Phoenix Simpson [PUBLISHED]

8

I was twelve.

It could have killed me, but thankfully I threw it all back up straight away. The pain in my stomach and the tremors that shook my body that night, I would never forget. So, I had taught my brothers that important rule without subjecting them to the same fate. And they got the message. As far as I knew, none of them had been stupid enough to take any drugs at all.

The house was quiet by the time I was leaving. If anyone was home, they were probably in their rooms sleeping. Good. I didn't want to explain that I had a job interview. It would be followed by a chorus of 'good lucks' that I didn't need, and an insurmountable amount of pressure to succeed. As if I hadn't put myself under enough pressure already.

I left the house in plenty time, taking my car and backing out of the driveway onto the quiet street. Using my car's GPS, I followed the directions to the nightclub that I couldn't even remember the name of. Finding parking took a while, since it was in the middle of the town centre, but eventually I found a place and paid for an hour's stay. Hopefully it wouldn't take that long, but ever since the incident that led me to jail in the first place, I always paid my parking tickets now. I wouldn't be able to trust myself to react well if a cocky little shit wearing a uniform challenged me again.

I walked down the high street, the sun reflecting off my white shirt in the windows of the shops I passed. I stopped at the club. Pink Moon. Interesting name. It was dark inside and appeared completely empty until the figure walked up to the door and opened it for me.

"Hi," the woman smiled, quickly looking me up and down. "You must be Phoenix."

"Yes," I answered, stepping inside once she let me in.

She was wearing skinny black jeans and a loose white blouse. She wore a silver necklace with a little pendant. I almost felt the need to touch the gold chain I had around my own neck to check if it was still there, like always.

The décor inside was mostly black, as expected, with some magenta lighting across the underside of one very long bar. One barman was cleaning glasses, his waistcoat casually undone. Like the rest of the club, the ceiling lights were modern, some sort of unique, quirky style, which also had magenta accents.

"I'm Maddy, manager of the place," the lady with platinum blonde hair introduced herself, holding her hand out.

I shook it, not sure what to say. She already knew my name, clearly.

"Take a seat," she gestured to the booth to my right. There was already a clipboard and a laptop open on the side where she'd been sitting. There was also a half-drunk martini, the speared olive bathing in the glass.

"I would offer you a drink, but that might be unprofessional," she chuckled, sliding down the plush leather seat.

I sat opposite her, clasping my hands together on the table in front of me. If Landon was here, he'd tell me to smile. I did no such thing. I couldn't smile on demand, especially when I didn't mean it.

"Alright, let's get started, shall we?" Maddy smiled and looked down to her laptop screen.

She probably had my answers to the short application form I'd filled. They hadn't required anywhere near as many details as some of the other jobs had. Probably why I'd landed this interview to begin with.

"Tell me a bit about yourself, and what your experience is in security," Maddy read from her clipboard and then met my eyes expectantly.

I swallowed, tightening my hands so that the skin stretched thinly over my scarred knuckles. Where to start? I wasn't exactly the world's biggest talker. I was private, always had been. I didn't want to talk about myself or my 'experience'. It was something that had been engrained on me since childhood when going to school. If anyone asks about anything at home, tell them as little as possible. Probably the first rule I'd ever learned.