CHAPTER 1 - SEB
Ilieonmybed, staring up at the brown speckled ceiling, feeling like a failure. My life is one big, fucked up mess and I don’t know where to turn.
It's currently nine o’clock on a Monday morning. I have no job and I live in a shitty one-bed apartment with a questionable musty smell that lingers in the air, like the worthless person I am. If that’s not depressing enough, I share this disappointing life with my fiancée Katie, who I swear hates me. Fuck. I think I hate her too. I'm not sure why we are actually together when we never spend time with one another. She treats me with mild disdain, except when she wants to use me as her personal ATM.
I'm one bad day from a breakdown. I've nowhere to go and my life is a coffin that's losing all the oxygen.Why did I ask her to marry me?I can't actually remember the last time things were good. We've been together for four years and I thought she was my ride or die, but when my parents died two years ago, she changed, or maybe I did. I loved my folks and enjoyed a modest upbringing. Unfortunately, a drunk driver decided to rip away the only family I had, and I suppose Katie represents that memory of them. She was my rock after they died, until she wasn’t.
Not that I’m blaming myself, but I think my overwhelming grief at the time frustrated her after a while and to be fair, I pushed the few friends I had away too, so she was carrying my emotional load. It wasn’t intentional, but I didn’t know there was a time limit on grieving. If you care about someone, aren’t you supposed to stick around? So I didn't bother trying to repair my friendships. Clearly, they were never my friends if such a traumatic event in my life was too much for them.
Anyway, I didn't inherit a lot. I paid off the little debt my parents had and then used some of the remaining inheritance to support me when I lost my job. I also purchased my motorcycle to get around and of course coupled with Katie’s incessant spending, it's now all gone. Nothing to show for the life they shared and passed on to me.
On the upside, I have an interview today at a local club. Well, to be specific, it’s a cabaret and burlesque club. Not my kind of thing, but whatever. I need the money and something to occupy my mind. I'm twenty-five and have no plans for my future, just an unhappy life coming to a quick end.
I have to get this job, then hopefully after a couple of months, I can dump Katie and leave, start again. Speaking of Katie, there are several missed calls and a couple of texts from her. What a surprise, she’s out with friends again. How the hell does she pay for all this shit?
It suddenly hits me and I dash towards the kitchen and open the old coffee tin I hid behind the water heater. That fucking cunt. I bend down over the kitchen countertop and bury my face in my hands and try to stave off the tears. I had been hiding money for the past month. I’d only managed to squirrel away $90, but that was to make sure she didn't spend it all so we'd have enough for food for a bit, or at least enough to pay for the water bill.
She's taken it all.
My vision blurs and the urge to just end the bitch is overwhelming. She has bled every last bit of hope and love out of me. But I'm too chickenshit to end it now and I can't summon the energy to deal with the fallout. Plus, as pathetic as it sounds, at least I'm not totally alone.
Shaking my thoughts away, I get a slight whiff of the stink in my armpits. It’s probably best to shower so I don't offend my interviewer. I step into the small as shit shower cubicle where I can hardly move my arms, and let the hot water drown away my problems for now. My mind shifts back to Katie. Rationally I know I need to end it, but the stress of that conversation shuts me down. No, I need a plan and that plan is to get a job, get some money behind me and walk out that door for good.
The water loses its heat so I leave the cubicle and dry myself down quickly before choosing what to wear for the interview. I have thirty minutes to be ready and out the door. I can’t be bothered to be fussy. It’s only a bar job and the guy seemed cool, even if he is as intimidating as fuck. The bar is owned by the renowned Kozlov brothers. I've only been introduced to Lev, who I'm meeting again today. He has an older brother, Dima, but I have never seen him around. If the rumors are true, then I need to ignore what I see and mind my business. Those crazy fuckers hold a lot of power over this city, so if I do my job and speak when spoken to, I should be fine. That's my plan anyway.
I kinda envy people like the Kozlov brothers. To have the freedom to say fuck the world. To never worry about if you’ll have enough food for the week. No guilt over killing anyone who pisses you off. To instill that kind of fear in people … sounds like a rush.
I go with my plain black jeans, a white V-neck T-shirt, black leather jacket and combat boots. I rub my fingers through my messy black hair. I take a moment to admire myself in the mirror and honestly, my appearance is the only positive thing I feel about myself.
One thing I insist that I do for myself is look after my body, so I work out as much as I can and even though I’m shit poor, I put the effort in. Got my charity-shop dumbbells and that's all I need. Living in the shitty part of the city means it’s every fucker for himself and that keeps me motivated. I hate living in the city as it’s full of negative feelings for me after what happened to my parents, but it’s home. Grinston isn’t the biggest place on the East Coast and while it’s pretty decent for the most part, I just want out of this neighborhood.
Leaving the apartment, I welcome the slight breeze on this gorgeous spring day. I get onto my motorcycle, my one pride and joy that I will never part with. Me and my dad used to love refurbishing bikes, so this feels like having a part of him with me. Not long after my parents died, my dad’s bike collection was stolen from their house. It was clear that someone knew what had happened and took the opportunity to make money off my loss.
It was all I had left of him.
I admire my shiny black bike. It's still the most beautiful thing ever and I shit you not, I’d marry it if I could. I'd rather lose my apartment than my bike. It's the only bit of freedom I have. Escaping the world to ride around endlessly is my comfort and a therapist rolled into one.
Finally, I rev my baby up, put my helmet on and take off down the street towards Starlight, the club that I hope will give me a job. How nice would that be? No more stress, money in the bank and the confidence to start over.
I make it to Starlight in twenty minutes and park on the street. Hmm, not much parking in this area of town so again, the bike comes in handy. From the outside, the club doesn't look like much. Blacked-out windows, double doors, and just a plain sign with its name above the entrance. Gives the impression there’s danger lurking behind these walls, but I can't bring myself to give a shit at this moment, so I pull up my big boy pants and walk into the club. Fake it ‘til you make it!
First thing I see are the excessively ostentatious chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. There’s a small waiting area at the entrance with a 1920’s vibe, which then opens up into a huge and opulent room. The walls are blood red. There are black velvet seats, and every table has a little lamp in the middle. The main bar runs down the entire right-hand side of the room, and tables fill the center space with booths lining the left wall. At the end of the room is a huge stage with long red curtains that are currently draped closed. The floor of the stage is shiny black with LED lights that run around the entire edge of the stage. This place looks classy as fuck, and I’ve come in looking like a fucking drifter.
A door creaks open behind the bar where Lev, one of the owners, strolls out. He looks around my age, but he has a vicious demeanor. His eyes are creepy like a hawk’s, with a sharp jaw and jet-black hair cut in a military style that screams sadistic fucker. His sharp eyes focus on me as he comes around the bar and offers his hand.
“Seb, great to see you again. Let's take a seat so we can go over a few questions. Good for you?”
I shake his hand and nod. “Yep, that's fine with me. Lead the way.”
He leads me over to one of the booths where we sit across from one another. He pauses to assess me. My palms sweat and I have a feeling he enjoys tormenting people. Is he going to interview me or torture me?
“So, I shall get straight to it. Why do you want to work here? And I want honest answers, not bullshit rehearsed answers. I need honesty from my employees. Trust is the most important thing for us here, so with that in mind, the floor is yours.”
I clear my throat and panic as I come up with what to say. Oh what the fuck, I may as well just lay it out. That’s what he said he wants. “Well, I lost my last job because I fought with the boss when he tried to get away with not paying me. I’m poor as fuck, my apartment stinks of damp, I have only ever worked in bars so it limits my options, and the bottom line is I need the money.” I refuse to break eye contact with him as he sits there watching me, taking in everything I've just said.
A slow smile spreads onto his face and I get the feeling I have passed some bullshitter test.
“Good enough for me. Here is what will happen. I'll give you a one week trial. You will work Tuesday through Saturday and you can start tomorrow. Be here by five pm and I will get our bar manager, Jess, to go through the basics with you. If you come with me to the back, you can find a uniform that will fit. We expect you to look smart and sharp, no messy hair and no sneakers. This club has a certain kind of clientele who love to spend money and we need our staff looking their best. Any questions?”
