“Blue Eyes Crying In the Rain”
Camille
About Five Years Earlier
This was not me. Not at all, I thought. I stared into the mirror and again brushed my long hair into a sweaty ponytail. House music so loud the mirror rattled made my head pound. Now, as if things couldn’t digress more, two club rats fell through the door of the restroom screaming drunkenly at each other. What the fuck? The bathroom already smelled of vomit—and worse. My instincts told me things were about to become even more unpleasant.
I should never have come, that much was obvious. But two of our brand-new graduate nurses wanted to thank me for my help and patience during their internship periods. They were insistent on “treating” me to a night out at their favorite club. At least I’d been able to drag Luckie along to suffer with me.
Speak of the devil. I ran full on into Luckie just outside the restroom. “I am seeking asylum from this torture chamber, dammit,” she yelled above the din. “I demand you grant me admission to the relative peace of the ladies’ room.”
“Sorry, sister.” I twirled her one hundred eighty degrees on her sky-high stilettos and marched both of us rapidly in the opposite direction. “That restroom is a whole bag of nope. Things are deteriorating, so I recommend you pee on the dance floor if Mother Nature calls. It’s not as if anyone would notice.” We found seats at the bar and began working to attract the attention of a bartender.
Luckie surveyed the sweaty, undulating mass of humanity on the dance floor. “I’d lay odds that at least half a dozen girls are getting dick out there as we speak.”
“It’s a romantic notion, sure.” I smirked at her. “But what Prince Charming brings a lady to a posh dance club like this?” Two watery vodka tonics were set on the bar in front of us, and Luckie passed the bartender two tens and a five.
“Keep the change,” she yelled to the girl, rolling her eyes at me. “They may as well point a gun at you when you pay, but it’s not her fault.” She shrugged and took a generous sip, grimacing. “The drinks are exorbitant, but at least they suck.” We both scrutinized the dance floor again. “Do you see our charges anywhere?” she asked.
“Well, Leeandra was pushed up against the wall outside the ladies’ room, giggling uncontrollably while some dude tried to suck her face off her head,” I volunteered helpfully. “She’s drunk, but not that gone. I know consensual face sucking when I see it.” I got the impression this was standard procedure for those two.
“I feel a little responsible since we’re the adults at this shitshow.” Luckie stood and stretched. “I’m just going to have a little walk about and lay eyes on both of those common street whores.” She cleared her throat, “I mean, our fledgling nurses. That drink is certainly not enough to prevent me from leaving my seat. Hold down the fort, gorgeous. I’ll be back.” She made for the dance floor and disappeared into the writhing crowd.
The club was expansive, and minutes ticked by as I nursed my drink absentmindedly. I hit bottom and turned to snag Luckie’s glass behind me. It was completely melted, I noted, and vaguely pink. Probably the light. Or maybe hers was a vodka cranberry? Never mind. It was still cold enough and tasted pretty good; the club was a fucking oven. Mmmm. Definitely a cab home tonight. I was getting a little sloshed. I squinted at the dance floor, looking for my friend, but no Luckie. I smiled and snorted to myself. No Luckie. That was funny. We needed to get the hell out of this place and make a note never to come back. It smelled like spilled beer and stale sweat.
Where was she anyhow, dammit? The dance floor was so loud and so swirly and so many colors all together. Better find Luckie, I thought, trying to steady my feet under me. The barstool was much taller than I thought, and I shouldn’t have worn these fucking heels. Where was the damn floor anyhow? Gravity took over, and I slid into the big, beefy arms of somebody I couldn’t see.
Everything was black now. And heavy. The lights were far away, and something was splitting me in half. The pain was even louder than that awful music. And it smelled. So. Bad. I heard a ferocious slap, and my face jerked to the side. “Wake up, bitch.” I tasted blood and struggled to open my eyes. A face was inches from mine, but I couldn’t see who he was.
His breath reeked of alcohol, and he grunted as he crushed me beneath his heavy body, dripping sweat and spraying me with saliva while yelling into my ear. “Take my dick, you fucking whore. You love it, don’t you? Not so much better than everyone else now, are you? You and your friend were just begging for it in those slutty shoes. Juicy pussy begging for my dick.”
He pounded away between my legs while his friend leered over his shoulder, masturbating and laughing at my pain and humiliation. I felt bile and alcohol in my throat and retched violently. “No you don’t, you fucking worthless bitch, don’t you puke on me.” He pushed his hand over my bleeding mouth, and I fought back panic and asphyxia. “You fucking want my dick, you cunt. I could see it when you stared at me from the bar. You’re tight, too. This is gonna be good.”
He pounded harder now, grunting obscenely as he tore me apart; I could feel blood pooling on the floor between my legs. The pain was exquisite, and I fought through the nausea, struggling to breathe. But the edges were fuzzy now, and my vision dimmed the bit of light I could see. I was spent. It hurt too much, and I was too weak to fight. I stopped struggling and let the agony weigh me down. Pull me under.
Please… I closed my eyes to seal out the pain for good. Don’t let my Luckie find me like this. Then everything was darkness and nothing.