The last day of the week went by like a blur. Not the good kind, because now I’m stuck with a headache. One I had to shove aside when I was with the girls. But they were sweet, per usual.
Their laughs, their chatter, and the way they included me made the hour we spent together feel lighter. Like maybe the day wasn’t entirely against me.
But then reality hit… again.
I had partner work with Joshua Lockhart at this place. He offered to drive both of us because he thought I’d hire someone to kill him or something. I don’t know. And after that… work.
The part of my life I dreaded most.
I worked nights at a club. Not the glamorous kind, not the safe kind. Just a place with loud music, sticky floors, and men who tipped too much for the wrong reasons.
The truth was… I got requested. A lot.
Not because I was a good waitress, though I tried to be. No, men wanted me because I was the mute one. The quiet one. The “mystery.” In their eyes, I was this silent fantasy wrapped in a short uniform dress and heels.
The girl who wouldn’t talk back.
The girl who couldn’t tell them no.
The girl they could project anything they wanted onto.
They gave me names I hated. Names that reduced me to something less than human.
‘Silent doll.’
‘Mute angel.’
‘Pretty prop.’
As if silence made me theirs to play with.
Every shift felt like walking into a cage of predators. Their eyes clung to me, slow and heavy, stripping away anything I wanted to keep for myself. And with the heels the club forced on me, the tray in my hand, the painted-on smile, I wasn’t Aurora anymore. I was prey.
Some tried to slip me extra cash with the kind of suggestion that made my skin crawl.
‘Other services,’ they’d whisper, like I was for sale. I wasn’t. I never was.
But I couldn’t yell, couldn’t cause a scene, couldn’t risk losing the job that paid too well to quit. So I stayed polite.
I smiled when I wanted to run.
I nodded when I wanted to spit.
I carried drinks, endured stares, and rode out the hours until I could finally peel myself out of that uniform and go home.
It was supposed to be flattering. The attention. The tips. The requests. That’s what the other waitresses said. But flattering was the last thing it felt like. It was suffocating. And each night, I wondered how much of myself I had to keep locking away just to survive one more shift.
I shoved my backpack over my shoulder and left my last class, trying to keep my thoughts from spiralling back to my job.
Three days a week. Friday and weekends. That’s all. I reminded myself that often enough, even when the numbers in my head didn’t make sense.
The tips alone were more than my actual monthly pay, which was absurd, yes, but it kept the rent paid and my apartment safe. Safe. That’s all I wanted.
I waited outside like he told me to, not wanting to start a pointless argument. The chill clung to the air, seeping through my sleeves as I stood by the entrance. After a few minutes, the doors opened, and there he was. Joshua.
He didn’t say anything, just walked past me with that unbothered, cool expression, leading the way toward the parking lot. My steps fell into rhythm behind his until we stopped at a black car, sleek, polished, expensive. Of course it was.
It was different to Miles’s car. His was also just as expensive, but it felt warm, it felt cosy when his voice would linger in the air.
