Once in a Lifetime ➳ Larry

chapter five

Chapter Five

Yellow light drowns the long stretch of road, street lamps shining in the midst of darkness. Louis's cold hands grip his steering as they approach Fool's Gold. Harry's eyes focus on its flickering neon sign. The second 'o' looks duller than the other letters, he thinks. Distantly, they hear loud music blaring at full volume.

Harry hasn't checked his phone in a while, but he's certain Liam texted or called at least a dozen times. He's usually very punctual. He's never ditched work before. He's never left halfway through his shift, either. Liam tends to worry a lot, so Harry can't help but feel guilty.

He glances at his watch. "I should be on stage right now," he murmurs. "Liam's going to kill me for skipping. What if he fires me?"

Louis frowns. "You can't be a pole slut right now, Harry. You nearly killed a man last night whilst giving him a lap dance," he says, chuckling softly at the end. Harry, however, doesn't see the humor in it.

"Don't call me that."

Louis pauses. "Don't call you what?"

"A pole slut."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Relax. I was joking."

Harry crosses his arms over his chest. He tries to glare at Louis, but he's too busy looking through the windshield. He switches on his turning signal as they approach a stoplight. The green arrow blinks inside his dash.

"Well," Harry sighs, "it's not funny. It's degrading."

"Alright. How would you like me to refer to your occupation, then?"

"Stripper or exotic dancer."

"Okay, then. From now on, you're Harry the stripper."

Harry rolls his eyes, leans his head against the car window. His temple presses against the cold glass. They fall into an awkward silence, just listening to the sound of traffic and city life. Girls in tight dresses and stilettos walk along the pavement, and Harry watches them carefully as they pass by, noting their disheveled appearances. Frizzy hair, caked makeup, dizzy walking. Prostitution is like a black hole— it swallows innocent souls and holds them captive for eternity. There's no escape. Harry prays to every divine being that he'll never wind up like that.

Louis bites his lip as he parks his Porsche next to the curb. They're a few blocks away from Fool's Gold, next to a sketchy hair salon and a run-down autoshop. This part of town seems deserted.  Perfect for killing, Louis thinks. He feels weak and fuzzy with hunger burning in his belly. He needs to eat. The craving tugs at his brain, an insistent reminder that he needs blood.

"Listen, Harry," he grumbles, his hand still resting on the shifter. "I'm sorry if I come off as ignorant. I've just never met someone like you."

Harry's golden eyes flicker for a moment. "Someone like me?"

"Yeah, you know. The stripper type," he explains. "I tend to befriend more... sophisticated people."

Harry huffs with annoyance. "I'm not a 'type,' Louis. I'm a stripper, yes, but I'm other things as well. It's just my job."

"I know, but—"

"Can we just follow the plan, please? Mitch should be here any second now," Harry interrupts, his voice gone bitter.

Louis needs to learn how to bite his tongue. Or better yet, he needs a thought filter. He doesn't purposely act in an ignorant manner, but he can't help it. He was born in the late 1700's, after all. The modern world is much different, and needless to say, he still has a lot to learn.