? ? ?
We start with the house, music blasting as we clean, because she knows this is the only therapy that ever works for me. Every dish, every counter, every folded shirt scrubs away a little more of the heaviness pressing on my chest. Arina snatches the broom like it’s a mic onstage, singing so dramatically I nearly drop the mop from laughing. Her unclewalked out his room and I swear I almost saw him smile a little.
We move through the room like it’s ours again—dancing between chores, letting the bass shake the dust off everything, even me. And for the first time in days, I feel lighter, like maybe I’m not as shattered as I thought.
Just cracked… but still here.
When the house is finally spotless, we move on to the part that actually matters—us. Getting dressed is our moment of choosing ourselves, the one decision no one else gets to take from us.
Arina slips into a thin-strapped navy dress that wraps around her curves like it’s known her forever, her flats keeping it sweet even while she looks sinfully good. While I slip into my red baby tee with cheetah-print letters reading Not Yours. I don’t feel like wearing a bra today, I think I’ll let my girls get some air too. I pair it with a matching cheetah-print mini skirt, my red Tory Burch sandals finishing off my look.
We roll out in her car, windows down now that the rain finally stopped, hair whipping everywhere while we sing like the world’s not watching. The mall is always our first stop—you can never have too many clothes, and today we’re living by that rule. We drift through the racks, lifting dresses, skirts, tops, grinning at every little treasure we find.
We even drift into the lingerie store, and I pick out a few new pieces, even though they’re no longer meant for Levy, you never know who might get lucky enough to earn the view. Arina, on the other hand, grabs almost ten pairs—like she’s already got a whole lineup of people waiting to see her in them. And I wouldn’t put it past her.
With bags in each hand, we reward ourselves with ice cream, eating outside like kids who forgot how heavy life canget. We laugh at each other’s melting drips, and for a second everything feels easy.
Lastly, we head to the beach, the sky still gray but cracking open just enough for the waves to glow. We light up, passing the smoke between us, and let the wind steal a little of the weight we’ve been holding.
“Today was very much needed. Thank you girl,” I sigh, leaning back against the hood of her car, the salt air mixing with the taste of smoke in my mouth.
Arina bumps her shoulder into mine, a grin tugging at her lips. “I wasn’t about to let you rot in bed all day and night over him.”
After a few more laughs and another drag, we decide it’s time to head home. We pull into the driveway already humming with a reckless kind of energy. Tonight is awaiting—and we plan on owning every inch of it.
Inside, we scatter our new finds over our beds, the music a quiet pulse under our movements. Arina vanishes into her room, and I face myself in the mirror—the woman who deserves to feel bigger, brighter, and nothing like the small version people try to paint her as.
I slip into a white lace corset—the kind that cinches my waist tight and pushes my oversized breasts up. I pair it with tiny black booty shorts, my cheeks peeking out just enough to make them impossible to ignore.
A few of Levy’s things still haunt the room—his shirt draped over my chair, a pair of Jordans collecting dust in the corner. It’s only been a day, but they already look strange to me, relics from a version of me I barely recognize. Leftovers from a life that was never meant to stay. And I refuse to dwell on him the way I did with Jacob. I’m not letting another man take up that much space in my head. Letting Levy go feels like breathing again. Maybe the bad really does eclipse whatever good we swore we had.
I step into bright red heels that match my lipstick perfectly, bold against my skin. My curls spill down my back, gold glitter warming my lids. Arina strolls into my room in a burnt-orange corset dress hugging every curve, her tan wedges giving her that easy, untouchable confidence she never has to fake. Her waves fall soft down her back, makeup warm glowing under the light.
She grins, tilting her head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I can’t wait to see the look on your face—I’m taking us somewhere we’ve beendyingto check out.”
I smirk, the sharp click of my heel hitting the floor as I step toward her. “Hmm. Now I’m excited. Wait—where the hell are you taking me?”
She laughs, shaking her head, hair cascading over her shoulder. “Nope. I’m not ruining it. You’ll just have to wait and see.”
? ? ?
We pull into the lot and the bass hits us first—thumping through the car, crawling up my legs, vibrating like it’s calling my name.
“Bitch, no way!” I shoot upright, grabbing her arm. “This is exactly what I need.”
“Girl, you know I know,” she smirks, killing the engine. “You already know I got you… now let’s go see what kind of trouble wants to find us.”
I stare out the window speechless. We’ve joked about coming to a strip club before, imagining what it would be like. And now here we are. And honestly I can’t think of a better night than tonight.
The second we step out of the car, the atmosphere shifts. Heads turn in unison, eyes following us like we’re the main event. The sharp click of my heels echo against the pavement, Arina’s wedges keeping perfect rhythm beside me.
Colorful lights buzz overhead, glowing hot pink and deep purple, casting a sultry haze across the brick walls. The club’s name sweeps across the front in bold cursive—Teasers—its bulbs glowing brightly. A long line of cars snake through the lot, headlights flashing as groups of men lean against hoods, smoking and talking. A couple of women in glittering outfits and high heels strut toward the entrance, leaving a provocative trail of perfume behind them—sugary with a hint of smoke, warm and mind-altering as it slips through the humid night air.
The deep red double doors gleam under the glow, chrome handles catching the light. A bouncer stands like a statue beside them—arms crossed, black jacket stretched tight across his chest. A velvet rope divides the crowd from the entrance, and already, people are queuing up.
A group of guys leaning against a black Charger whistle low, cutting through the music. “Damn, shorty,” one calls out, eyes crawling over me like hands, “I know you look crazy naked. Bet you’d let a real man find out.”
Another licks his lips, grin cocky and hungry. “Them heels and that pretty mouth… don’t you worry—I know how make you want to use both.”
