She was going to do it tonight.
She was going to end it.
It had taken her months to decide how, and she finally had a way that wouldn’t hurt much.
A song played in the back, the beats loud. She didn’t know the song, just moved her body in time with the beat on the stage, the leather chafing against her skin but still unable to wake her from her slumber. That’s how she felt, like she was sleeping, going through the motions, and one day, she would simply wake up and all of it would be a bad dream.
For months, she had been like that. Months of being confined to a room until her captors had realized she was useless, that whatever lure they believed she held she didn’t. She wasn’t leverage, just dead weight, and they finally relocated her again. Now, she danced on the stage at a club she didn't know, and lived in one of the rooms above the the building alone.
But something had changed.
She was scared of being near people now.
Now, after being confined in one small, dark room for so long with nothing but herself, she was scared of being around people. Just being in the club had her sweating and shaking too much. Dancing was only possible if she closed her eyes and made herself believe she was alone. Song after song changed. People cheered and jeered from below, making her open her eyes, but she saw no one, just moving on autopilot, looking at the neon sign above the main door, focusing on it.
‘Where the demons come to play.’
She didn’t disagree with that. Demons, every single one of them. And she was finally going to escape from this hell.
Her shift passed without incident, only her feet hurting, reminding her she was still in her body. A sheen of sweat marred her face, a face that looked haunted, the choppy haircut she had given it so many weeks ago making it more so. She hated her hair, her skin, her flesh, every single part of herself. Sometime in between, her indifference toward her body had shifted again into loathing. She had thought of cutting herself, but somehow, the pain still had the power to scare her.
Shaking off her thoughts, she got down from the stage at the end of her shift and headed to the backroom, breathing through her mouth to not let all the people around her overwhelm her, focusing on where her locker was with her change of clothes. She had something else there too.
Thankfully, without incident, she reached, opening the locker after she checked that the coast was clear. She looked at the small sachets of blue powder she had stolen from some of the tables over a few days. Four packets. The first time they had drugged her, they had used only one. She was going to use all of them and make herself high while her heart gave out.
A twinge of guilt moved through her, for the one soul she would leave behind, but she shook her head. She was not worth knowing. It was for the best.
Pocketing the bags, she shut the locker and moved through the sidelines of the lounge area, toward the fire exit that led up to the rooms.
She avoided looking at anyone, but glanced up occasionally to check if her path was clear.
“Hey, Lyla!”
Body freezing, she turned to see one of the servers hand her a tray full of drinks.
“Mindy sprained her ankle. Take this up to Table 4 in the VIP area.”
Fuck. Okay, she could do this.
Giving a nod, she balanced the tray in clammy hands and headed to the special section cordoned off for special guests, focusing on one step at a time, the sachets burning a hole in her shorts.
This club was more elite than all the others she’d been in, so it had a larger clientele that was top of the crème. Climbing the low steps lit by neon lights, she walked over to the fourth table from the back, her steps coming to a halt as she took in the group of men and women sitting at the table—three couples and one man, and not one of them looking like they fit in this part of the world. Well, no one except the giant man with an eye patch. He looked like he’d fit right in.
“You don’t get it!” one of the women, a brunette with glasses, exclaimed loudly, glaring at the man beside her who was looking down at the tablet she was showing him. “How can you not see this?”
Another woman, a beautiful modelesque stunner, just looked at them with visible amusement, sitting in the crook of an arm belonging to a well-dressed man in a suit. “Even I didn’t the first time. Not everyone has your eye for detail, Morana.”
Such a pretty name.
The eye-patch man sat opposite them, a woman with blue hair close to his side. "He sent it to me last week. He's been after Hector harder than we have."
"I wonder why," the brunette with glasses mused out. "It's the first time I'm sensing some kind of stakes in this for him."