"Hey! Watch what you're-"
But as my head rolls towards my hand, my words cut off. There’s something not quite right about it and I can’t put my finger on what it is. Moving my eyes closer, I practically go square-eyed, focusing so hard on what’s missing. Then I remember about the flashback to my eighteenth birthday. It's my ring. It’s gone.
I grasp at my hand, but no matter which way I touch it, it's still not there. The ring my dad got me has vanished. The thought of having lost it causes something inside of me to break. I begin to tremble with panic and swing my head from side to side to shoot my eyes across the floor. It has got to be here somewhere; it just has to be. Unable to get a good look just from standing, I forget where I am and drop to my knees to scour the dirty, tiled floor for the ring.
"It has to be here somewhere. It just has to be," I repeat.
The tears prick my eyes, causing my already dilated pupils to sting. The more my hands rake over the floor, the dirtier and more desperate I become to find it. I'm so hell bent on getting it back that I don't hear the cubicle door fly open and the two girls come out until one of them whispers.
"Oh my god, what is she doing? That's disgusting."
"Someone has clearly lost their stash. Just look at the state of her," the other agrees.
Without thinking, I turn on my knees and scream. "Help me. Please... Help me. My dad's ring. I... just... please," I cry as the tears stream down my face.
They snigger something else to each other before sashaying out of the bathroom. I don't know what they say and I don't care.
All I care about is the ring. I've lost it. It's gone. I fall back onto the hard floor, stretching my legs out in front of me, completely lost in the dirt of the place. My hair is strung across my face, sticking to the wet spots on my skin. I wish Izzy were here. I miss her so much. She would sort this out, she would help me, but there's no chance of that. Too much time has passed.
I've lost everything. I’ve lost everyone. All the things that meant anything to me are gone. Even me. I’ll never see Paris Hemsworth again.
She's gone, too.
All that's left now is Rider, and who else is going to like her when she can't even stand the sight of herself anymore?
Twenty-Seven
March 2005
After losing my dad’s ring, I’ve somehow learnt to shut myself off from feelings of want and hope. It helps me to get through the days and saves me from disappointment. I also don’t need anyone’s love. It weakens me and leads me back to hope and want, which lead straight back to disappointment. It’s the best way to cope with the situation I’m in. Now when girls whisper behind my back, I barely even register it.
I can’t escape the decisions I’ve made; Daggs is making that impossible for me. When he used to say ‘you're mine’ I found it reassuring. Now it’s just his way of staking his claim on me to anyone and everyone we meet. I’m pretty much unable to speak to another male unless he’s well trusted by Daggs and in his gang. It’s clear to see now who is who, as the trusted ones are branded with a certain mark.
The only person I've heard of getting out of the cycle is Ethan Walker. I don't know too much about the specifics. None of us do. One minute he was on the scene, that night at the house party, the next minute, he was gone. One minute he was always on Tommy's arm, the next he had vanished. Despite asking Daggs over and over again what happened, I never get any answers.
It's only now, when I'm opening the local newspaper, that I see his face staring back at me for the first time in forever. My eyes scan over the article he's featured in, darting left to right quicker than ever before. The man in the picture looks nothing like the one I saw at the house party. His eyes are bright and his skin is flush. There's no grey to his cheeks or emptiness in his stare. Ethan is wearing a suit, standing outside a building with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, wearing a grin that’s wide and proud.
Before I manage to read too much about what has happened, a single thought hits me and stings like hell. I envy him. The freedom he's so obviously feeling jumps out from the pages, but it doesn't take me long to focus and figure out what he's doing with his life. He's got himself clean. He's started a business – a high-class pole dancing joint that is targeted to the rich upper classes.
I quickly cut out the original article and add it to a box I keep hidden on the top shelf of the wardrobe, under some old clothes. It’s where I keep all the cut outs of Izzy’s articles. I stumbled across one of them a few weeks back in a magazine, and ever since, I’ve been reading and hiding them. In some strange way it makes me feel that little bit closer to her again. I miss her and I’m kind of proud she’s doing something she’s always loved, although it makes me realise even more how much of a failure I am. Sometimes, when the paranoia kicks in, I get angry, too. How could she let me walk away? Why did she never come find me? Why did my mother never bother, either? Do none of them care where I am?
I’m resigned to the fact that I’ll never escape this life, but when the paranoia leaves me for just a second, just reading her writing brings a small smile to my face.
*******
I’ve managed to escape the clutches of Daggs for a few hours with a little white lie about going to my dad’s graveside. He’s never interested in visiting with me. Daggs doesn’t do family – not in the blood relative sense, anyway. His only family are his gang, which of late seem to be getting greedier and greedier, and that makes it even more important that I get a job and a small piece of independence. I’m starting to worry about the things they are getting involved in, and more importantly, the things I’m being associated with. There are a few things I’ve done for him lately that I’m ashamed of, but I know my place and I’ve learnt the hard way that it’s best to keep quiet. There’s no point in me even arguing with him. All he ever does is shove another tablet in my face so I become the embarrassing, self confident, back in love idiot who is willing to do anything for him.
When I’m down, I question everything and wonder how I got to this point, but when I’m up, I’m happy, content and everything is fine. Some days, I sit and flip a tablet like I would a coin, trying to make a decision on how I should spend the next twenty-four hours. I used to be a big believer in fate. I thought fate brought Izzy and I together to be lifelong friends, so we could ride the highs and lows together. Only the difference between a tablet and a coin is a tablet looks the same on both sides, but there is no fate anymore. It’s not a choice. Addiction tears that from me every day. The more the weeks pass, the more tolerant my body becomes, which means I need to take more to get the same effect. Taking more costs money and I hate myself when I have to beg Daggs. The look of pleasure on his face sometimes makes me want to vomit. Deep down I know I don’t want him. I’ve just come to need him.
As I pull up outside the club on my bike, I take a moment to check my surroundings and make sure I haven’t been followed. When I’m certain I’m alone, I make my way to the front entrance, quickly grabbing the door for the delivery guy who’s struggling to get inside.
“Thanks,” he strains.
“No worries.” I smile shyly.
Following him down the stairs, my eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the dark lighting.
“You work here, love?”
“No.”
I try to keep my answers short and sweet. The last thing I need is an in-depth conversation with a stranger. I never know who is linked to whom these days. Keeping my head low, I mumble, “Do you know where I can find Ethan?”
“Yeah, his office is just around the other side of the stage. That way.” He drops the load of bottles onto the top of the bar and points.
“Thanks.”
During the time it takes me to walk around the stage, I can’t help but stare at the big, golden pole taking pride of place at the front. There is a hell of a lot of tables dotted about. It reminds me of my dancing days when I was a teenager. I threw all that away back then but surely I can still do it. I’ve been watching a fe
w videos online and it seems that all you need is upper arm strength and some sexy swaying. How hard can it be?
Having said this, most days I just feel weak, lifeless and limited. I’ll probably have to take something just to get over the nerves of being up there, half naked, in front of lots of men. That’s when I realise this is a bad idea. Why the hell I convinced myself any different, I do not know. My hands begin to shake, clutching at my helmet for support. I spin back around to rush the other way and out the door when I hear a voice from behind.
“Can I help you?” it asks.
Closing my eyes to regain some composure, I take one heavy step at a time and turn around to face the man behind me.
“Paris?” he says quietly, a small frown of confusion on his face.
“Hey.” I smile flatly.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. It’s obvious he’s shocked to see me and I have to say, he’s looking good. His cheeks appear to have colour to them, unlike the washed out grey colour he wore that night, and the dark circles under his eyes have lifted somewhat. Even his short, brown hair looks healthy.
“I was just in the neighbourhood and I heard you opened up a club so I thought, why not call in?” I lie.
“Well, I must admit…” He chuckles as he walks a bit closer. “I’m a little surprised to see you here. Daggs waiting outside for you, is he?” He jerks his chin towards the exit in question.
“Not exactly.” I wince, fidgeting with the strap of my helmet between my fingers. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
“Still living that way, I see?”
“Maybe I can stop when you give me a job.” I shrug.
“You’re joking, right?” He laughs. I can understand him being amused. Hell, even I’m starting to think it’s a joke. “As much as I want to help you, Paris, you know I can’t give you a job here. It’s just not worth the hassle I’ll get, and I’m clean now. That’s the way I want it to say, you understand?”
I can’t help the disappointment in my voice because I know exactly what he’s saying, and as much as it makes sense, it doesn't help my situation. I need money, I need a retreat away from Daggs and most of all, and I could use a friend. Maybe that’s the real reason I came here all along. I didn’t realise it until now, but I miss having a friend. I want to beg him, plead with him to give me a chance, but I don’t even have that in me anymore.
“I’m sorry to have bothered you. This was a joke, you’re right,” I mumble as I drop my head to hide the embarrassment that quickly heats my cheeks.
I can’t believe I’ve made such a fool of myself. I need to get out of here and fast. My brain keeps mocking me for all these mistakes, yet I can’t seem to stop making them. It’s just one big mess. I don’t know my arse from my elbow these days. All that’s left for me now is to go back to Daggs where I clearly belong. There’s nothing for me here. I make it all the way to the bottom of the stairs before I hear him call out, causing both the delivery guy and myself to turn around.
“Paris, wait.”
I place my foot back on the floor and exhale. “Honestly, Ethan, it’s fine. I understand.”
He strides across the floor. “Look, auditions are tomorrow. If you want to have a go, come then, but…” He sighs. “The first sign of trouble from Daggs and I’ll have no choice but to ban you.”
“Seriously? You mean it? I can come try out?”
“Seriously.” He steps even closer raking a hand through his hair and lowering his voice. “There were many times when I just needed someone to help me. If I can do that for you then I will, but don’t let me down.”
“All I want is a chance, Ethan.”
“Then here it is.”
Twenty-Eight
March 2005
I’ve been itchy and twitchy all night long, not just with the thought of trying out at the club, but also about Daggs finding out what I’m up to. He’s going to go nuclear when he finds out. That’s why I need some sort of angle to spin on it, to convince him to let me do this. There has to be some way of playing it to make him see it’s beneficial to him. Last night he was out on one of his many jobs, giving me the perfect opportunity to get some practice in, although I’m still as clueless as a camel in the North Pole. Swishing, swaying, flicking and pouting I can do, but lifting my body is proving as difficult as deciding what the hell to wear.
Sat down in a chair near the back of the room, my eyes wander around at all the girls in their skimpy little outfits with perfectly formed figures and make up as I watch them stretch and limber up. I seriously start to wonder whether this is the right thing for me, especially when glancing down over my body. It’s the first time I’ve really scrutinised it over the past year, which is scary enough in itself. My knees appear knobbly and the inward curve of my thigh creates an oval where my legs once used to meet. My hair probably could do with a good cut, too. In fact, I can’t quite remember the last time it had a trim. Catching a glimpse of the tremble of my hands, I quickly grab a bottle of water from my bag in search of something to hold to steady it. While no one is looking, a tablet is thrown down my neck. It’s the only way I’ll make it through the day.
Ethan is sat over in the far corner next to some other guy with curly hair. For some reason, he looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place his face. He knows I’m here because we’ve already exchanged a sympathetic smile. There was a list of names up on the wall where we came in and my name was a little way down, which gives me the chance to watch their moves and see what they do. The competition is fierce. Most of these girls look like seasoned professionals, which causes the anxiety to curl in my stomach like a tsunami.
“No need to look so nervous, honey.”
A tall, red haired girl nudges me from the chair beside me while bending over to put her things away in her bag. She’s pretty with piercing blue eyes. I’ve just watched her work the pole for five minutes and she was amazing. Every bend, twist and spin was infused with poise and grace. She must get tipped well.
“I am. It’s kinda my first time.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“That obvious?”
“Just a little.” She laughs. “I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure whatever you just threw down your neck will kick in soon.”
“Oh, I… I didn’t… It was just…” I shift awkwardly in my seat. I was certain no one was watching. The flush to my cheeks is probably a dead giveaway, along with my struggle to answer a simple question.
“You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I’ve seen a lot worse than that in the places I’ve worked.” She sits back up, wiping the nape of her neck with a small black towel.
“You’ve been doing this a while then?”
“A few years, yeah, although this place is by far the best I’ve tried out for so far. There’s decent security and the pay is tidy.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“It’s Georgie, by the way.” She offers her hand out to me.
I look down, wondering whether to shake it with my clammy hand. “Paris,” I reply as I reach out to her. “Or Rider. Some people call me that… Or Paris… Whichever.”
“Okay.” She smiles. “Paris Rider, nice to meet you.”
As we shake hands, the tight grip of hers on mine shows how much stronger she is than me. These girls must work out to be able to throw themselves around the poles.
“You, too.” I smile flatly.
Turning my attention back to the stage, my body sinks into the chair, watching the next girl who’s up. She has long, blonde hair, is super toned and is wearing matching blue hot pants and bra. The array of colours in this room is electrifying and it makes my black shorts and white vest appear very dull. She doesn’t need long to show them exactly how good she is, so when my name is called after her, I go into a complete panic, willing my legs to help me stand and praying to the pole dancing goddesses that my knees don’t buckle beneath me. The over inflated drug ego starts
to chirp up in my mind, telling me I’ve got this in the bag, but it feels like my hands are clawing at my throat, crushing the words I really want to say. This game isn’t for me.
It becomes a battle between Paris and Rider. No matter how much I tell myself the old Paris is gone, there are certain times that she emerges from the darkness and this is one of them. She’s morphed into my inner conscience, and every time she appears, Izzy is stood right by her side, giving me the same look of concern. Behind them both is my dad. People talk about freaky hallucinations when they take drugs. Mine are in the form of my previous life. Their expressions are so vivid, it’s hard to shake them off, but one thought of Daggs and they disappear in a cloud of smoke.
“Good luck,” Georgie says enthusiastically.
It does nothing to ease the situation as I slowly saunter around the side of the stage with my head down, unable to even offer a glance towards Ethan and his friend. The last thing I want is for him to see how unsteady I am. The need to prove to him I can do this is spurring me closer and closer towards centre stage. Tying my t-shirt in a knot around my ribs, I catch the odd glance of disgust from the corner of my eye as people drag their eyes over my appearance. I don’t want to be showing any more flesh than required but the first rule of this pole dancing stuff is to expose your skin; it helps to gain a better grip.
It’s bright up here under the spotlight, and when the beat to the music kicks in, the vibes pound through the stage floor into the balls of my feet. It’s the best thing that could happen right now, because it causes the drugs to kick in and the adrenaline to start pumping. All that’s in my consciousness is Rider telling me to get the hell on and do this. My hands rub together before sliding up and down the pole to build up a good grip on the warm metal. I’ve learnt that clammy hands only slide.
My movements are a little awkward and stiff at first, finding my flow and rhythm in time to the music. The heat from the light is creating a bead of sweat across my forehead and it’s a struggle to focus my vision. I can’t avoid the inevitable for much longer. I have to attempt a swing or a spin. Casting my eyes up the length of the pole, I take a long inhale at the same time as launching upwards off my feet to grab towards the top of it, but as I swing my leg in the same motion, one of my hands misses slightly, throwing me off balance. All the air leaves my gut as my body plummets to the ground with a loud thud. The jolt of my neck, the knock to my elbows and the sting to my arse cheeks leave me momentarily dazed, while the music continues to play out.
Paris Hemsworth's Road to Wonderland (Road to Wonderland Series Book 2) Page 18
