bulb. That is the only source of light I can find.
I throw my head back, startled when a finger touches my face, stroking my tears away. It’s not an act of empathy though, the touch is rough. It’s an act of malice in the most manipulative form. If someone was to look they might see tenderness, but I don’t. Especially when in the next second the same hands grab me, pulling me upright and drag me to my feet until I am directly above the chair. They push me down violently, and I almost tumble to the floor with the chair underneath me. My body is still disorientated and unable to coordinate simple movements after being dr
ugged.
I realize then that I have no shoes on, only my dress and my underwear and that’s it, and I don’t know if my body has adjusted somehow but at least I’m no longer shivering.
Black boots come into view and when they are a few feet away from my naked legs, they stop. It takes all of my energy to lift my head and meet the gaze of the person in front of me, but when I do, I am almost disappointed.
“Hey, sis.” Alexis stands in front of me, her voice dripping in arrogance and poison. She is wearing all black—jeans, a hoodie, and black boots with a ridiculous mask covering her eyes. If she wants to protect her identity, I might suggest she not say the one thing that blatantly gives it away.
“I have a surprise for you.” She crouches down and screws her face up a little. “Though I’m not sure you’re gonna like it” Standing back up to her full height she pulls out a radio walkie talkie, holding down the button and speaking into it.
“All ready for you,” she tells the radio. Who is she, GI Jane?
“Nice radio,” I tell her unable to resist. Alexis scowls, plastering the biggest fake smile on her mouth before swinging the radio back and smacking it straight into my right cheek.
Fuck! My face stings and I’m pretty sure I can feel something warm running down my cheek. The bitch made me fucking bleed.
A door swings open and two men clad in all black, the same as Alexis, stride inside until they stand a foot in front of the chair I was thrown in. My attention is pulled in the other direction to the other side of the room, close to where I had been lying before. I can see a shadow in the dark and hear shuffling coming from the same place.
“Emilia?” The raspy and uneven voice that’s whispered, sends a crack through my chest. Why the fuck have they got Melody here? I move to shift my body but only end up swaying the tiniest bit.
“Mel, it’s okay, we’re okay—” I’m cut off by a high pitched cackle and a low chuckle, my head snapping in their direction. One of the men looks built like a football player and is almost as tall as a basketball player. I can’t see his face though, as the top of his hoodie hangs low, only exposing the tip of his nose, his lips and chin. The other man is a lot shorter and rounder. He looks like he has a beer belly and completely the opposite of the man standing a few feet away from him. It’s he who is laughing along with Alexis, the other man is silent.