My shift started at midnight, which was why I was given the name Midnight Rose. None of the girls went by their real names in Club D. We all had a form of our name. In that way, we were the same as the men who frequented this place.
After the men moved toward the bar and out of my way, my feet stilled and my eyes froze on the grand staircase.
It was the focal point of the entire building, and it was something like I’d never seen before. A central set of stairs, lined by ornate carved wood and wrought iron, led to a second landing that veered off into two different paths. A stained-glass wall separated the two sides.
The railings were covered in fresh burgundy roses. The same kind I held in my hand.
The velvety roses seemed to grow from the wood, so natural there, like the iron chandeliers that held hundreds of candles and the fresco on the ceiling. The walls were made of cold, hard stone, so the roses gave the scene before me a pulse, made it seem warmer. Sometimes I felt entombed inside the walls because there was so much marble and stone.
Candlelight danced over the hundreds of petals, and I had to force my eyes away from how romantic it seemed. I didn’t want to be late for his arrival, and my visit to the tree outside had me running behind schedule.
It wasn’t a sure thing that the boss would make an appearance, but I liked to be prepared. Just like with any job, it was always good to be ready. It was hard to move, though, since the display felt meaningful somehow, but I forced myself to.
I’d done it many times before, tried to place something that felt important, but couldn’t, and I didn’t want to deal with a raging headache the entire night. Trying to remember was like exercising muscles that had gone slack after an accident that left me confined to the bed for months—which it had, both mentally and physically.
I refused to look back as I moved, not wanting to get sidetracked again, only stopping when I came to the locker room.
Some shifts were beginning, and some were ending. This was apparent with how the locker room, which looked more like an opulent powder room, bustled with some women freshening up while others cleaned out lockers for the day.
A medley of expensive perfumes lingered in the air, along with other things that were vividly feminine, like shampoos and makeup. If scents triggered memories, this was one of those rooms that would always bring back scenes of lockers slamming, women chattering with one another, and a rush of bodies either coming or going.
Most of all, it brought back the excitement I used to feel when the clock struck midnight and all the men who ran with beasts came out to feast, and I was the one who welcomed them to the table.
Not all of them, butsomeof them were natural forces that could only be described as not fit for society. It was…exhilarating to be around thesome.
If a woman wasn’t careful, thosesomewould make her breathless, like speeding down the highway on a fast bike while the entire world blurred including her, with the speed.
Yeah, not all, but definitelysome…I took a deep breath to steady my heart, and then I dug in the little pocket I had, finding my key. I opened my locker, setting the glass inside, but hesitated before I put the rose in. I held it up to my nose, inhaling its scent. As I looked up, a few of the women were watching me.
I stared back at them, lifting my eyes some, and it seemed like all at once, they started to move again.
They watched me from time to time. Not with kind eyes either. I never met a sister, or even a friend, who I could call mine—in the home or here. Not unlike school, it was cliquish, and I never fit in with any of them. A few times I tried, but I ended up realizing that enemies would be better company. At least I knew where they stood. Some of these women were great pretenders, and as soon as my back was turned, they would stick a knife in it.
Second guessing my decision to stay was not entirely because I couldn’t remember the reason why I felt like that in the first place, but because of this…you can’t sit with usmentality, especially since we’d all taken the same oath. We were not competitors, but women who all had something in common. The thread didn’t seem to matter to most of them, though. It was a competition, and one that was as vicious as the organization we worked for.
Some think dying is the worst thing that could happen to a person. I wasn’t sure about that. Some days, I was so lonely that it almost felt like a disease that slowly, constantly, ate my heart and soul. I didn’t remember feeling it so acutely before the accident, before I lost that time, those memories, but after, it rushed through my bloodstream with a vengeance.
It hurt so much that sometimes I wasn’t sure if I could find the energy to get out of bed, to move, to face another day.
None of the women approached me, or said anything that would cause a fight, but they moved past me like I didn’t fucking exist.
I was the dead among the living.
They only spoke to me when they had to. To some degree, I was a boss, and this was a business.
After setting the rose in the locker, I opened it up some, digging through a small bag I kept inside. I refreshed my lipstick, taking inventory of my appearance through the mirror stuck to the metal door. My hair was long and black with a center part. My eyes were blue. My skin had enough color to not give me a Snow White vibe, even though Lady M told me it looked like porcelain.
Even though my eyes were blue, they hid a lot of secrets. It was truly one of life's mysteries how the light could sometimes hide the dark.
My mind hid even more. The missing pieces of my life. Or maybe they were gone forever, burned up, only their ashes a reminder that once upon a time, they existed. The smell of smoke lingering long after the fire had been put out.
Maybe I was just one human-sized fucking riddle that needed to be solved.
None of this mattered, though, not then. I had a job to do.
I stood back, making sure my clothes were in order. I wore a flowing pant suit with sexy heels. We wore our own clothes, unless we worked in certain areas that required uniforms, like the bath house, or if something fancier was going on. Then I spritzed on some sweet-smelling perfume before I closed and locked my locker.
On the way out of the locker room, I kept my eyes down, sticking the key in the small pocket of my pants—but as if an invisible wall had suddenly appeared in front of me, I stopped short.
