002

ROSE

I rolled over to my side, burrowing my face into my pillow. My bed had never felt so uncomfortable and I wrapped myself around my teddy bear. Maybe I was too old to sleep with a toy but Chris the Bear had heard so much of my life's failures that I almost considered him as a human being. But that morning, Chris had a soothing temperature, his arm muscular and fleshy. . .wait a minute!

My eyes blinked open and found my hands wrapped around the arm of someone half buried in a sheet.

“Oh my God!” I gasped, peeling myself off whoever it was. What was I doing in a. . .I looked around to gauge my whereabouts and my panic only grew. The mild light filtering into the room from the window revealed an expensive phone on a desk, a gold watch and to my embarrassment, my dress on the floor. And then, the events of last night all came rushing back to my memory like a speeding train.

The alcohol. . .falling into a dark room. . .the stranger. . .Daddy. . .shit, I was so done for!

My head banged from the excessive drinking and I felt like throwing up. How could I have been so stupid to drink that much and to sleep with a complete stranger? Had we used protection? I could not remember because my head seemed to be currently filled with buzzing ears. It didn't matter anyways since I was on the pill. All I mattered was getting out of there before the obviously rich man woke up and discovered the scum he had slept with in place of an exotic dancer.

I quietly slipped off the bed and tiptoed to the desk, wincing when I tried to walk quickly. I was sore from the pounding I had received and I could faintly remember asking for it. My phone looked so cheap placed behind his and humiliation washed over me. I had slept with the man but the money he had paid would go to someone else.

Without liquid courage to strengthen me, I sniffed back shameful tears and picked up on my phone. The time was 5:16 am but I needed to know exactly where I was so I turned on the location app on my phone. I was glad to note that I was still at East Village, New York where Smoky Paradise Club was situated.

Luckily, it was a master bedroom, meaning I did not have to worry about waking the other occupant of the room just yet. I snatched my dress off the ground and the memory of it falling to my ankles last night flashed through my mind. I pinned my eyes to the marbled floor, waiting for it to open up and swallow me. When it didn't, I put on the dress and completed my walk—or waddle—of shame to the bathroom.

My reflection in the bathroom mirror was utterly disgusting, my lipstick smeared all over my jaw. Mascara stains gave me raccoon eyes and my hair was a rat's nest. My hair brush was in my purse which I had no idea of its whereabouts. I had to leave that room as fast as possible but I could not go out looking like the nineties version of the Cookie Monster. On the other hand, the man I had slept with could wake up anytime. Anything could wake him up: a knock on the door, an alarm, a phone ringing. . .

My phone suddenly rang in my hands and I threw it up into the air, catching it before it could fall into the toilet. Buying a new phone would cost more than my daily wages in a month put together. I could not afford to have it ruined. The name on the screen only made my spirits drop yet I swiped a finger across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Rose, where are you? Are you alright? Are you safe?”

What was with the dramatic questions? Mom wasn't usually that concerned about my wellbeing nor my decision-making these days. After an argument with her two years ago, I thought I had been old enough to fend for myself. So, I moved out of the apartment she and my stepfather had bought and rented a tiny studio apartment in Chelsea. Unfortunately for my bruised ego, I ran back home six months later, my meagre wages unable to keep me afloat.

Mom had welcomed me back with minimum displeasure but I could not unsee the smug grin she wore when I showed up at her doorstep. She wasn't generally a bad mother but I was never top priority for her. Maybe she regretted having me for a man who had breezed in and out on her life.

My mom refused to talk about my biological father and I had grown tired of getting non-answers from her everytime I asked. We unofficially agreed to let the matter die when it started putting a strain in our relationship. Mom erroneously thought I kept asking about my father because I was desperately in need of a father figure and that was how Steve walked into our lives.

“I'm alright, Mom, just a little bit far from home.” A little bit far was a wild underestimation of the two hours between East Village and Woodstock. “Mom, is everything alright? You don't sound like you. Did something happen?” Her breathing over the phone was unsteady and she kept sniffing like she had been crying.

“I was j-just. . .j-just. . .” her voice wobbled and I heard her hard swallow. “I was so worried when you didn't come home last night and you didn't call either. I thought. . .I thought they had gotten to you too.” She finally broke down, her loud, hysterical tears not helping my headache. What was she talking about? Who was ‘they’ and what did she mean by them ‘getting to me’?

“Mom, I don't understand a word you're saying. Just calm down and—”

“Steve has been kidnapped!” she blurted, wailing miserably. “He owes some powerful men a lot of money and they are asking for every dime. I don't have five hundred thousand dollars anywhere!”

Five hundred thousand what? What had Steve gotten himself into? Oh, God, no!

“We have to help him, Rose! We can't let him die. You have to do something to save him!”