No. Nope. No way.
I snatched my jean jacket, threw on some black pants, and slipped on my ankle boots. I didn't care that I was still sporting the I Heart Dilf's shirt and slammed the front door behind me.
I sprinted past the elevator and to the twentieth-story floor’s emergency exit. No way in hell would I confine myself to such a tight, closed-off space. I would rather be free and out of breath than trapped like a rat. It reminded me too much of being thrown into the basement as a child. Mrs. Kelley said many times that it would cleanse me of all the evil inside me if I stayed down there long enough. Apparently, the countless days and hours of being trapped were for their peace of mind, not mine.
The spiral stairs felt endless as I fled; I barely made it past the tenth-story emergency exit before I started wheezing. I was so out of breath, but I didn't stop for a second, and I sure as hell didn't stop to look behind me. The shadow's sinister smile was still fresh in my mind.
I placed my hand on the side of the wall, shifted my weight, and then quickened my pace. The loud echoes of my boots slamming against the steps ricocheted off the walls.
My left shoulder collided with another and I shrieked from the sudden contact.
A wave of nausea washed over me. The shadow's sharp, piercing gaze was the only thing that occupied my mind.
My frenzied heart was going to explode if it worked any harder than it already was.
I reluctantly turned to face whoever I collided with.
Ah. Real people. I sighed in relief.
"What the fucks is your problem?" a woman asked, snarling at me.
She was in a navy blue hoodie staring daggers at me as she passed over a needle to a gangly-looking man with greasy hair. He was slouched halfway over the railing; the stench of mouthwash and stale weed hitting me like a freight train. I would bet a hundred that their needle wasn't for insulin.
I gave them a shrug and then continued my pursuit. I didn't care to apologize. All I wanted was to get the hell away from my apartment.
I could hear a muffled fuckin psycho as I descended further down the stairs.
That woman would have stabbed me in a heartbeat if I stuck around long enough—and I wasn't going to see if that feral look in her eyes was just a front or not.
I pushed open the emergency door and avoided the parked cars and lingering eyes.
Hera's Palace was five minutes away and if I walked fast enough, I would be in the nicer part of town.
A gaudy sign embellished with silver wings laced with emerald green sparkled in the moon's afterglow.
Thank god.
I needed to be in a heavily populated area, and having a drink or two was just a bonus.
I pushed open the tinted glass door and instantly, a sweet aroma of apples with a hint of oak and spices caressed my nose. In the corner, a pianist stroked the keys effortlessly as they swayed to the music with their eyes closed. The ballad was quiet, but you could still feel the heartbreak in every note.
From the crystal chandeliers to dim lighting, I didn't expect this place to be so exclusive. It didn't help that I was severely underdressed. All the tables were occupied by people in form-fitted suits and cocktail dresses. I contemplated turning back around when they balefully glanced my way. But I wouldn’t let a few menacing stares deter me. The bar was the closest to my apartment, and I didn’t have it in me to wait in the dark for a lift to Crest’s; the place I frequented the most.
I passed a couple; the man was in a black suit with a cerulean blue tie and slicked-back hair, and the woman was in a slimming emerald dress adorned in silver jewels. Her long auburn hair rested in loose curls as she twirled a full glass of red wine. Surprisingly, it wasn’t her looking at me with discontentment, but the man. His look of disgust was palpable.
I flashed him a smile and a small wave and made damn sure he saw the I Heart Dilf’s shirt in all its glory. I caught a glimpse of a smirk appearing on the woman’s face but she quickly averted her gaze. Satisfied, I continued my walk to the bar and sat on a mahogany barstool. I hated judgmental pricks like him the most.
I chose the furthest seat from the others and waited for the bartender to notice me.
I ran my fingers through my hair and stared at the bottles of liquor. The shelf was decorated with a mirror behind it so I could see how ragged I truly looked.
My brunette hair was set up like it went through a windstorm and my golden eyes had heavy bags and smudged mascara. My cheeks flushed with color and my lips, parched. I looked exactly as I did when I broke up with Jared.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked with indifference.
“Whiskey and ginger ale.”
I needed something strong, but also something that wouldn’t upset my stomach further and this was the perfect combination.
I anxiously pulled out my hidden gold necklace in the shape of a hexagon with an engraved crescent moon from under my shirt and squeezed it in my palm.
It was like a charm that gave me strength whenever things got a little too hard to handle. It was the last gift I received from my late mother before I was thrown into the foster care system. It had a written language on it that I couldn’t comprehend but I always figured it was just something in my mother’s native tongue that translated to luck or something similar to that.
The bartender dropped the drink in front of me and I flinched.
“That will be eighteen dollars,” they said, with glazed-over eyes and a voice devoid of emotions.
I forced my jaw not to drop to the floor from shock, and reluctantly handed them my debit card to start a tab. I was definitely going to get a notification on my phone that said my balance was under $50.00.
I picked up my drink and took a sip. Relaxation enveloped me like an inviting blanket as the icy liquid warmed my stomach. My worries melted away immediately.
“Ah, you look the same as always,” a sultry voice whispered behind my ear.
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