ONE
NEVEAH
“Come on, Nevaeh,”my best friend whines as she pulls me along. The shoulders bumping into my small frame have me stumbling down the sidewalk as we walk toward The Warehouse. According to Blaire, it’s the happening place in Atlantic City, and everybody who’s anybody comes here.
Blaire swears it’ll be an experience of a lifetime and, even though I gave her a hard time about coming here tonight, secretly her words have my adrenaline pumping. I’m both nervous and excited to be here. On one hand, I can’t wait to experience a club for the first time. I’ve seen them on shows and read about them in books, but I’ve never had the guts to experience one for myself. The bright lights, the thumping music, the sweaty bodies gyrating against one another.
On the other hand, I’m freaking the heck out. Because… the bright lights, the thumping music, the sweaty bodies gyrating against one another isn’t who I am. Well, at least not the me everybody knows, and definitely not the me my mother expects me to be. On the inside, however, that small piece of me that has been hiding away my entire life is dying to get out and shake what my momma gave me. And that scares me to death. Because if my mom knew I was thinking about shaking anything, she’d probably lock me up and douse me in holy water before having the priest perform an exorcism on me.
As we get closer, the bass of the music gets louder, telling me we’re almost to our destination. With every step I take, my heart beats a little harder and a whole lot faster against my chest. Even in the chill of the night, my palms begin to sweat. I’m in a constant battle, torn within myself. Two parts that make up one whole. The first half of me wants to please my parents, live my life according to the Bible and their expectations. The other half wants to be set loose and be let free to live my life according to me.
To most people, this is just a night out. They’ll walk into the club and drink, dance, and have a good time. But for me, it’s more complicated than that. Something in me is screaming that when I walk through the doors of this club, there’ll be no turning back. I’ve lived my entire twenty-four years of life without giving into temptation, and I’m petrified that once I do this, I’ll no longer be able to live my life ignoring my baser instincts.
It’s like when you’re little and you have your first taste of chocolate cake. Until you’ve tried it, you have no idea what you’ve been missing. But once you take that first bite, there’s no going back. You can’t un-try it or un-taste it. Your brain will always recognize and crave that sweet, chocolatey goodness. This newfound freedomis my chocolate cake. I’m already craving it, and I haven’t even tried it yet.
Walking down the sidewalk, hand in hand with Blaire, I glance down at myself once more as I remember what I looked like when I stood in front of my floor-length mirror tonight before we left. Warm brown hair falling in waves around my face and down my back. Makeup done to perfection with just enough mascara to make my brown eyes pop, a pinch of blush to give my naturally tanned skin a soft glow, and a smidge of lip gloss to make my lips shine. Staring back at my reflection, I could see on my body a beautiful white off the shoulder, knee-length dress. The outfit complete with too tall but gorgeous white patent leather Christian Louboutin pumps I can barely walk in.
What couldn’t be seen in that mirror, however, is that behind the flawless makeup my best friend insisted on putting on me, and under the sexy dress and heels she lent me, is a scared and insecure woman who has spent too many years hiding under God, inside the Bible, and behind her parents. What couldn’t be seen is that beyond all the makeup and expensive clothes is a woman fighting a losing battle. And I say losing, because the moment I walk into this club, I’m going to lose a piece of me, the part I have longed to lose but at the same time fear losing. The part my mom holds onto with a firm grip like it’s her lifeline. But to me, it’s a noose slowly tightening around my neck, threatening to choke the life out of me.
“Now listen, Nevaeh,” Blaire says, slowing down to keep pace with me. “Once we get in there, you’re going to let go and enjoy your birthday.” She looks down at me struggling in my heels and throws her head back inlaughter.
“What? The last thing I need is to bust my butt on the sidewalk.”
She laughs some more. “It’s freezing out here! I need to get my party on!”
Cautiously, I pick up my pace, focusing on not falling. “Yeah, well, if I break my leg, I won’t be getting any partying on.”
Blaire looks down again and giggles. “If I could, I would carry you. I’d say you should take your heels off, but God knows what’s on this sidewalk.” She scrunches her nose up in disgust.
Ever since the first day of kindergarten, when Billy Cross pushed me down in the lunchroom, spilling my chocolate milk all over me, and Blaire came to my defense, stealing his chocolate milk in response, we’ve been attached at the hip—aside from the few years we went to separate colleges.
After college, Blaire and I both took teaching jobs in our hometown of Pleasantville. While Blaire and I both applied to public and private schools, she ended up accepting a position at the public elementary school, while I ended up teaching third grade at St. Juliana’s instead—after my mother guilted me into it. It’s not that I favored public over private. I just craved a break from my mom. And I knew if I accepted the position at the same church she works for, I would never get that break.
After I gave in on the teaching position, I made the decision to move out of my parents’ house. My mom argued tooth and nail, but it had to be done. She got her way with my education and job, but I wasn’t budging on my living situation. I needed space to find myself, and I knew it couldn’t be done while living under my parents’ roof. It’s been two years since I moved out and, while I’ve done a lot of soul searching, I haven’t exactly found much—at least not anythingworth mentioning.
Our two-bedroom condo isn’t huge, but it’s homey and in a nice development fifteen minutes from Atlantic City and the beach. I love our home.
“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” I admit excitedly once we make our way to the back of the line.
Blaire shakes her head playfully, her light blond hair swooshing back and forth. It’s silky and pin straight and looks almost white from the sun. “I can’t believe it’s taken me two years to get you to go! We’re going to have so much fun.”
Up until today, Blaire has been my only defiance against my mother. Growing up, she would get bored easily and think of ways to cause mischief, taking me along for the ride—hence our little birthday field trip to this club.
My purse vibrates, and I pull my phone out. It’s a text from my brother letting me know he won’t be able to make it out for my birthday. It’s probably for the best since he would freak if he knew where Blaire ended up taking me. I had told him we were going out to dinner. In my defense, I had no idea Blaire’s real intentions.
I shoot him back a text, letting him know it’s okay and I’ll see him soon.
While my brother and I are close, our personalities and lives are like day and night. After he was kicked out of the private school we attended, he was sent to public school. Once he turned eighteen and graduated, he moved out, joined the police academy, and spent half his earnings getting tattoos all over his body—leaving me the only child living under our parents’ roof.
Sometimes I think they’re trying to mold me into what theycouldn’t mold my brother into and, out of fear of me rebelling like he did, they keep me on lockdown twice as hard. To be fair, it’s more my mom than my dad. He just doesn’t go against anything she says. He may wear the pants in their marriage, but she’s clearly the one in charge of the zipper. If you catch my drift…
We make our way up the line and, once we’re granted access, walk down the dark hallway leading to the main floor. When we get to the end, the room opens, and the sight in front of me has me stopping in my tracks. Hypnotic music is pumping through the walls and speakers, and bright lights are shining down on the sleek bar top and dance floor. I smile to myself as I watch all the sweaty bodies grind on each other. This is just what I pictured a club would look like, and it’s exactly why I’ve stayed away. This place screams sex and sin and pleasure. All of which I have no business indulging in but secretly desire.
“What do you think?” Blaire yells over the music.
“I think it’s amazing!”
Blaire grabs my hand, and we make our way to a somewhat less crowded area of the dance floor. Ariana Grande’s voice surrounds us as we get lost in the music and, for the first time, as I dance with my best friend, I almost feel free.
