by Lory Wendy
“Wake me up!” I pound my fist against concrete. It stings and burns. It’s the most welcome kind of pain. I need to feel something other than the despair coursing through my body now. The helplessness.
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry, but—”
“Selena?”
“Oh my God, Blaire!” I push against my eyes at the sound of Blaire’s voice, still willing this to be a dream.
“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” Rocky says.
I snap my head toward the voice. Everything around me is a blur. Every part of me is shaking. “Oh God.” I trip over my feet, trying to get to my sister. I fall into her waiting arms.
“What are you—I didn’t know you were home. I didn’t know you were inside.” Her words come out rambled and panicked.
“Me neither,” I wail. “I didn’t know you guys were home. We were sleeping, and then we woke up, but I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
“What the hell happened?” Blaire shouts over my shoulder.
“We were asleep when we smelled the smoke,” Julian answers her.
“He got me out,” I add. “We didn’t know you were inside. I didn’t know you came home. We would have… I would have…”
“We weren’t,” Rocky says. “One of the neighbors called.”
“The house!”
“Shh. Come here.” Blaire wraps her arms around me, fighting against Julian who is trying to do the same.
I don't hear the ruckus of what's going on or what everyone is saying. Questions are being fired around me, firemen are telling people to step back, and I can see my neighbors looking around at each other for guidance. I'm numb as I crane my head up and stare at the black cloud of smoke engulfing the sky and releasing its bitter ashes into the air.
In this moment, I'm in my own hell as I watch the concentrated flames baring their wrath down on my house.
“It's okay, sweetheart.” I feel Julian’s arm wrap around me, and I fall into his chest once Blaire lets go. “I got you, come here.”
A loud bang catches my attention, sending more flames into the sky. I dart up, gasping for air.
“Easy,” Julian says.
“I can’t,” I breathe. “I can’t.”
“You need to eat something.” Julian sets a plate of food on the coffee table.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care. You need to eat.”
But I have no appetite. After the fire marshal had to force us from the property, Rocky dropped us back at Julian’s house. When we got through the door, I threw myself on the couch, where I’m still lying hours later. And every time I close my eyes, the fire plays on loop making it nearly impossible for me to get more than a ten minute nap. Now, my exhaustion has morphed into a small bout of delirium where my eyes burn and my head is foggy, but I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to eat. Frankly, I don’t want to do anything. My house is gone, and everything in it. Pictures, paintings, little knick-knacks my father got my mother. They’re all gone.
“If you’re not going to eat, then talk,” Julian commands. “I’m not going to let you shut down on me. Talk to me. What are you thinking about?”
“My mom,” I whisper, hugging the throw pillow. She's the only thing that's been on my mind for hours. “She babied that house, and now it’s gone. The only thing I had left of my parents is gone. God, I miss her.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s been four years. Isn’t time supposed to heal wounds or some kind of garbage like that?”
Julian settles next to me on the couch and pulls my feet across his lap. “My mom’s been dead for over ten years, and I still miss her every day. I’m sorry.” He squeezes my foot. “I wish I knew what to tell you, but I don’t. Missing your mom isn’t the type of pain that goes away. It just dulls over time and becomes a part of you. And when shit like this happens, it’s like you start the mourning process all over again.”
“Do you ever feel like, if she was still here, some things would have never happened? It’s a silly thing to think,” I say, not giving him a chance to answer me. “But there are some days, especially days like today, that I’m convinced if my mom was still here that the bad things would have never even happened. And if they did, she would know what to say to make it go away. She always knew what to say. What to do.” I look at Julian and notice the sad lines around his eyes. He gets how I’m feeling, but he doesn’t get her. No matter how much we’ve talked, my parents have always been this off-limits topic. There’s no way for him to understand the magnitude of this woman I suddenly can’t stop talking about. “Barbara.” I cup his cheek. “That was my mother’s name. Barbara Monroe.”
He turns his head slightly and kisses the inside of my palm. “Tell me,” he whispers.
So I do. I drop my hand and stare off into the distance, trying to find a place of comfort and recite the things I can say that won’t make my heart split in two.
“My dad always called her Barbie because she was tall, blonde, and perfect. She was my best friend. For years, she was my only friend.” I look down, thinking about high school. Before Hope, when Friday nights came, it was rare for me to have somewhere to go or someone to hang out with. But my mom, she was always there. Always smiling. Always trying to show me the good in the world that she saw, even when I refused to. “She was a painter and could see beauty in anyone and anything. She had a way of looking at things, and she understood without ever being judgmental.” People would look at us and their eyes would hold questions they didn’t have the balls to come out and ask. But my mom got it—even if she was hurt by it herself.
“Would she have liked me?”
“Yes,” I answer without having to think about it. “I mean, I definitely wouldn’t have told her all the things you were into, but she would have liked you because I do.”
“What about your dad?” He moves my feet off his lap to stretch out behind me on the couch. Squeezing my middle, he drops a kiss on the back of my neck. “Keep talking. What was your dad like?”
“I never had a ‘serious’ boyfriend before you,” I admit. “But he never liked anyone Blaire brought home, so he would have probably hated you just the same. He was rugged. Sweet and soft with us, but people knew not to cross him. He called her his beauty and she called him her beast. I used to think they were so cheesy.”
“That’s nice.” He grabs my hand and keeps a hold on it. “I don’t ever really remember my parents being together, but my dad was in my life. Not all the time, but he was around enough for me to know who he was. We’re cool now though.”
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
Smiling, he squeezes my hand. “When I went to California.”
“Seems like a lot happened on that trip.”
“Yeah.”
A silence lulls and I sigh, knowing the conversation is heading toward a loop around to the real matters at hand.
“Do me a favor.” Julian clears his throat and turns us around on the couch so we’re facing each other. “Take a couple days off. Clear your head. Obviously, you know you won’t lose your job if you need some time off, and not just because…” He gestures between the two of us. As if I would give a shit right now if people thought I was getting perks because I was screwing the boss. “Honestly, you don't even need to go back to work if you don’t want to. You know I got you.”
“I'll take some time off,” I compromise.
“And you’ll stay here.”
“And I’ll stay here with you.”
He lifts his hips off the couch and slides his wallet out of his back pocket. He pulls out the same familiar black card from the Derby and hands it to me. “And you’ll get whatever you need without arguing?”
“I’ll buy some things.”
“Clothing optional of course.”
I crack my first real smile from the past twelve plus hours, his intended goal, I’m sure. And even though a lot has happened in the past few months, this is the first time I actually wonder where would I be without him?<
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Then it hits me.
Dead.
I wouldn’t have made it out of the fire alive.
Without Julian there, I would have probably been dead.
A few days off of work is probably exactly what I need and the last thing I need at the same time. There’s something dangerous about being alone with nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company.
So it’s after a whopping four days off, despite Julian telling me to take at least two weeks off and hinting that I should just quit, I head back to Lotus.
Barely an hour into my shift, Chantel calls me over to the bar. “Julian wants you upstairs, and yes, I called him.”
I grimace. I hadn’t told him I planned on coming in tonight. I’d hoped he was up to something else and wouldn’t see me. But I didn't bank on a tattletale. “Is he pissed?”
She shrugs and walks off, clearly not on board with me coming in today either.
“I thought you were going to take some time off,” Julian says before I even reach the top of the stairs.
“I did.”
“Two days.”
“It’s been four days actually.”
A sound pops, making me flinch. Walking closer, I realize it’s a bottle of champagne. “Someone’s jumpy,” Julian remarks and hands me a glass of champagne. “Here, have a drink with me.”
I take the glass with a smile.
“How come you didn’t tell me you were coming in tonight?” His face remains stoic.
“Last minute decision?”
“Try again.”
“I… missed you?”
“If only that were true.”
“Hey! It could be true.” It actually kind of is. I’m bored at home, but I also miss him when he’s gone. Everyone seems busy all of the sudden, and when I’m home doing nothing, I realize he’s barely home.
I walk over to the large panoramic windows, taking in the whole scene the way I imagine he does. It always feels so different being up here than it does downstairs.
“Why do you come here?” I turn to face him.
“Why do I come to the club that I own?”
“Well, yes. You come here, but you hide and barely anyone knows you exist. I’m pretty sure most of them think Rocky owns the club the way he struts around here sometimes.”
“I like it that way, to be honest.”
In that, we differ. I don’t think I would be okay with someone taking credit for my hard work, but hey, if it works for them. I turn my attention back to the main floor as someone else takes the stage. She’s beautiful, just like all the dancers. They’re all different in their own way—in height, weight, complexion—but each one is prettier than the last. At Imperial, Stretch would take some of the girls into his office where they would “audition” for him. Some were sleazy enough to do more. Here, I have no idea how the selection process works but can admit I’ve been curious about it.
“I want to ask you something that I probably don’t want to hear the answer to.”
“Then why ask me?”
“Want to hear and need to hear aren’t the same thing.”
I feel his chest against my back, and I lean into him.
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“Have you ever… you know… with any of the dancers?” I gesture around the room.
“Ever ‘you know’ what?”
“You know!” I widen my eyes and fake hump the air.
He cocks an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Have I ever fucked any of the dancers in here?”
“Fucked, or anything else.”
“Why would you ask me something like that?”
“Morbid curiosity I guess.”
He snorts and sets his drink down. “I don’t eat where I shit.”
“Good—”
“But you’re not asking me that because you’re curious. If that were the case, you would have asked me that months ago.”
I purse my lips and say nothing, unsure what he’s getting at.
“You’re asking me that ‘cause you’re assuming the answer’s going to be yes. You’re trying to get me to hurt you.”
“Why would I do that?” There’s no bite in my voice.
“For the same reasons you came into work today. To get your mind off of whatever it’s on.”
I gulp and look away, ashamed. Fuck, it’s both good and bad how well he knows me.
In my periphery, I see Julian grab a nearby remote. Music starts flowing from the speakers, soft and slow. “That little stunt is going to cost you.”
“Cost me how?” I grin.
“When we first met, I asked you if you danced.”
“I remember. You were such an asshole.”
“You weren’t my sweetheart yet then either.” He winks, settling down on the couch. “But now…”
“Now you want me to dance for you.”
“Yes, please.” He rubs his hands together.
“I, umm…” I look around. I know no one will come in here, and I know we’re alone. I also know that, if he’s expecting anything like the kind of dances the girls downstairs can deliver, he’s going to be very disappointed.
“Why are you acting so scared?”
“It’s not an act.” Though I don’t have an answer for why I’m scared either.
His eyes soften. “You know you don’t have to.”
“No, I know. I want to. I don’t want to suck.”
“You won’t. Because it’s just me.” He tilts his head back in the chair, looking everywhere but at me. I get it. He’s giving me time to decide if I want to do this, and time to find my nerve.
“What kind of dancing do you like?” I move slowly, letting my hips sway to the song. I feel silly, but I’m determined to do this for him for some reason.
Julian lifts his head and gives me a lazy smile.
My moves are awkward as shit, but the look in Julian's eyes tells me he’s into it.
Forging on, I pull my shirt over my head, locking eyes with Julian as he unbuckles his belt.
I stop. “What are you—”
“Keep going.”
I slowly take my bra off, then throw it to him. It lands on his head. We both chuckle, but it doesn’t take away from the mood.
Palming my tits, I take a few steps closer to him, then turn so my back is facing him when I pull my pants down.
By the time my clothes are off, not including my shoes, Julian’s clothes are all off too. I straddle his lap, sinking myself on his dick. We both hiss as he fills me completely.
When I think of all the other times we’ve been together, this is the moment that reminds me the most of the first time. The hot and heavy, almost rough and angry way he fucked me when I begged him not to hold back.
“Get out of your head.” He bucks into me, grunting. “Just be with me. Right here. Right now.”
He yanks my hair back, exposing my chest to him, and sucks a nipple into his mouth. He bites down hard, almost painfully.
“Oh God.” I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Stop thinking.” His breath washes over my skin as he speaks. “Just be. Just be.”
Every inch of my skin feels tight and the tingling in my stomach creeps into my curling toes.
“Come on, baby.” Julian grabs roughly at the back of my head, bringing our foreheads together. “Look at me.”
I open my eyes to stare into his.
“That’s right.” He grabs my hips, slowing me down to guide my jerky movements. My chest rises and falls with each of his strokes.
I can feel myself coming, but I feel it in a different way. My bottom lip trembles and I feel the moisture in my eyes. He feels so, so good. “Julian,” I splutter out his name, my gasp begging him to stop. He doesn’t.
It all crashes into me. My orgasm. My thoughts. The last few days.
“There it is.” He slows us down, eventually stopping altogether. “Let it out. It’s okay.” He rubs my back.
Tears, that I’d been doing everything in my power to
hold back, flow relentlessly down my cheeks. I try to apologize, but Julian holds me tighter.
“Thank you,” I say when I finally get my emotions in check. The look in his eyes tells me he understands. It’s not just for tonight, not just one thing, really. It’s the “I love you” I’m still struggling to say, but hope that he feels.
Chapter Thirty-One
“What’s that smile for?” Chantel asks me.
I school my face since I hadn’t realized I’d been smiling. It feels like weeks since I’ve had a reason to, but when Julian crosses my mind, I guess it’s just a natural reaction. Life still sucks, but for the first time in a long time, it’s not consuming me. Summer flew by in a blur of more festivals, work, and dealing with the insurance company in regards to the fire. Something I had no idea would be such a shit show. Luckily for Blaire and me, Julian had a lawyer on retainer who handled most of the red tape for us.
“Just thinking,” I answer.
“Thinking about what, your boo?”
“Something like that.”
“Thank you,” Chantel says to a guy as he walks away. Then looking at me, she adds, “No matter how slow it seems, at least these guys are good tippers.”
“Okay!” I cheer along with her and give her a high five. It’s so weird how cool we’ve become since when I first started. Next to Hope, she’s slowly becoming a good friend. It also makes working that much more fun, though these days I’m only here sporadically.
“It’s not that bad though,” I say in regards to the crowd. “The slowest day here is still more jam-packed than some of the busiest days at my old job.”
“Well, yeah, you worked at a shithole.”
“How do you know where I used to work?” I furrow my brows.
She shrugs. “Pierce.”
“But how does he know?”
She hesitates before waving a hand in the air. “Those guys talk worse than bitches.”
I narrow my eyes at her because she’s kind of full of shit right now, but that little detail is so irrelevant I don’t harp on it. “How’s that going by the way?”
“He’s on his rag right now, but you know.”
I love nights like this. There are enough people that come through for it to still be worth it, but not enough to interrupt me and Chantel shooting the shit for the night.