Vivid Lies

by Alyne Robers

  Straightening, I twirl around and hold the pole in front of them. I bend over, giving them a view of my ass and their calls drown out my music. Adrenaline rushes my veins as I spin myself around the pole. My boots hit the floor and I smile when I don't fall.

  Feeling the power, I move like I practiced. I tease them. I flash them. I make them want me.

  I spin and dance as though I have done it a thousand times before.

  The leather jacket hits the floor, landing with the dirty paper money. I'm relieved to have the weight off, and I cool down. I'm more exposed to the floor than I have ever been since I started working here. Strangers have never seen so much of my body before.

  Working the crowd near the stage, I let them touch the boots and slip bills into my thong. Bouncers hover nearby, ready to pull off any touchy ones.

  I swallow my nerves and drop the bra slightly later than I had choreographed.

  They love it.

  More money hits the floor and I prance by it all to back the pole.

  My hands are sweaty as I grab pole high and spin around. Locking my ankles together, my legs hold me up as I drop backward. Upside down, I hold the bottom of the pole and my back arches. My bare chest is facing the audience but I close my eyes as blood rushes to my head. The boots make it hard to feel my grip.

  Panic sets in as my ankles break apart. I tumble down the ground and nearly smash my face.

  I still, face down on the stage. My sweaty body is sticking to the floor.

  The room goes dead silent.

  The blood rushes back to my legs and I scramble to my knees. I look back at the dropped jaws and wide eyes.

  I don't even bother to grab my tips before pushing to my feet and rushing off the stage. I slam through the door to the dressing room and grab a robe to cover myself. At my vanity, I bury my red face in my hands.

  That was the single most embarrassing moment of my life.

  I fight tears when I hear the music change. Candy quietly comes into the room and places my discarded clothes in front of me. My tips are neatly stacked on top.

  "It happens," she says, meeting my eyes in the mirror.

  "Not to you," I mumble, on the verge of crying.

  She laughs and sits on the stool next to me.

  "My first dance actually went perfectly. My second was a disaster. I ran for the top, jumped and missed."

  I stare at her with wide eyes. I've never seen Candy be anything less than amazing. She must have been doing this a long time, but with all the makeup and wigs, it's hard to tell her age.

  "Yep. I flew through the air and landed in the crowd. Gave a guy a black eye in the process."

  I can't help it and start laughing. Candy laughs too and shakes her head.

  "We all have a mistake when we start. Don't be too hard on yourself, kid."

  She winks at me and leaves me alone in the dressing room. I stare back at myself in the mirror. My hair is a mess, my eyeliner is smeared and I'm still shaking with nerves.

  I sulk until more girls enter the dressing room. Some look at me and laugh while others look at me with pity. Bitches. I can't take it anymore.

  I dress quickly, pulling leggings and a tank top over the outfit I wore on stage. I put the boots that were my downfall back on and take the jacket with me out the back door.

  It's a little after midnight when I pull into our underground garage. I park in our designated spot and shut off the car.

  "Fuck!" I smack the steering wheel.

  Tonight was my night to prove to someone that I'm good at something. I was supposed to be awesome here. Not one half of Brooklyn and London. I was supposed to earn my spot on the stage.

  Instead, I made a fool of myself. I'll be lucky if they let me up there again anytime soon.

  I should have practiced more. Probably should have taken dance classes as a kid or something. Ran away to join the circus. Who knows what kind of training Candy has?

  I grab my bag and get out of the car, slamming the door behind me. The garage is cool and empty. My heels echo as I walk across the cement.

  I'm passing the dumpsters when I notice the pole. Walking over to it, I see it's steel and probably needs painting. There used to be a sign attached to the top at some point.

  I drop my bag and unzip my boots, kicking them to the side. I clench my jaw and rush the pole, locking my ankles at the top as I spin and drop backwards. Upside down, I hold my breath and wait to fall like I just did at the club.

  My body holds and slowly rotates as planned. My back arches and I grab the bottom. I slowly drop one leg back down to the ground, then the other. Perfect.

  I do it again. And again.

  London and I fought too hard to get where we are now. I may be a stripper, but it's what I want. This is my version of freedom and I'll be damned if I'll let that go. I think about my sister who gave it all up, too. Together we need to make it or it will all be for nothing. He wins if I give in.

  I can't give in. I keep trying for London. I keep trying for me.

  My hands are raw and I start to shiver from the cold but I don't stop. I don't know how long I do the move that I failed on stage, but I keep going until my ankles bruise.

  Clapping echoes as I stand back up from another move. A shadowed figure comes toward me and into the dim light from the exit sign.

  "I knew you could do it," Kane says, stopping a few in front of me.

  "You scared the shit out of me," I hiss with my hand over my racing heart.

  "Good. You shouldn't be down here alone this late."

  "I didn't think anyone was around. I just wanted to try something."

  Kane runs his hand over the pole as he looks down at me. I pick up the jacket and put my boots back on.

  "Are you okay?" he asks. "Did it hurt?"

  "You saw?" My face heats with embarrassment.

  He just nods and grabs my bags from the ground.

  "I'm fine. Just need some more practice."

  Silently, we leave the garage and get on the elevator together. In the light of the lobby, I see water dripping down Kane's jacket and his hair is wet.

  "Why are you wet?" I ask.

  "It's coming down pretty hard out there," he says, running his hand through his wet hair.

  To prove his point, a crack of thunder sounds and the lights flicker.

  "Shit." I rush to the elevator and hit the button. When the doors don't immediately open, I turn for the stairs.

  "Brooklyn? Are you okay?"

  "My sister. She's terrified of storms," I say as I run up the stairs.

  London has been scared of storms since we were in middle school. Back home, a fierce thunderstorm rolled in one night. The thunder and lightning shook the whole house. We waited all night, huddled under the stairs for our dad to get home.

  He wrapped his car around a tree that night on his way home from the bar. It was a long night of fear and worry. London freaks out with every storm since then.

  I run up the four flights, praying my boots won't let me down again tonight. When I get to our door I turn the knob, but it's locked.

  "London, open the door," I shout as I smack the door harder. "Fuck."

  "Here."

  Keys are forced into my hand and I look up at Kane in relief. He hands me my bags and I unlock the door.

  "Thank you," I whisper before I close the door and rush to my sister's room.

  FIVE

  London

  I know I'm dreaming, but I can't make myself wake up.

  My throat burns. My eyes burn. My skin burns. Smoke surrounds me in a red and orange hue. I'm screaming but the smoke chokes the sound.

  I crawl on the floor, searching. I can't stop looking. I won't leave without finding her.

  My chest aches with the need for air. The smell of my childhood home burning fills my lungs instead of the oxygen I desperately need. The room is so hot. I feel my skin burning like when I've been in the sun for too long.

  Every step forward hurts. I keep pushing forward becaus
e my other half is still here somewhere. I'm so scared but I'm more scared of never finding her.

  I feel like I'm being split in half. Torn apart and scattered into pieces.

  Tears drip down my cheeks but they dry instantly in the heat. I keep screaming but I can only hear the crackling and hissing of the walls.

  My head spins and the colors of red and orange blur together. The colors swirl and mix. Orange, yellow, red, and black.

  A scream finally rips from me and I gasp fresh air.

  "London," Brooklyn says in my ear as her arms wrap around my chest.

  "Shit," I pant. The relief rushing through me is welcome and overwhelming.

  "Just a dream," she whispers, hugging me tightly.

  We fall back down to my bed as my heart pounds in my chest. I'm breathing heavily like I had been holding my breath. Or in a smoke filled house.

  "Why are you in my bed?" I ask when I can breathe again.

  "There was a storm last night. I came in after work."

  I vaguely remember Brooklyn crawling in with me last night. I took a sleeping pill in an attempt to sleep through the storm, but I still kept waking up to the thunder.

  I sigh, sick of always needing Brooklyn to hold me together.

  "Go back to bed," I say as I get up. She probably got in only hours ago.

  In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face. My eyes burn from the lack of sleep and they look bloodshot. My hair is a wild mess but I can't bring myself to do a damn thing about it right now. I feel dead on my feet despite spending all night at home.

  I shuffle into the kitchen for coffee and hear muffled voices in the hall. It only takes a few seconds to recognize one of the voices. Of course he would be here.

  I swing open the door and find Miles in the hallway. He's not alone.

  Kane is glaring at him as they stand chest to chest. They turn to stare at me when they notice me.

  "Brooklyn?" Kane asks.

  "London?" Miles says at the same time. "Right?"

  Miles brushes the madness of my hair out my eyes to get a good look at my face. I can tell he isn't sure who I am.

  Brooklyn and I never made any effort to look different from each other. We could have colored or cut our hair, but we never did. Part of it was because we liked looking identical. We chose other ways to stand out from each other. If people wanted to tell us apart, they needed to actually know us. They couldn’t say 'the one with the short hair'. They’d say the quiet one, or the dancer. London or Brooklyn.

  "What is going on?" I ask, my voice raspy.

  "Found this guy sleeping outside your door," Kane says. His eyes run up my bare legs, over my thin shirt and back up to my face. "You know him?"

  I nod. I'm not surprised to find Miles here. It's Kane whom I'm shocked to see.

  "You know this guy?" Miles is looking between us, confused and angry. His eyes take the same path as Kane's did. "You should go inside."

  "I did a shoot with him, and I would be inside if you two weren't arguing in the hallway like kids," I snap.

  "I came last night in the storm," Miles says, trying to guide me back inside. "You didn't hear me knocking so I waited. And this asshole starts giving me shit for being here."

  "You look like some damn creeper waiting outside their apartment."

  Kane and Miles glare at each other, both looking ready to throw punches.

  "How do you know Brooklyn? What are you doing here?" I ask Kane, leaning around Miles.

  "Met her at Stephanie's. I live down the hall."

  Of course he would be the guy Brooklyn danced for. I feel stupid that I even thought for a second that he was here for me. Now I remember why he looked so familiar when I saw him on the beach. I just about plowed him over in a rush as he got off the elevator that morning.

  "Great, so he's seen you almost naked," Miles mumbles. "Inside please."

  "I'm London," I snap, irritated at being bossed around. "He saw Brooklyn almost naked. Not me."

  "I know who the fuck you are," Miles growls and I freeze to stare at him.

  Miles has never raised his voice at me in all our disagreements. He is understanding, calm, and easy going. Now, he is aggravated, possessive, and losing his patience with me. The soothing blue I always saw him as was shifting to a dark green. Still beautiful but unknown, like a dark forest.

  "Let go of her," Kane interrupts. His large frame comes closer, making me feel trapped and tiny between the two men.

  The tension in the hallway is thick and heavy. I force a smile and put a hand on Miles's chest to calm him. It seems to work because I feel the muscles under my hand relax.

  "Thank you, Kane, but I'm okay. He's a friend," I tell him, looking up into his dark eyes.

  Kane's jaw ticks as he looks between me and Miles, trying to read us both. I can finally breathe when he takes a slow step back.

  "You sure?" he asks me again, watching Miles closely.

  "Yes. Thank you. See ya around."

  I shove Miles back into my apartment, shutting Kane out in the hall. He has the decency to look slightly guilty when I glare at him.

  "What the hell was that all about?" I hiss quietly, not wanting to wake Brooklyn.

  "That guy was an asshole. He has no business with you."

  I run my fingers through my hair and realize just how knotted it really is. My fingers get caught and I'm sure it looks like one of those cheap wigs you get for Halloween that never get untangled.

  "He knows Brooklyn, Miles. And he's a neighbor. You didn't need to go all caveman."

  "The hell I didn't," he almost shouts. "Did you see the way he looked at you?"

  "No," I deadpan. "You're acting crazy."

  Miles mumbles something under his breath and starts to pace. I shuffle awkwardly and watch him helplessly. The last time I saw him this worked up, it was our last night in Tennessee.

  "Miles?"

  He stops and meets my eyes immediately. I smile at the familiar warmth I see in them.

  My heart starts to race when I see them darken.

  My heart stops when he starts toward me.

  My heart explodes when he grabs my face and his lips touch mine.

  There's an assault on my senses. Underneath the shock and panic, there's comfort and excitement. His scent wraps around me and I'm reminded of all the good things about home.

  The humid summer nights spent staring up at the stars. The whispered stories shared in the tree house. The hours of watching movies when we didn't want to go back home. Unbreakable bonds cemented in bad times and good.

  It's all Miles. He is everything good in our life. I feel it in his warmth and taste it from his mouth.

  His hands are framing my face as he gently tastes my lips. The pressure is light but I feel it in every cell of my body. I sink into him and he sighs into my mouth.

  For the second time in just an hour, I feel like I'm on fire. This burn is very different though. Heat zips through my body, making my lips tingle and my head hazy.

  I open my mouth and Miles takes his chance, deepening our kiss into something far beyond our simple friendship. The way his tongue tangles with mine isn't friendly. His hands move and fist my hair, pulling my head back. I whimper, feeling myself melt into him. I feel like I am caught in the flames and turning into a puddle as though I'm made of wax.

  When I press harder into his body, Miles pulls away. His breathing is heavy and his eyes are so dark I can barely see the pupils. I lick my sensitive lips, looking at his that glisten from my mouth.

  "You kissed me," I whisper, blurting the first thing that comes to my mind. My cheeks flame immediately.

  "I did."

  Miles pulls away as if he needs the distance to think or control himself.

  "I'm so sorry. I don't know why I did that," he says, still backing away.

  Miles rubs his face roughly and I touch my lips. They feel full, like all the blood rushed to them, wanting some of the sensations he was giving me. My brain is in shock, unable to process what
just happened.

  "Don't overthink," he tells me, panicking at my stunned silence. He comes back to me and pulls me against his chest. "We don't have to change."

  "I don't want to change." A fear wraps around my heart when I think about Miles no longer in my life.

  "I won't lose you." The words are whispered in my hair.

  "Never."

  Miles kisses the top of my head and lets me go, pushing me away from him slightly for good measure.

  "I should go," he says. "Just stay away from that guy. Please. Please tell Brooklyn to stay away."

  I laugh softly. "You know damn well I can't tell her to do anything."

  "Please try," he pleads. I soften at the desperation on his face.

  "I'll try." I won't.

  Miles pulls the door open and checks the hall before looking back at me.

  "I'm sorry about that. I didn't think. Let's just forget that happened."

  Before I can respond, he's gone. I stare at the closed door with its chipped white paint covering what was once a mustard color. I feel like that door. Slapping a fresh coat of paint over it doesn't change what's underneath.

  I wonder how everything got flipped over in just one morning.

  SIX

  Brooklyn

  Jealousy can eat away at your soul. It's a sin I'm far too familiar with. Growing up, it was just another feeling. Like hunger, boredom, or happiness. I felt like I was drowning in it sometimes.

  I would watch Miles with his mom and wonder why I couldn't have a mom, too. The kids with parents at the choir concerts or parent conferences had something I didn't. I wished I had parents who cared. Someone who cared enough to put me in dance lessons or buy London her first camera.

  Jealousy put up a white picket fence around me, keeping those who had it all out. I hated that black feeling that rested deep inside me.

  At some point we realized no one was going to give us the things we wished for. Wishes were called wishes for a reason. They were dreams and wants made of fairy dust. Our wants and aspirations were the things we could give to ourselves. I felt like every smile and achievement was fought for. Two little girls shouldn't have needed to fight so hard.