Back in the room, that pig of a man had forced beer on me again and again. To keep him calm, to stop things from escalating, I swallowed everything he gave me.
Ever since I was in the bathroom stall, the beer had been climbing back up my throat.
A sour, burning taste lingered at the back of my mouth, thick and nauseating. Threatening to come up.
I held it down. I had been holding it down.
Until now.
The moment the tension broke, everything I had been forcing back surged forward at once.
"It seems you needed to learn how scary the world can be…"
Her voice sounded distant, unaware of the battle raging inside me.
I puffed my cheeks, clamped my lips shut, covered my mouth with my hand. But it was useless. The pressure broke through. I bent forward as it spilled out, splattering onto the floor.
Her shoes—shoes that had been polished to a mirror shine, now dulled by my own filth.
Once the floodgates were opened, there was no stopping it. It came again. And again. Mostly beer—but that didn't make it any less humiliating.
My throat burned, my stomach cramped. I tried to stop halfway through, choking back another surge when I noticed the splatter on her pants. But was that even possible?
Once my stomach finally emptied, relief washed over me, making me dizzy. But my mind was anything but relieved.
Somewhere in the middle of it, my legs gave out, and my knees hit the tile. I stayed there, frozen, staring at the mess with wide, stinging eyes.
The bathroom felt too quiet now. But the aftermath felt louder than the act itself.
I couldn't breathe, let alone apologize. The shame was a crushing weight, pinning me to the floor. But then, a sharper terror cut through the embarrassment.
I remembered the reality of my situation.
My shame evaporated. Shame was for people who weren't about to die.
I lowered my head—lower than I ever thought possible—and forced my shaking legs to stand.
"I—I am sorry."
I kept my gaze fixed on the floor. I didn't know what kind of face she was making, and I was too terrified to find out.
"Are you done?"
Her voice startled me. It was calm. I wasn't someone who could read moods from tone alone. But I knew—I just knew—that she sounded even steadier now than when we first met.
"I asked if you were finished vomiting."
I looked up and nodded, stunned.
Who would watch someone puke on their shoes and then ask if they were done? Anyone would, but that woman was far different from anyone.
Without a word of anger, she pulled out a handkerchief. I watched as she roughly wiped the stains from her trousers, then meticulously cleaned her shoes.
She tossed the ruined cloth into the bin with a flick of her wrist and stepped toward the basin to wash her hands.
I was certain I was about to die. Yet, as I stood there, I found myself captivated by the sheer coldness of it all—watching her silently as she meticulously cleaned herself of my filth.
She washed her hands for what felt like an eternity. Then, without turning back, she spoke a single word.
"Phone."
When she extended her hand, I didn't ask a single question. I didn't hesitate. I reached out and placed my phone in her palm.
The last time we met, she had taken my ID card. Now, I was certain she would take this too. I didn't dare say anything, even though it was one of the most valuable things I owned. As I let go of it, my chest tightened painfully, as if something inside me were being torn away.
I watched her thumbs move. She tapped the screen a few times, and then a vibration hummed from her own pocket. She handed the device back without explanation.
"Answer when I contact you."
A strange sound slipped out of my throat. What was happening? Earlier, she had asked how she should deal with me, hadn't she? Was she really letting me go just like this?
It didn't feel real.
I took my phone back the moment she released it and bent at the waist until my back was nearly parallel to the floor.
"Thank you."
I meant it. I didn't understand why she hadn't hurt me—why she hadn't threatened me like before.
She had ordered me to answer her calls, but compared to the death I had expected, that felt almost merciful.
I stayed frozen in that bow, my eyes glued to the floor, not moving until I heard her footsteps reach the door.
But then, the sound stopped. She paused at the threshold.
"Do you know my name?"
The question hung in the air.
Had she ever told me? I wanted to ask, but the words wouldn't come. I realized then that if I had any sense, I should have already known. A woman who owned half the clubs in the city and a casino to boot was bound to be famous. I simply shook my head, my hair shielding my face.
"Elara Holloway."
And then she left.
Only after her footsteps faded did I raise my head. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped my phone as I searched my contacts. There it was, saved into the phone.
Elara Holloway.
A heavy sigh escaped me. My body trembled uncontrollably, and I wrapped my arms around myself, hugging my own frame just to keep from falling apart.
Moments ago, my only instinct was to bolt out and find Alex. But now that I could think clearly, I didn't. I couldn't let him see me like this.
I couldn't let him see me like this and add to his worry.
I turned to the basin and finally looked at my reflection. The girl staring back was a stranger. My clothes were rumpled, my hair tangled, my face streaked with tears, nose red, and traces of vomit still clung to my skin.
I rushed forward and splashed water onto my face repeatedly, nearly striking my face each time. I rubbed and scrubbed until my skin started to burn, desperate to wash the night away.
I stayed there for a long time, washing until my heart felt somewhat clean.
Then the memory surfaced.
The way his fingers had tangled in my hair.
My chest tightened, and I bent forward, lowering my head into the sink and letting the water run over me. I stayed there, unmoving, letting it run through my hair, down my face, until the shaking slowly eased.
When I finally stopped, water dripped from my hair and soaked my shirt. Only then did I feel a small measure of relief.
I looked at my reflection again.
I looked as if I'd showered fully clothed—hair plastered to my skin, shirt clinging to me.
I slowly turned away and left the bathroom.
I left the bar and headed toward our small room. The noise of the city faded into the background, the rush and lights blurring past without meaning. I didn't even realize how far I had gone until I was standing at the door.
I wished the walk had been longer.
I wasn't ready to face Alex yet. And I had no intention of telling him what had happened tonight.
But when I stepped inside, the room was empty. There was no sign of Alex. A sharp spike of worry pierced my chest, followed immediately by a wave of guilty relief. If I had managed to get out safely, then I was sure Alex would too.
But had I really come out safely?
As the thought came into my mind, I quickly got into the bathroom and washed myself again for a long time.
Alex still hadn't returned when I finished.
I crawled onto the bed, pulled the sheet over myself, and curled into a tight ball, hiding every part of me.
Exhaustion crept in quietly, and before I could think any further, sleep claimed me.