Better When It Hurts

by Skye Warren

  “But I want you too, the same way I wanted you back then. Your body, your heart. The way you look after Candy. The way you take care of Mrs. Owens when you don’t have to.” His smile is half-sad, half-dark. “The way you gave yourself to me so sweetly.”

  My voice is hoarse. “That was to say I’m sorry. It’s over now.”

  He shakes his head slowly. “No, gorgeous. You gave yourself to me because you wanted this as bad as me. It’s not ending now. It’s not ending ever. It took me five goddamn years of fucking my hand, of dreaming of you, of hating you, to find my way back. And now that I’m here, I’m not letting go.”

  “It can’t work,” I say, but that’s a lie. I want it to work.

  I want him to make me be with him.

  “It will be hard. It kills me to see another man look at your body, your breasts. To watch you dance for him. I don’t know how I’m going to do it. All I know is that I need you.”

  My breath catches in my chest. “I hurt you, Blue. I lied about you. I sent you away.”

  He’s silent for a long moment, his eyes dark with pain and fury. And regret. “I held on to the anger, but I think in some way I was holding on to you. Anything was better than letting go.”

  “So you’re just going to forgive me? How can you?” Especially when I haven’t forgiven myself.

  “I think I already have,” he says, almost thoughtful now. “I know what things were like, how hard things were for you, moving from house to house, all the asshole foster kids fucking with you. Including me.”

  “You weren’t like them,” I say, fierce.

  “Wasn’t I?” he says sadly. “Every boy in that house wanted under your skirt. I wasn’t that different.”

  He was completely different. “You didn’t deserve what I did to you.”

  Even if I’d only done it to save him.

  “I don’t want to live in the past anymore. Give me a future, Lola.”

  I shove against him, but he’s immovable. A mountain. “You don’t deserve a stripper for a girlfriend. You don’t deserve a shitty job at a strip club either. You’re better than all of this.”

  His eyes take on a painful light, a raw intensity that’s reflected in his voice. “That’s where you’re wrong. All this time, all these years, I’ve been nothing. Only when I’m near you am I anything at all. I don’t deserve you, but not because you’re a stripper. I don’t deserve you because of what I did to you, how I’ve treated you. But even knowing that, I can’t let you go.”

  “I can’t,” I say brokenly. I can’t be with him, can’t pretend we’re okay. I can never tell him the truth about that night long ago, and that means we’ll never be together. “Please. Let me go.”

  For the first time, doubt enters his eyes. He can be demanding and forceful. He can be cold. The one time he asks for something, when faced with the answer no, he doesn’t look mean. He looks at me with longing, as if I’m miles away instead of trapped by his body. As if I’m years away—because really I’m still just a scared little girl with no one to turn to.

  * * *

  The sun is already high by the time I reach home. In broad daylight it’s clear how much I haven’t done. I can pay the taxes and the water bill, but I can’t bring the plants in the flower box back to life. I can’t turn this run-down house in a scary neighborhood into home.

  For now.

  Blue’s parting words echo in my head, relenting for the moment, promising so much more. I don’t know how to tell him why we can’t be together. And sometimes, when his hands are on me, when his scent is in my lungs, I don’t know myself. But then I see this house and the Grand. I remember who I am again. I’m the unwanted child and the cheap slut.

  I’m everything men told me to be. All the men I’ve known except Blue.

  The sidewalk has a thousand cracks, the concrete pieces slanted. It’s like there’s been a tiny apocalypse on the ground of this neighborhood, leaving only rubble. As many times as I’ve walked home, I have to watch my step. I have to choose each step carefully, gaze trained to the ground.

  I see the shadow first—something swooping in. A bird overhead, that’s my first thought. Only there’s a hand on my wrist. There’s a rough voice in my ear. Then I’m tripping, falling, landing in the rubble where I belong.

  “Little bitch thought you could ignore me?”

  I gasp as a hand circles my throat. It’s hard to speak, to breathe, but I force out the words. “What…are you…”

  “Then you sent your guard dog after me.”

  He drags me along the sidewalk. My feet kick against broken rock.

  Attacked. I’m being attacked.

  I’m in broad daylight. My gaze whips over the neighborhood, but it’s empty. The middle of the day and it’s fucking empty because everyone here is like me—working nights and sleeping days, hiding inside as much as possible. I think a curtain moves behind a window across the street, but I don’t have hope that they’ll come help.

  I don’t even know if they’ll call the police. Cops are crooked enough to bring their own kind of trouble, and the people here know that.

  Which means I’m on my own.

  I land against the slatted wood panel on the side of the house. The world is spinning, but I push up, ready to fight. One look behind me and my eyes go wide. “You?”

  It’s the client from the club, the one who hurt me. The one who waited for me.

  And apparently followed me home.

  Travis’s eye is swollen, and his lip is split. Then you sent your guard dog after me. Who did that to him? But I already know the answer. It’s Blue.

  I clench my hands into fists. Blue is taller than me, heavier. Stronger. He could beat up this man and not have to worry. I’ve never had that luxury. I’ve only ever had my tits and my ass and the clench of my pussy to win them over.

  Judging by the look on Travis’s face, he’s not looking for a lap dance.

  He sneers. “You think you’re too good for me?”

  I swallow, mind racing. How the hell am I going to get out of this? I’m not, though. I’m not getting out of it this time, just like I didn’t that night long ago. “No,” I say, voice low and trembling.

  Good. Let him think I’m afraid.

  Doesn’t matter if it’s the truth. He’ll underestimate me, and I need every advantage I can get. I may not get out of this, but I’ll go down fighting.

  “Think you’re too good to suck my dick, but you’ll spread your legs for that fucker?”

  I flinch at the mention of Blue, the realization that he could be in trouble. Because of me. Fucking history, always repeating. If Travis told on Blue to the police, that could cause trouble. If not with the cops, then definitely with Ivan. It doesn’t look great if the head of security gets arrested. Ivan may get involved with some shady stuff, but the Grand has always been by the book.

  Maybe that would be the best, if Blue got fired. This kind of neighborhood, this crazy man? Blue shouldn’t have to deal with any of that. And I know now that he’s here because of me. He came back for me.

  My voice trembles. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  His smile is cruel. “I know you will, sweetheart. I fucking know.”

  Five years later and I’m back in the same place, under the thumb of another man. Five years later and I’d still do anything to keep Blue safe.

  The same fucking place.

  “On your knees,” he says.

  Oh God, I can’t do this.

  I have to do this.

  It’s an impossible choice, a war against myself. I hate how familiar it is, like a well-worn sweater. This is who I am—and this is why Blue and I could never have been together.

  Slowly, painfully, gracefully, I sink to my knees. My lips move into a pout. “Whatever you want.”

  I can be Lola for him, in a way I never could for Blue. She was made for this.

  The blow to my face isn’t a surprise. He doesn’t want to get off. He wants to hurt me. He wants to humiliate me. I land
on my hands. Pebbles and old metal cut into my palms. My cheek is burning with the pain of impact.

  “Look at me,” he demands, and I do.

  It’s seductive and angry, sensual and fucking depraved. “You’re a pig,” I tell him, because that’s part of the game.

  He laughs, his yellow teeth shining in the sunlight. It’s twisted, being attacked in the middle of the day. Twisted and just right for a woman who makes her living at night. “Yeah, I’m a pig who’s going to come down your throat, so what does that make you?”

  The same thing I’ve always been—a whore. A fuck doll. I’m nothing at all.

  So why did Blue want me? It hurts that he might want me, as if he doesn’t know who I am. Imagining the shock and disappointment he might feel when he finds out.

  “Is this how you give it to that fucker?” he asks. “Out back when you’re on break?”

  Something inside me turns to ice. This isn’t how Blue treats me. He’s rough and hard and even mean, but he’s never made me suck him off while I’m on break. He could have. I would have let him.

  Or he could have made me, by pushing me down, by punching me. By forcing me, like this man.

  Except I’m not going to let him.

  “No,” I say. “I give it to him at his apartment, in his bed. Like we’re a goddamn couple.”

  That makes him laugh again. He thinks it’s part of the game. He doesn’t realize I’m done. All my life I’ve chosen survival over dignity. I’d let a man fuck me if it meant staying safe.

  Being fucked by those men wasn’t safe.

  Blue thinks I’m worth more than that. Even if I don’t believe him, if I can’t believe him, I don’t want to disappoint him this time.

  I stand up to move away. Surprise registers in his eyes for a brief second before anger resurfaces. His fist comes at me hard, and even though I move to block him, it’s no match. He punches me in the jaw, and I stagger back, hitting the wall.

  “On your knees,” he says again, louder.

  I think about that person across the street, peeking through their window. Are they still watching? How far would it go before they came to help? I think they’d wait forever. I think they’re just like me, doing anything to survive.

  Not anymore. “Fuck you.”

  Rage flashes across his face. That’s the only warning I have before his knee slams into my stomach. I double over, choking, gasping. I’m not going to survive this. My palms slide on loose gravel.

  “That’s right,” he says, smug. “On the fucking ground where you belong.”

  His spit lands on the back of my head.

  Slowly, painfully, I stand up. I’m not steady, and I have to lean against the side of the house to do it, but I’m upright. Every part of me is trembling, afraid of death like I’ve always been. I don’t want to die here, but I will. I’ll do anything to fight this time. Blue gave me that, a cold kind of strength.

  His face is a mask of fury. “I’ll grind you into the fucking ground,” he says, and I believe him. “Now get on your knees and open your fucking mouth.”

  My chin lifts. “Put your dick in my mouth and I’ll bite it off.”

  He comes toward me, and I brace myself for the final, killing blow. I don’t know if he even realizes how hard he’s being on me, how little I can take. I’ll be dead before he can fuck me, and I don’t think he’ll be happy about that. It doesn’t matter, though. This is the choice I made. This is the end.

  A screech of a screen door rends the air.

  The telltale thump of Mrs. Owens’s cane hits the porch. “Hannah?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I dream of gold that night. A dragon brings me to his lair, a shiny piece of treasure to add to his pile. I dream of fire as his anger consumes me, as he singes my skin and leaves me breathless. I dream of an awful sound—it sounds like pain, and I think it might be me.

  The sheets are tangled around me, holding me tight when I wake up. I’m panting, sweating, half-mired in my dream. I push damp hair from my face and try to calm down. I remember the attack. I remember Mrs. Owens coming out and stopping it. I remember going to bed, thinking it would be just fine if tomorrow never came.

  Then I realize the sound wasn’t only in my dream. It’s a real sound, something I can hear from my bed in Mrs. Owens’s house, loud and screeching.

  When it registers, I bolt from the bed, tripping on the twisted sheets as I cross the room.

  The burning smell reaches me first, acrid and harsh.

  My blood feels like a living thing, beating to get out of my chest, pounding through my veins. It only takes seconds to reach the stove and twist the knob. To grab a dish towel and move the pot of hot water to another burner. It feels like years. I’ve aged a lifetime when the screech cuts off, leaving only ringing silence in the room.

  You have to scoot between the stove and the counter to even see the plug. I stare at it, the plain black cord plugged into the skeletal socket without a cover.

  Did Mrs. Owens figure out to plug it in?

  Or did I forget to unplug it?

  I’d have already cut the damn wire and saved us both the trouble, but there’s no microwave here. A steady diet of cheap noodles, of beans and rice, means I need to be able to cook sometimes.

  She’s not in the kitchen or the dining room. I find her in the living room with her tea set already laid out. She was ready for the water to boil when she must have fallen asleep.

  I can’t help the anger that comes. How long I dance, how fucking hard it is to let them touch me—even accidentally. Even when they pay extra. And all of it could come crashing down, burning down because she can’t wait until I’m awake to have tea.

  The anger fades away, leaving only sadness.

  Why should she have to wait? She’s a grown woman, a strong woman. She was once the only person to give a damn—besides a certain boy who’s better not named. I messed things up with him, but I won’t do that with her. She deserves the loyalty I didn’t have for him.

  I wake her gently. “Mrs. Owens, it’s time for bed.”

  She blinks, taking in the teacup, the little pot of sugar cubes. And the afternoon light. “It’s daytime.”

  “I know, but my work schedule is strange, remember? I need to sleep during the day. And you like to take a nap.”

  She does need rest, but it also helps to know she’s occupied while I’m asleep.

  She looks at me, and her eyes widen. Surprise registers, and I know she doesn’t remember seeing me this afternoon with blood on my face. “What happened to you?”

  “It’s nothing,” I say quickly. “I fell down.”

  Deep understanding crosses her face. She may not remember, but she knows. “Let me get the first-aid kit.”

  “I took care of it.” What little I could do. “I really need to sleep now, and you do too. We can have tea when we wake up, I promise.”

  Her gaze drops to the empty tea-cup in front of her. A vague smile crosses her face. “I’ve already made tea.”

  It takes another ten minutes to convince her to go to bed without it. Another ten minutes where the responsibility I feel toward her—the fear that I’ll fail her—sits like an anvil on my shoulders. When I have her tucked in for a nap, the curtains drawn tight, I find my way back to the kitchen.

  It still smells awful, like something died in here. I don’t know how water and metal can burn like that, like flesh. I pull out the plug and shove the wire underneath the stove so at least it’s hidden.

  Something glints at me from the kitchen counter.

  A watch.

  I reach for it, then pull back. No, it can’t be.

  It’s definitely not mine. And I know it’s not Blue’s either. He wears a sleek black digital watch. This one is gold and garish. Cheap but trying to look expensive. I don’t know whose it is or how it got on the counter. Unless…

  Unless I stole it. Unless it belongs to Travis.

  Oh God, I’m so, so fucked.

  I sit on the floor in the
dark and cry until I’m as dry and as done as the pot of water.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I swipe foundation over my cheek.

  The swath of beige is stark against the bluish color of my skin. There’s really no hope of covering up the bruise. Even if I could change the color, I can’t hide the swelling of my eye. Or the limp when I walk.

  I shouldn’t even have come to the Grand tonight, but I needed to leave the house. I needed to get the watch away from there so I can figure out what to do with it. I’ve told Mrs. Owens to stay inside no matter what she hears. She knows to lock the doors. That won’t hold him off forever. Eventually he’ll come back looking for it. Looking for me.

  The watch is nestled among my perfume and makeup. I can’t bear to touch it. I hate that it’s even touching my things. Infecting me. I can’t throw it away, but I can’t give it back. I’m trapped with it.

  I stare at the bruises under the harsh theater lighting around my mirror. It’s a lot worse than it looked in the dim bathroom at home. Worse than my reflection in shop windows as I walked here tonight. I look damaged. Broken.

  “I have to go¸” I say to no one. It doesn’t matter. I have nowhere to go.

  Candy approaches from behind. She sits at her station beside me and begins applying hot-pink liner. She doesn’t stare at my bruises even though they’re obvious. She doesn’t act surprised, because she’s not.

  “Did Blue do that?” she asks, still running the pencil tip along her eyelid.

  “No.” Whatever happens, it’s important that people know Blue didn’t do this. I couldn’t lie about that again, not even to protect him.

  “Then who?”

  “Who else?” I say, bitterness creeping into my voice. A client. She’ll understand. But even if it weren’t a paying client, it would be the same. Another man, another fist.

  They’re all the same except Blue.

  “You can’t dance like that,” she says.

  I shut my eyes and squeeze, ignoring the shot of pain. “I know.”

  “You’ll have to talk to Ivan. Explain why.”

  “I think the why is obvious,” I say drily, staring at my messed-up reflection. I look like a public service announcement.