MIA
The noise of the city hit me as soon as I leave the club through the back entrance. Even here, the bass resounds deep in my chest, its rhythm unrelenting and sharp, a sound that made my nerves flare every time, the kind that gnawed at my stomach no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. The weight of my decisions pressed down again in the locker room, where the black dress that hung in the corner, revealing more than I'd ever felt comfortable showing, shimmering mockingly under the fluorescent lights as if it knew how out of place I was. As I stared at it, my throat constricted and a lump forms in my throat as I swallow nervously; this wasn't me, not in a thousand lifetimes, but I didn't have the luxury of saying no. I took it from the hangar with unsteady hands. Sweaters and jeans fell to the ground, to be replaced by cool cloth that was too tight and left too little room to imagination. Someone I didn't recognise was staring back at me in the broken mirror above the lockers; she was a stranger with a neckline that made her want to blend in and curves she wasn't sure how to use. Wishing it were an inch longer, I pulled at the hem. It didn't budge. I muttered to the girl in the mirror, "You're doing this for her." It's only a job. You are capable of doing this. The words sounded hollow as if I were attempting to persuade myself of the reality that I had already come to accept. "Hi, new girl." I was startled out of my reverie by the voice. A woman was relaxing in the doorway as I turned around. Her heels, crimson lipstick, and blazing red curls exuded confidence. Her smirk indicated that she knew how to fit the club perfectly. She inspected me and remarked, "Tasha." "First night?" I made an effort to grin. "Yes." She laughed and replied, "Don't worry about it." "You'll adjust to it." Or you won't. She then walked away, leaving me feeling extremely anxious. I put on the manager's required heels and went to the floor. The music hit me first—a loud blend of bass, laughter, and raised voices, all overlaid with the clinking of glasses. Sweat, drink, and pricey perfume filled the air. "Mia!" I froze at the sharp call, and as I turned around, I saw Mr Greaves approaching, his wiry frame cutting through the crowd like a blade. His suit was as sharp as his smile; too sharp, too polished, and so utterly hollow it made my skin crawl. You couldn't possibly guess that just hours ago he was holding a gun to my head. "Welcome back," he said smoothly, though his gaze lingered longer than it should have. "We're short tonight, so I need you on the main floor. Keep the customers happy, and you'll do fine." I nodded, gripping the tray he handed me like it was armour. "Oh, and Mia?" He hesitated, his smile broadening just enough to feel threatening. "Smile. Consumers appreciate a pretty face. I walked away as fast as I could after forcing one, brittle and tight response. The remainder of the night was a haze of clinking glasses, evading hands, and putting on polite grins. My feet screamed in protest from the heels, and the dress felt like it was suffocating me. I didn't stop, though. I was unable to. I let out a trembling breath when I eventually made it to the bar with an empty tray and a handful of crumpled tips. A voice then replied, "You seem so happy to be here."I turned to see the barman, a tall man with dark hair and tattooed forearms, who slid a glass of water towards me without asking any questions. "Thanks," I muttered, appreciating the break. "Adrian," he said, cleaning the counter. "You're the new girl, huh?" "Mia," I said. He nodded knowingly. "Here's a tip, Mia: keep your head down, do your job, and don't let these creeps get under your skin. You'll survive." "Great pep talk," I said dryly, but the corner of my mouth twitched up despite myself. Adrian chuckled. "Anytime." But the peaceful moment didn't last. A hand clamped around my arm, yanking me away from the bar. I nearly stumbled, my heart jumping into my throat as I turned to face the guy holding me; a greasy, bloodshot mess of a man with a smile that turned my stomach. "Where you running off to, sweetheart?" he slurred, his grip tightening. I froze, panic clawing at my chest. "She's working," Adrian said sharply, stepping between us. His tone left no room for argument. "Hands off." For a tense moment, the man glared at Adrian before finally backing off, muttering under his breath as he disappeared into the crowd. "You okay?" Adrian asked, his voice softer now. "Yeah," I said, though my voice shook."Thank you." "Don't mention," he said, maintaining eye contact with me. "Just keep an eye on yourself, okay? There aren't many saints here. I nodded while attempting to control my breathing. However, I felt an odd shiver go up my spine as I turned back to the ground. I was being watched. I was looking around the crowd when I noticed a shadowy figure close to the VIP area. It was difficult to tell because of the fuzzy lights, but the weight of their stare was nearly palpable. I forced myself to concentrate and brushed it off. But I couldn't get rid of the lingering uneasiness. The club eventually started to empty after many hours. As I walked to the bar for the final time, fatigue pulled at me. Adrian waited.Another glass of water in hand. "Survive the night?" he asked. "Barely," I said, downing the water. "You'll get used to it," he said, although his tone was kinder than Tasha's had been. "Thanks—for earlier," I said, meeting his gaze. He smiled. "Anytime. Just remember: not everyone here is as nice as me." I laughed weakly and turned to leave, but as I looked towards the VIP section, that prickle came back, and this time I didn't imagine it—a man sat in the shadows, his posture relaxed but commanding. Even in the dim light, I could feel the intensity of his stare. My heart raced as I quickly looked away, my steps brisk as I made my way to the locker room. Shedding the dress felt like regaining a piece of myself. The night air was a blessing as I left through the back entrance. I walked quickly, trying to shake the eerie feeling that those unseen eyes were still on me. Whoever he was, whatever this night meant—it was clear my life was shifting in ways I didn't yet grasp.