I throw the covers off, hoping the frigid night air will keep me awake. It’s freezing lying here in just my shorts and camisole. I curl up into a fetal position, rubbing warmth back into my cold limbs.
The image of Angelo with his cruel disposition fades away into the bleak night, filling me with a sense of security. I cocoon myself within my comforter and drift back to sleep. However, my tired mind continues to replay the dream over and over.
I’m not safe sleeping in here tonight. I need my savior to protect me. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s rescued me from a nightmare.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, yet hesitate a moment to jump off as my head spins from the drunken sleep. With unsteady feet, I stagger across the chilled floor that creaks and groans with every step. Even my door announces my presence as it squeaks on its hinges.
Our once-affectionate apartment has transformed into something sinister. Eerie moonlight bleeds through the naked windows, creating creepy shadows on the walls.
Is that a hand behind the sofa? Is someone coming to capture me and drag me away? There’s someone standing in the corner. I can see their shadow looming up the wall. It must be Frankie, obeying Angelo’s command to come and dispose of my body in the ocean!
I whimper, unable to control my terrified mind with its terrifying thoughts.
Somehow, I convince myself to set my focus on Alice’s door. With our rooms adjacent to one another, the doors can’t be over four feet apart. Tonight, however, they seem at least twenty. Invisible hands capture me, refusing to release me. I scrunch my eyes closed and ball my hands into fists.
Get it together, Eva, I encourage myself. Just move your feet.
After suitably chastening myself, I set my focus back on the door. With my back and palms against the wall, my feet take graceless steps towards Alice’s room.
Tapping on the window instills fresh fear into my mind. My body jolts towards the sound, expecting to find someone peering in.
No one’s there. Only the wicked moon laughing at my discomfort.
I focus on my goal and press onward.
My hand slides along Alice’s door, feeling the cracks and wood grain under my fingertips, as I search for the handle. Only then do I feel safe enough to twist my body to face the door. With one hand, my fingers caress the cool metal of the handle, the other shakily taps on the door. I press my ear to it, waiting for her response.
The sound of footsteps behind me turns my blood to ice, while my lungs cease to function. With short, panicked breaths, my fingers tighten around the handle. I twist my torso, allowing my wide eyes to scan the room for the intruder.
Did the shadow move? I can hear someone breathing. It must be Frankie.
Alice, please wake up!
My panicked breaths heighten as I twist my body and press it against her door and tap louder.
“Yeah?” my savior calls.
My voice shudders. “Alice? Can I come in?”
The handle twists in my hand and I release it as the door opens.
“Of course.” She wraps an arm around my shoulders as she leads me into her room, guiding me to her bed, and sits with me. “What’s wrong, babe? You’re shaking. Here, let’s get you warmed up.” She pulls her comforter around me.
My teeth chatter. “I had a nightmare.”
“What about?”
A fresh wave of fear instils within me at the prospect of reliving the horror. But what’s worse, saying it out loud, or letting it repeat over and over in my mind?
“Come lie down. You’re freezing.” She cocoons us within her comforter.
As I warm, my stiff joints and tense muscles relax, the shudders cease, and my breathing calms. Once I’m able to speak without stuttering, I reiterate the nightmare.
“That’s terrifying,” says Alice, once I’m finished. “No wonder you’re a nervous wreck.”
“I can’t go back there, Alice.”
“You don’t have to. I told you, I earn enough money to take care of us.”
“I promise I’ll find another job,” I tell her.
“It’ll be okay,” she assures me.
The morning light dances through the window; I welcome it, grateful it chased away the wicked moon. Sometime in the night, sleep must have consumed me, as my last memory was my decision to search for other employment.
With the heels of my hands, I rub the sleep from my eyes. I sit up and run my fingers through my hair to find it matted from tossing and turning in my bed. Using my fingers as a comb, I attempt to untangle the monstrosity, but soon give up. With graceful movements, I ease myself from the bed as to not wake Alice. However, just as my feet reach the floor, I hear her stirring.
“Morning,” she says, with sleep thick in her voice. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah, I did. Thanks for letting me stay with you.”
“No problem. Should we have breakfast?” she asks.
“I’ll go put the kettle on,” I tell her.
Fears of the ominous shadows from last night return to haunt me the moment I rise from the bed. I creep towards the door and peer around the corner to survey the living room.
The hand behind the sofa becomes the shadow of the plant in the window. The shadow of Frankie in the corner, behind the television, transforms into the floor lamp. I feel foolish for letting my imagination run wild last night.
I fix a cup of coffee for Alice, who claims she can’t start the day without one, and lean against the countertop. With my arms folded across my chest, I overlook our humble apartment and wait for the water for Alice’s coffee to come to a boil.
Every room in our tiny home is rugged and run down, just like the rest of the building. No wonder the rent’s so cheap. With our living room and kitchen joined, the breakfast bar separates the two rooms and doubles as extra counter space and our table. Our tiny U-shaped kitchen allows only enough room for one person to occupy it at a time.
Only one white sofa occupies our living room, along with an oversized TV, taking up a vast amount of space in the corner. Our large picture window, with two narrow window panels on each side, allows sunlight to spill in, lighting the entire room. The view, however, is ghastly. Straight ahead is another rundown building. Below us, the busy road.
One, solitary plant sits on the windowsill, enjoying the benefits of the sunlight.
When I arrived in Twisted City, I bought the plant as a thank you gift to give Alice for allowing me to live with her. But I’ve taken care of it ever since because Alice has a black thumb.
As for the furniture, Alice’s parents gifted it.
“Some gift,” Alice had said. “More like a storage facility for their unwanted junk.”
Once I receive regular paychecks, I intend to replace the furniture in our beloved home, to transform it into something truly ours.
The kettle whistles, interrupting my thoughts. After silencing its cry, I pour the boiling water into the coffee cup.
“Ooh, thank you. Just what I need,” Alice sighs.
She appears just as disheveled as I do this morning with her hair sticking out in all directions. She sits by the breakfast bar and I hand her the cup that she cradles between her hands before taking a sip.
“Ahh, hot!” she exclaims.
I giggle. “I just made it. You could have waited for it to cool.”
She ignores me and blows the steam from her cup before taking another sip.
I set out the breakfast items on the breakfast bar and join her on the other side to pour myself a bowl of cornflakes.
“I’ve been thinking,” she says. “Your dream last night—”
“Oh, please, let’s not bring that up again,” I say, abandoning the cereal box and stare at her.
Her sea-green eyes emit innocence. “I only wanted to say that’s probably how he dumped all those girls in the ocean. He hypnotizes them first.” Her wide grin shows off a set of white teeth.
“Alice, that’s not funny,” I scold
her.
The grin dissolves as she hides behind her cup. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s too soon. I’ll talk to my manager again today and see if anything’s available.”
After I’d gotten settled here, Alice had begged her manager to hire me, but they were over-staffed. Nevertheless, he promised her as soon as a job opening became available, I would be the first to know.
“As much as I appreciate it. I’ve been mulling things over myself. How silly it would be to allow a dream to chase me away from my job,” I tell her.
Her eyes peer over her cup as she continues to sip her coffee.
“I know you hate the idea of me working there, though I really don’t understand why—”
“I told you!” she shrieks. “He’s bad news.”
“He seemed okay to me.”
“Your dream says otherwise.”
“It was a dream, Alice. It doesn’t mean anything.”
My phone rings, interrupting our debate. I skip to the sofa to retrieve my bag where I dumped it last night and dig out the phone.
“Hmm, I don’t recognize this number,” I muse.
“It’s probably phone spam. Put on your best English accent and mess with them.” She swivels her chair around to enjoy the show.
I’m convinced strangers regret calling me after I fool them into believing they’ve called the British embassy, British military, or the Queen of England by mistake. It’s highly amusing to hear them stutter and apologize profusely before they hang up.
I clear my throat and set the phone on speaker. “Hello, how may I help you?” I purr seductively.
“Eva, it’s Frankie.”
I feel my eyes grow wide while heat flushes my cheeks. “Hi, Frankie,” I squeak.
“Angelo wants you in tonight at nine. You only have to stay for an hour.” He appears nonchalant about my bizarre phone manner.
The sudden blow of embarrassment, along with my summons, causes my weakened body to slump down on the sofa.
“Okay, I’ll see you tonight,” I tell him.
After resting my phone in my lap, I direct my humiliated gaze to Alice.
“How disappointing.” She pouts. “I was hoping for a little more entertainment this morning.”
“Really? Me making a complete prat of myself to my boss’s brother wasn’t entertaining enough?”
“Don’t worry, he didn’t notice anything.”
I bury my face in my hands. “Oh, my gosh. How am I going to face him tonight?”
“Want me to go with you?”
I peer through my fingers and sigh. “No, I’ll be okay.”
“Good. I have to work tonight, anyway. You’re not planning on staying there after your shift, are you?”
I fumble with my phone. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”
“Let me know, okay?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Mom.”
“I worry about you, that’s all.”
I giggle. “I know, I know. Thank you.”
As I squeeze through the sea of people, wishing I could acquire Moses’ gift of parting the Red Sea, this morning’s humiliating phone call with Frankie plays on a continuous loop, inducing a blush to stain my cheeks before I even see him.
Instead of finding Frankie, I discover Angelo is sitting at the same table we were at last night. Despite the malicious dream I had of him, he still takes my breath away. Tonight, he’s removed his jacket, revealing a dark vest over a white shirt. With his face turned, I can see the gleam in his eye, along with the crease in the corner of his mouth as he smiles. He has his arm stretched along the back of the sofa, and it isn’t until the crowd parts I notice a blonde woman sitting beside him.
An invisible fist connects with my stomach.
His arm slinks off the sofa to drape around her shoulders, while his face lowers to meet hers, the way he did with me last night.
Alice’s words replay in my mind. He’s a player. He picks a different girl each night.
I want to turn away, to search for Frankie instead of enduring such torment. Regardless of my desires, my insubordinate feet edge closer towards him, to alert him of my presence.
My lips spread into a fake smile to conceal my disappointment. I’m such an idiot to assume last night’s advances meant something to him. I was nothing more than another notch on his belt.
Though I stand beside his table, he takes a few moments to acknowledge my presence. His entire appearance has changed from how I perceived him last night. His brilliant blue silk tie hangs loosely around his neck. The top of his shirt is open, and a pink set of lips mark his collar.
“Oh, you made it,” he says in a cheerful tone as he gazes at me, intensifying the ache in my heart.
He doesn’t retract his arm from the blonde, and she doesn’t remove her hand from his lap. The revulsion churns my stomach, and I turn away in disgust.
“You won the crowd last night,” he continues, oblivious to my aversion. “Everyone asked for you to sing again tonight. I can’t let them down, can I?”
A surge of animosity seethes through my body. I’m nothing more than an object to him: something he can control or play with. I glance over to the stage, hoping to retreat from this awkward situation.
“Nice dress,” Angelo says, regaining my full attention.
“What?” My voice catches in my throat as the sorrow leaks.
“That dress, it’s nice. Not as stunning as the blue one, but still nice.” His eyes glimmer as he raises his eyebrows briefly. “Don’t you think?” he asks the woman beside him while keeping his focus on me.
She glances up. Her eyes appear glassy.
What does Angelo find attractive about her? I see nothing enchanting. In fact, she reminds me of a common prostitute with her white top hanging low enough to expose her lacy, black bra. On top of her head, she wears her dull, blonde hair in a lopsided, disheveled bun. She has painted thin, black eyebrows on her oval face, and smeared blue eye shadow across her eyelids. Her pink lip gloss is smudged (most likely from kissing Angelo). Her mascara has glued her lashes together into a huge clumpy mess. To accentuate her cheekbones, she has applied excessive amounts of pink blush, creating the illusion that her nose is long and thin. All in all, she reminds me of a cross between a hooker and a clown.
Her lifeless hazel eyes scan my attire.
“It’s okay, I suppose. Too plain if you ask me. Not enough skin on show,” she sneers.
Once she’s satisfied that her remark has had the intended effect, she nibbles on Angelo’s neck.
I stare down at my black dress, hoping Angelo hasn’t noticed Alice wore this one last night. The insult from the drunken leech was vexing enough. When I look back at him, a disapproving expression materializes on his face.
“You have different dresses, right?” he asks.
Oh, yeah, of course, I have a wardrobe full of dresses, I scoff in my head.
“Actually, I don’t,” I remark with a tight smile. “It’s just this one and the blue one.”
Part of me hopes he fires me for not having the correct amount of attire for his employment.
“Well, we can discuss your wardrobe later.”
I roll my eyes. He’s got to be joking.
“Lose the attitude before we speak again,” he snaps, then returns his attention to the blonde, indicating our time is over.
As I walk away licking my wounds, I can’t repel the onslaught of last night’s memories of my time with Angelo.
What an idiot I was for letting him play me. For letting him use me and discard me like a piece of trash.
I don’t care about this morning’s mortifying phone call with Frankie anymore. It seems he doesn’t either as he approaches me nonchalantly.
“Your music’s lined up, same as last night. However, we need to discuss new material with Angelo. Stay around once you’re finished,” he tells me.
Great. I have the honor of discussing music and my wardrobe with him.
Okay, I unde
rstand the need to discuss music, but my wardrobe?
“Frankie, can I have a moment to compose myself?” I ask timidly.
He raises his palm, extending each of his fingers, allowing the light to reflect off the gold rings.
“Five minutes,” he says before walking away.
Grateful to have a moment to myself, I drop my bag on the stairs and rummage through it until I find my phone so I can send Alice a text message.
You don’t have to worry about me tonight, I won’t be staying. See you when I get home.
I stash my phone back in my bag and retrieve a scrunchie, tying my hair back into a messy bun. As I glance up the stairs to the stage, a rogue tear slides down my face. I swipe it away and, with heavy feet, ascend the stairs and drift to the microphone.
My eyes gravitate to Angelo’s table. Last night, Alice held my gaze as I performed for the crowd. Tonight, another couple occupy her seat beside Angelo and the blonde, though not one of them acknowledges me. They’re too involved in each other.
A heavy stone materializes in the pit of my stomach and I have to turn away before more tears form. The blanket of light hides the crowd from my view. I stare out into the oblivion and focus on my song.
As the next song begins, my betraying eyes wander over to Angelo’s table. My stomach wrenches when I find him absent. Only the blonde and her friends remain.
Without my consent, my desperate eyes scan the club but fill with disappointment when they can’t find him. Maybe he moved on to another girl.
Another jolt penetrates my stomach as needles prickle my eyes.
How foolish of me to assume someone like Angelo could find someone like me attractive. A man with his stature has standards. Standards that a peasant like me can never hope to achieve.
With my hour finally over, the crowd’s roar of applause is deafening. But I remain despondent, passionless to the applause and admiration. I want nothing more than to go home where I can release my anguish in private. After forcing a fake smile and whispering my thanks into the microphone, my heavy feet escort me back to the stairs.
“Eva,” Frankie stops me at the foot of the stairs. “There’s no time to discuss music tonight. Come in early tomorrow and we’ll talk then. Okay?”
Twisted City: (Twisted City Book 1) Page 5