“Fucked your brains out in a strip club closet.” I snapped the compact shut.
He laughed, nervous, but I could tell he was already running the highlight reel for his friends.
I checked my phone. Two missed calls from Dad, both ignored. A text from the church group chat about tomorrow’s bake sale. No one ever called me unless they needed something or wanted to remind me not to disgrace the family name.
Tyler made a show of tucking in his shirt. “So, um, you want my number?”
I smiled at him, softer this time. I felt a flicker of guilt, the way you feel when you kick a stray dog off your porch. “Sure. Gimme your phone.”
He handed it over, fingers still trembling. I typed in my number, then deleted it as soon as he looked away. I wasn’t cruel. I was just efficient.
He hesitated at the door. “You ever want to hang out again…”
“Don’t hold your breath,” I said, not unkindly, and gave him a little wave. “Good luck out there.”
He left, glancing back once like he expected me to follow. I didn’t. Instead, I ducked into the employee bathroom, locked the door, and did a full forensic sweep in the cracked mirror. The lipstick went back in the purse, the hair got a quick brush and a spritz of vanilla body spray. I dabbed at my neck with a foundation sponge, covering up the hickey Tyler had left in a fit of freshman enthusiasm.
The necklace—Dad’s old cross, always and forever—went back on last, the cherry on top of my rehabilitation sundae.
I counted to ten, then slipped out and headed for the bar.
Heather was on shift tonight, pouring doubles for a pack of old bikers who probably still thought cocaine was the secret to happiness. She saw me coming and flashed a grin, equal parts wicked and knowing.
“Church let out early?” she asked, voice loud enough for the drunks at the end of the bar to hear.
I leaned on the counter, making sure my blouse didn’t ride up too high. “If you can believe it, yes. But I had to make a pit stop for some spiritual guidance.”
She poured me a shot without asking. “You look like you could use three.”
I tossed it back, feeling the fire chase away the aftertaste of Tyler’s cologne. “Thanks, H.”
She wiped the counter, leaned in close. “You all right?”
I shrugged. “As good as I get.”
She nodded. “You ever wanna talk about it—”
“I don’t,” I said, but she squeezed my hand before letting go.
We had an understanding. She never judged, and I never pretended I was here for the scenery.
After another shot, I paid up and left through the kitchen, dodging a soused ex-con with a tray of hot wings. The exit dumped me into the alley behind the Beaver, where the dumpsters smoked like a Greek temple sacrifice and the air tasted of cigarettes and rotting fruit.
I took a moment to breathe, head tilted up to the thin sliver of moon overhead. It was quiet out here, just the hum of cars on the interstate and the distant shriek of a woman laughing herself hoarse.
I liked it better than the silence at home.
I rechecked my phone, reread Dad’s last message. “Be home by ten. Don’t make me come looking.”
I laughed, loud and bitter, and started the walk back. The streetlights made everything look cleaner than it was. My shoes clicked on the wet asphalt, and I could see my reflection in every puddle—flawless, contrite, untouchable.
Just the way he liked me.
At the corner, I paused to light a cigarette. The first drag always hit hardest; it was the closest thing to prayer I’d known since Mom died. I watched the smoke curl up and vanish, imagined it carrying every ugly thought away with it.
I finished the cigarette, dropped it in a storm drain, and pulled my jacket tighter. As I walked, I felt the old, familiar ache settle in my chest. The one that said this was all temporary, that sooner or later the walls would close in and I’d end up just another local headline—Pastor’s Daughter Caught in Sin, or something equally poetic.
But not tonight. Tonight, I was invisible again, free to make my own mistakes. Tomorrow I’d go back to the choir, the charity bake sales, the little white lies that kept the family name out of the gutter. But right now, I was alive, and that had to count for something.
