Dead Inside (Temporary Bliss #1) Page 2

  “A client.”

  “You’re gonna get yourself killed like this,” he shouts in indignation, flailing both his hands in the air, almost burning me with the cigarette he’s holding between his fingers.

  “And what the fuck do you want me to do, exactly?” I bark again, extending my arms in a helpless motion. “It’s not like I have much of a choice, you know. Either he kills me, or someone else does it for him, it’s the same fucking thing. So, there’s not much debating here. Just drop it.”

  “For fuck’s sake, you don’t need to get like this. I’m just worried about you,” he mumbles, staring away, lips parted. “You don’t need to act like a fuckin’ asshole, you know.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh, tensed. “I’m sorry. I’m just… it’s been a long night.”

  Truth be told, I don’t even know why I bothered to come to school today. It’s not like I’ve deluded myself with false hopes that I’ll actually finish high-school this year. School's barely started and I already feel like dropping out. It was probably a desperate move on my part, thinking I have a good excuse to get away from Stefan for a couple of hours. I couldn’t bear standing in the same room with him. The client’s face keeps flashing in my head. I don’t know if this is guilt or something else, but I’m wondering what he did with the body and if it can be traced back to us. Back to me. If his family is safe or not. I wouldn’t put it behind Stefan to go on a vengeful rage and kill everyone around him. I don’t even know what he’s capable of anymore. That unsettles me. And it wasn’t as bad as it is now when I was only suspecting things like this. You know, it was common for work colleagues to suddenly disappear. Sometimes they put the blame on the clients. They’ve been too rough or went too far. But when you hear the rumors about people wanting to run, then their bodies show up contorted in a dumpster, after a couple of weeks you start to wonder how much of that is coincidence and client fetish. Then something like last night happens and you’ve got all of your answers. Yet I still managed to sleep next to him for months. Years. When you think he won’t harm you like that, you have nothing to fear. But when he hits you until he breaks your ribs and then some more…

  I shake the memory away and try to focus on Denis. His right arm hangs loosely over his knee, cigarette held between his long, skinny fingers, adorned with silver rings. His red hair reaches his chin, covering half of his face. His clothes are all black, skinny jeans with chains tied around the waist, a ripped band T-shirt and a dark, crimson leather jacket on top. He’s got that rebel look going for him.

  “You need to get out of this shit,” is all he says, putting the cigarette between his thin lips. His green eyes scrutinize me from behind a thick line of black eyeshadow.

  “Did your mum see you when you left this morning?” I ask, narrowing my eyes in an amused way.

  “I don’t need mum’s approval, man. I can dress how I want.”

  “Is that why director Jerkins pulled you into his office?”

  A wide grin reveals his white teeth. “Oh, shit. I hit on him.”

  “You did what?”

  Shock hits my body at the same time as laughter. I can’t help but laugh out loud. “You fuckin’ didn’t!” Then again, Denis does all kind of stupid crap, then he bitches about how I need to deal with my shit.

  “Yeah, man. He was working his mouth all the way, sayin’ I gotta drop’em looks. I fucked him up, yo. Told him Imma drop it in front of him, ‘cuz I know he likes it like that. All them girls that stripped down for him and shit. Wouldn’t mind if he got some cock for lunch too, innit?” he blurts out in a mocked British, even gesturing around with his hand, getting into the street boy character, which only makes me laugh harder. The kid’s messed up.

  “Didn’t you tell him I can offer him some quality services?”

  We both laugh, staring at one another. He puts the cigarette between his lips again and reaches for my hand, barely touching it with the back of his fingers. He sucks the lip ring into his mouth and I grin. I know that look.

  “What are you doing later?”

  “Going to the club. Stefan wants me to work,” I say with a grim expression.

  “Maybe you can come over,” he says, trying to look uninterested, but by the tone of his voice and the way he shifts his gaze in the distance, I can see there’s more to it than he lets show.

  Even if I really wanted to go, I don’t think I could convince myself of it. We haven’t fucked in a couple of months, mostly because I have no desire to do so and partly because some while ago I started to believe whatever it is that’s going on between the two of us is a bad idea. Despite all his cockiness and self-assuredness, I see through the façade quite easily. He might call my bluff from time to time or assume some of the things I might be feeling or going through, but I can read him like the palm of my hand. He’s more invested in this than I am. He’s been that way since he lost his virginity, even though he always claimed otherwise. He’s just afraid that by admitting to feeling more for me, he might lose the little we have as well. It’s not fair to him, though.

  “I doubt it, Kiddo. There’s some shit going on. He’s been more stressed lately and he takes it out on everyone.”

  “Has he—”

  “Not since July, no.”

  I frown and do my best to forget that slap. It came months after he broke my ribs, but he hit me so hard I fell over the desk in his office and cut my hand on a glass.

  “Alex, I’m serious,” he sighs, focusing his emerald eyes on me. “We can think of something. We can…”

  “Den, you still live with your parents,” I lean towards him, a sly smile on my lips, “and you like to be a smart-ass punk, but in truth we both know you’re a softie and you like to take it up the ass and scream frantically while you’re at it.”

  His gaze flickers to my lips, but I barely finish saying the words when he gets up, a grin on his face and he smacks my arm. “Shut up, you motherfucker!”

  Chapter 3

  It’s just another regular night. While I walk towards my designated client, I cannot help but notice the envious stares and waves of hate wafting from my so-called colleagues. I sigh and keep minding my own business. I’ve never wished to become Stefan’s little pet. At first, those stares made me arrogant. He used to bring me here and show me his club and how awesome he was. They, his hookers, were staring at me with contempt. It made me feel important back then. It fooled me into thinking I was lucky. Thinking he loved me. I still feel that pain in my chest when I think of it. It still affects me. What sort of idiot would want the love of a monster? Me, apparently. No. I don’t want his love. I just want to be loved. By anyone. I just want to know what it’s like.

  I keep seeing people on the street, holding hands, smiling warmly at each other, staring at one another like they see a god or a goddess in their partners. How do they do that? Is that feeling so uplifting? And then there’s those who claim they’d give their lives for the ones they love. How do you even reach that point? I loved Stefan, I think. Maybe back then I would’ve said the same idiocy. I kept doing things to please him. Thought it made him happy. The more he asked, the more I did. The more I did, the more he asked. The more he kept saying I don’t really love him if I am not willing to do this and that. I believed it. What did a fifteen-year-old know about love? What do I know about love? I don’t even remember what it’s like to be enamored with someone. I know how it’s like to be disappointed, though. I am tasting that bitterness every day of my life.

  Since he broke my ribs I’ve been operating on automatic pilot. I barely feel disgusted when old people, like this man who keeps embracing me on the dance floor right now, fuck me. I am like an object, devoid of emotions. My life is not my own, it’s his. Theirs. I am just a chained dog and the key belongs to Stefan. I don’t feel anything when they fuck me. Not anymore. There were times when I puked right after the act or felt anxious and jumpy for days after it happened. Now I am not even getting aroused anymore. It’s amusing, isn’t it? They
say teenagers are all about hormones. I could give them a lesson or two. I think I am already dead inside. I don’t need to worry that much about it anymore. I must only decide when I should stop it altogether.

  The lights are hypnotizing. The music is so loud. The rhythm is crashing like a wave on top of me. I’ve lost count of how many drinks I’ve had. Just falling into the abyss, that’s the only thing I wish. To forget everything about everyone.

  The old man’s arms squeeze tightly around me, like a clipper on a nail, making it almost impossible for me to breathe properly. The last thing on Earth that I wish for right now is to get in bed with this relict. But being Stefan’s pet doesn’t absolve me from the work I must do.

  The man presses his palms on my abdomen, dragging his fingers along the line of my trousers. I feel a sudden urge to punch him, then I shove it aside and get nervous instead, despite the many drinks I've had. Confusion surrounds me for a while and nervousness turns into plain anger. I wish I could smash this fossil’s head. It’s painful to be unable to say no in a situation like this. I have no authority left over my own body. I’d laugh if I weren’t so bitter.

  I must drink something stronger to get through this night. So, I push the guy away as gently as possible, trying my best not to plant a fist between his teeth, or whatever is left of them for that matter, and tell him I need a drink.

  The club is full. Everyone’s doing their number. I stare at some of them. Their eyes are filled with the same emptiness that plagues me. But there’s no way I can change it. Besides, most of these people hate me and envy me. Even if we had something in common, I wouldn’t be able to approach them. They’re all too bitter. This job allows them to put food on their tables. It’s their only means at a decent life. As decent a life a hooker can have, anyway. I wish they’d realize that being Stefan’s favourite doesn’t mean one gets treated better, or has a happier life than the others. On the contrary. None of these people have to endure Stefan’s beatings, raping and overall poor treatment. None of these people have to worry they will get murdered if they are not willing to be fucked by him whenever he feels like it. They don’t know about what I saw. No. They must only worry about their clients, for Stefan prefers me, not them. And that’s what makes my life twice as bad. But they don’t realize it. I wish I could’ve been in their place, though. Small, invisible, without so much pressure pinning down on my shoulders. I wish I could still afford to smile genuinely, without dark clouds gathering above me; without feeling pain and disgust. I can’t do anything but wonder, what if I’ve never met him that night, four years ago? How would my life turn out to be? I shake my thoughts away. It’s too late for this type of wishful thinking and I am too tired of it.

  Leaning against the bar I ask for a vodka. The old man from earlier, a wiry, wrinkly relic, with a couple of white hairs on top of his head, follows me like a lost puppy. His eyes gleam from the alcohol, his breath stinks like rotten fish and the rest of his body emanates a smell of pungent sweat, combined with a cheap, sweet perfume, probably to mask the reek of death coming out of his ass. He should be at home, drawing his last breath, but he has just enough money to be here instead, to buy my services from all of Stefan’s hookers. Eventually dying with some young lips wrapped around his cock, because his heart couldn’t take the effort.

  I barely finish my drink when the man himself shows up from behind a guy, his back straight, imposing. The dark shirt fits perfectly on his stretched shoulders. A couple of buttons are undone, exposing the tanned skin underneath. He always dresses to impress. He likes to be on point. He likes to be envied and enjoys the stares. The confidence he has in himself radiates from his pores as he walks towards me. The looks he throws around are filled with contempt. That is one of his faults, his biggest arrogance: he’s always believed he’s better than everyone else, stronger, more handsome, more potent, more everything. His dark, blonde strands are tied back in a small knot on the back of his head, revealing his almost perfect features: sharp lines and angles create a strong, masculine jaw, full lips that easily curl with disgust, big amber eyes that look warm on the outside, but are harsh and unforgiving in reality and a slightly crooked nose, just a tinge, enough to sharpen his features even more.

  Despite everything, seeing him roam through the crowd like that makes my stomach tingle. There was a time when I loved running my fingers through that hair, tracing those angular features and staring into his brown eyes. I won’t deny I still feel attracted to him, he’s one of a kind. But the infatuation I had slowly dissipated and now the leftovers of those moments keep clashing with one another. I think confusion is what gets to me the most. How I could enjoy being with him sometimes and how dreadful it is the rest of the time.

  Stefan grabs my arm and drags me to the side, not before making a false attempt to apologize to the old man who keeps touching me.

  “Finish with him faster. Somebody important asked for your services tonight,” he whispers while he looks around anxious, before focusing on me.

  I frown and stop myself from jerking my arm free. “What do you mean somebody important?”

  “I don’t know. But you’ll tell me. So, take off the whore make-up and sober up. He had specific requests and wants to see you particularly,” he spits out, eyes narrowing furiously.

  I give a faint sigh. I am getting fucking tired of this. Night after night… it’s the same fuckin’ thing. If I don’t have to work into this shithole, then someone shows up at the last minute and summons me out of thin air. Considering how much they “worship” me, I should be the one gaining all the benefits, not them.

  “Alright,” I say, resigned. His frown deepens as he grabs my chin.

  “Put on your best attitude. This guy’s important and the last thing I need is you to screw it all up, got me?”

  I roll my eyes and take a step back, but he jerks me closer. “Loosen up, you don’t even know who he is.”

  “Stop arguing with me about it and do as I say,” he snaps, fingers clenching painfully on my arm.

  “It hurts!” I moan, trying to pull back, but he won’t let me. He seems way too agitated about this, which is odd. Usually, he’s more relaxed and laid back, but lately he’s been in sort of a mood. And now this guy shows up out of nowhere, making him snap at me in front of everyone. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, how do you want me to help you? Jesus!”

  “I don’t have time for this,” he utters hoarsely and angrier. “Just do whatever he asks you to do and be careful what you tell him about me. Got it?”

  “What do you mean whatever? What if he hits me or wants to hurt me?”

  “Then let him,” he says through gritted teeth, leaning dangerously towards me. “If I hear you weren’t on par with the expectations and it comes back biting my ass, you’ll have worse things to worry about. Got it?” he jerks me again and I force myself to meet his eyes levelly.

  I must not care. I must be cold. I have to be cold. But the fuckin’ alcohol made me dizzy and the frustration seeped for too long inside of me. My tongue unleashes before I can think too much about it.

  “Fine,” I reply, staring into his dead eyes. “You deal with this guy, then,” I point towards the old man that keeps pacing next to the bar.

  “Alex,” the growl he lets out is anything but human. I know that threatening tone, the familiar way his muscles tense, the hot, boiling glare aimed at me. But I’m tired of this shit. And I’m tired of him. And I know I shouldn’t be this reckless, I realize that. But lately I’ve been provoking him outrightly, because I can’t seem to control myself anymore. Maybe the crowd just makes me bolder. Maybe I do have a death wish, after all.

  “Do you want me to be on par with your bloody expectations or should I let this important guy of yours fuck himself?”

  His hands shift from my arms to my face and he leans some more to properly stare me in the eyes.

  “Look at me, you stupid whore! If you fuck this up, what I did to that guy will be a blessing compared to what I’ll
do to you. Do you hear me?”

  “And here you are, declaring your love for me,” I punch him in the chest with my finger, doing my best not to let my voice tremble. “Chillax, Stef. When didn’t I have your back?” I ask sarcastically. It only pisses him off more.

  “Lexie, I swear to god…”

  “You can do better than breaking my ribs, you know. You can actually try to put me in the ICU next time,” I wink and manage to push his hands away from my face. “I’ll do what I have to do. But you can just ask nicely, it won’t hurt you if you do,” I retort harshly.

  “We’ll talk about this when you get home,” is all he says, then straightens himself and turns his back on me. Yeah. I know what that talk means.

  I hope you die, is all I think.

  Chapter 4

  A car took me from the club’s entrance and left me next to a block of flats somewhere close to Tineretului. The hulky fellow that was at the wheel simply dropped me there like a bloody package, leaving me with a piece of paper and an access card. I wonder how important this man is after all.

  I open the building’s front door with the access key I’ve got, I frown at a bored concierge in the main hallway, then I take the elevator to the second last floor, as it says on the note. Lastly, I climb a set of stairs to reach the 24th floor. Two burly individuals sit on some chairs on both sides of the small table, playing cards. When they notice me, one of them gets up and comes to meet me. I hand him the access card and the note, but he demands to see my bag, so I hand that over cautiously too, suspicion creeping in slowly. Stefan wasn’t nervous for nothing, after all. This guy is important. And who the hell has bodyguards stationed in front of his flat, in a bloody apartment building?

  After they deem nothing from my bag could serve as a killing object and pat me down like a bloody dog at a vet check-up, they allow me to pass without another stare from them. I walk towards the only door on the hallway and ring the doorbell. Weird.