Picking at the blue paint on my nails, my eyes flick to the phone then back to my nails. “I asked. He didn’t know.”
“He didn’t fucking know?” she screeches.
Moving around the fifty or so bottles of nail varnish on my dresser, I find my favourite red while smiling at her reaction. I’m due at work in two hours. I want to repaint my nails, and I have to get ready, so this phone call needs to wrap up. “Hel, calm down.” I can hear her huff, and I nibble on the inside of my mouth so I don’t giggle at her. “He said it was related to work, that he had something he couldn’t get out of, but he has no idea how long it will take.”
“Well, how fucking long can whatever he does take?”
I pinch the top of my nose and close my eyes. “He said it could be a week, a month, or could be six, he doesn’t know.” Before she gets a chance to interrupt me, I continue wanting to get this over with now. “He told me he doesn’t expect me to wait for him.”
“He what? That… fuck me,” Hel whispers.
“Yeah. I’m not sure exactly what I’m supposed to make of that tidbit. I almost wish he’d asked me to wait, but he didn’t.”
“Bastard,” she seethes.
“Look, can we talk about something else? How’s your nan?” I change the subject, not giving her time to argue.
“She’s doing really well now, she’s much better.”
My chest eases a little at Hel’s news.
“That’s great.”
“Yeah. It means I’ll be back in the next few days. We can have a movie night with ice-cream and cake and alcohol.”
I chuckle at her suggestion, but she knows I’ll be totally down for a girly night in.
“How’s things going with Noah?” I question, and she squeals. My tattooed, angry, practically emo friend squeals. What the fuck?
“He was texting me, and we were messaging a lot. Then we started talking on the phone. God, Liv, I only met him a few days ago, but I feel like I’ve known him for ages. We’re going out when I get back.”
I smile at my phone. “I’m really pleased for you.”
“Me too, but he’s so… clean.”
I snort out a laugh at Helena’s disgust with Noah’s lack of tattoos.
“That just means you could give him his first, leave your mark.”
Helena hums down the line. “Wow, I never thought of that,” she replies almost dreamily.
“Right, I gotta go get ready for work. I’ll speak to you later, babe.”
“Later, Liv.”
Turning, I press the remote for my iPod dock. Lady Gaga’s ‘A Million Reasons,’ blasts to life, and I finally release my bottled-up tears. I want to say Isaac hasn’t broken me again, that I’m not crushed, but I don’t even know what’s happening—if anything—between us now. All I know is my heart aches, and hope is an evil emotion.
Bright red fingernails match my lipstick. I add another layer to my mascara and the black winged eyeliner and double check my outfit. Most nights I have underwear on, covered by some novelty clothing… well, usually. Tonight, though, I’ve got a long, skin-tight red dress. It leaves nothing to the imagination, and apart from my five-inch red stilettos, the only piece of clothing I’m wearing is a sheer red thong. I’m going all out. A tiny voice in my head says I’m rebelling. I know Isaac hates me working here, but by wearing so little, I’m sending him a big fuck you—that would work better if he actually knew. But I’m ignoring my innermost thoughts right now. Instead, I’m striding out and sticking two fingers up to everyone, Isaac included.
I like to be different, I always have. Stripping for me is just another way I can show my personality. While the other strippers choose fast, sexy songs, I like to think outside the box—mostly. So, ready to sashay onto the stage, I nod over to Allegro, giving her the signal to start the song I picked today.
I breathe out. Placing one foot in front of the other, I slowly ease onto the stage as Aretha Franklin croons ‘Ain’t No Way.’ The spotlight finds me as I stand at the mic pretending to sing—miming for the act. I can’t see the audience tonight, not with the light in my face, but I don’t need to, this act is solely for me. They have no idea I could sing this live if I chose to, and I wouldn’t suck either. But, as every word leaves my mouth—not silent, but still unheard over the original—Isaac consumes my thoughts. I feel torn apart, ravaged, cut down, like there’s a piece missing from my soul.
I sway sexily at the beginning of the song running my hands up and down my body with the words, holding my wrists together above me trying to fall in line with the lyrics. I wait for the chorus to end, then start bending over, running my hands down my legs. I grip onto the hem of my dress and slowly pull it up my body and over my head, revealing myself. I sing the last verse—how I can’t love him if he won’t let me—with tears running down my face and nothing but heels and a thong on. There is a roar of applause when the song finishes, enough to make me almost lose my balance. Carefully spinning around, I stride off wishing that Isaac could have heard that song, listened to the lyrics, and felt my pain.
ISAAC
If someone attacked me now they’d win. There is little doubt in my mind. My body is frozen. Painfully so.
I stepped away, explained that I needed to work on something,
