Lilith
"Do not romanticise the bruises beneath my eyes. Do not compare them to fields of violets ready to be plucked. I'm just tired. I'm just so goddamn tired. And there's nothing beautiful about that."
It's 12:47am, just over four more hours of her shift to go and she can finally go home. She pours herself another shot of the cheapest vodka we store, she's not nearly as drunk as she needs to be to get through this shift without shouting at anyone. She guesses that's what heavy drinking from the age of 13 does to you, it fucks with your tolerance. She wishes she could say she's not an alcoholic but after being surrounded by them her whole life she can see the signs. She can't function normally without a shot or two in her morning coffee, and if she didn't get dirt cheap alcohol from the bar then she'd probably be just as broke as her parents. It's both a blessing and a curse, how easy it is to acquire alcohol and drugs when you're surrounded by them almost daily. At least she's not too far in with drugs. Yet. There more of a social thing, a bit of weed here, bit of coke there. She wouldn't ever do heroin at least, so it's really not that bad. The one thing her parents did teach her was stay away from heroin, and unsurprisingly she listened. When your parents have never cared enough to give you any form of life advice or rules, when they give you a singular one it really sticks.
Although that's a lie, saying that they don't give her any rules, they give her plenty; at least her dad does. He likes to take an old-fashioned approach into getting them drilled into her. Ironically enough, by literally drilling them into her with his fists. Or his boot. Or both. It's only when he's off his face that he hurts her, but he's off his face pretty much all the time nowadays. She can't even remember when it started, she was probably flung out her mum's womb and immediately met with a fist. Honestly though she's normally so pissed herself she doesn't feel most of the beatings, at least not until the next day. The day after always sucks. Hence why she just doesn't stop drinking. Then she doesn't need to remember it either. Here's the thing, people always say they hate remembering what they did the previous night they were drunk. But if you never stop drinking, then you never have to remember.
Lilith take another shot and rinse out the glass before polishing it with the cloth draped over her shoulder. She goes back to making the previous drink for one of the customers at the bar, he's looking at her intently; probably checking she measures out the alcohol correctly. Most men hate that a young girl is pouring there drinks, insisting she never pours enough in even after watching her measure out a perfect shot time after time. You'd think by now that society would've progressed a bit to letting a lady pour you a drink, but apparently even that's a step too far. Whatever, it's not like she gets paid enough to care about society's opinions or the way these grumpy old men talk to her. She's sure they have a loving wife at home who's cooking them a nice homemade meal, whilst she's stuck serving their stupid neat scotches.
Lilith sees a large group of younger men come through the doors; they really don't look like they fit this sort of place. They're all wearing suits of some kind, although they're worn casually; shirts untucked, sleeves rolled up, tights loosely hanging from their necks. Even so, they definitely aren't the usual middle-aged men with beer bellies and jeans on that tend to come in around this time of the night. Or early morning, she silently corrects herself.
She kind of hopes that they're going to sit at the bar, so she can get a change from the regulars. But she watches as they ignore the bar entirely and walk straight towards the stage with the beautiful dancers on; typical. Of course they're here just for the strippers, She can't blame them though, they're hot. She even had a fling with one of the girls a couple months ago, she was one of the most graceful dancers she'd ever seen, and she couldn't help but want to see if she was as graceful in bed. She's sure these men won't have a problem finding a dancer each to go home with either.
In the middle of the group, she sees a familiar pair of forest green eyes; Lorenzo Graves. The guy that hates her. Perhaps he doesn't hate her specifically, but he definitely hates her friend group. Again though, she doesn't blame him. They kind of suck. If she hadn't been friends with Ashley, there's no way she'd be part of their group. They're all incredibly rich, and popular. It's not that she doesn't think she would be popular without them, or find it hard to make friends, but she just doesn't particularly like people. Especially not their kind of people, stick up hitches. All the guys are too full of themselves for their own good, and all the girls make their already massive ego's bigger with their constant desperation for their attention. Sometimes she feels like none of them even know her, not that she minds. She doesn't think it would go down well if they found out just how much she drinks, or the number of illegal substances she's abused. Although she wouldn't much care if they did turn their backs on her, she likes her own company much more than theirs.
Lilith has already turned away but not before she sees the spark of recognition in his eyes. She can see him moving towards her out the corner of her eye, but she refuse to look up. He might not hate her specifically, but she hates him specifically. She can see by the way he looks at her that he lumps her together with the rest of them, assuming She's just as rich and prissy. Nobody, and she means nobody knows just how shit her life is; and she'd like to keep it that way. She hasn't even told Ashley she worked here; she knows she'd look down on her for working at all let alone here. She likes to think she's not as bad as the others, but in reality, she's much worse. She's one of the most stuck-up people Lilith had ever met, and some of the things Ashley thinks and believes are so ridiculous she can't tell if she's joking half the time. One time she genuinely said she didn't understand why homeless people don't just get a job. She had never heard anyone say something so uneducated and just downright idiotic as that. Well maybe that's an exaggeration, but it's definitely up there.
"Didn't see you as the type to work here. Did daddy take away your credit card?" Lorenzo taunts.
Lilith refuses to reply, "What can I get you?", she states instead.
"Not in a talkative mood, are we?" He smiles unkindly at her. She looks at him from underneath her lashes, pouring a beer at the same time for the previous man that ordered.
"If you're not going to order anything then please leave the bar area." She grinds out. She should've taken another shot. Or five.
"Okay, okay. No need to get so snarky. Guess daddy's really mad for you to be extra prissy today." She knows he's just trying to rile her up, to get her to fight back, and she's normally so, so good at not snapping back at people. But this shift has sucked enough as it is, she's exhausted and hungry and not nearly drunk enough to deal with this.
"I wouldn't need to be so snarky if you weren't such a dick." She snaps, "And I'm not fucking prissy." She says shortly, hinting the conversation is over.
He grins at her, like he won a prize by getting her to retort, and it makes her more frustrated, but she forces herself to turn around and face the wall. She distracts herself from his gaze on her back by polishing the glasses along the counter, and by the time she's turned back around he's back in the centre of his group of friends. She watches closely as he pulls out a stack of bills, tucking one into the closet dancer's thigh high tights. She looks down, pouring out yet another beer to pass to the gentleman in front of her currently nibbling on some salted peanuts.
She checks the time, 2:58am. This has got to be one of the slowest shifts ever. The bar isn't even busy enough to do much of anything, so instead she sits down and polish more glasses; counting as the minutes go by. It's not even that she particularly wants to go home, her dad will most likely be passed out in the middle of the hallway and the house will again be consumed by that dreadful silence, she just really doesn't want to be here. Especially not with Lorenzo who won't stop fucking staring at her. Even without looking over she can feel his eyes on her. It's unnerving, which annoys her to no end. She's used to men staring at her, but it's Lorenzo. How does she know he isn't going to take a photo of her and send it on all his social media's, just to mock her. She wouldn't put it past him.
The next song that comes on is one of her favourites, Chaotic by Ellise, it's perfect for the dancers; slow enough to pull some of the longer more complex moves, with a sting enough beat to mix in some higher energy moves. She watches as the dancers spin around the poles, twisting their bodies upside down and sideways. She can't help but feel envious, not of the men leering at them of course, but of the way they look so elegant. So powerful. Lilith can't lie, she's seriously considering becoming a dancer, she just hates the after effects of it. The dancers don't just dance on stage, they have to give lap dances where they're supposed to not be touched but it's not often customers follow that rule. And it's even less often the manager enforcers it.
She checks there's not waiting customers around, and the only two that are still at the bar are peanut guy and the regular passed out near the very end of the bar. She pours a glass of water and push it towards the passed-out dude carefully just in case he wakes up, although that's highly unlikely he'll be conscious any time soon. She asks the peanut guy if he wants anything else and he shakes his head, but not before giving her an off-putting smirk. She wrinkles her nose at what he's insinuating and walk towards the stage where the dancers are. The songs almost coming to the best part, and the dancers build up their moves as the music increases in noise, twisting around the pole and doing the splits whilst upside down.
She feels a presence come up behind her, and the scent of cigarettes and vanilla fills her senses.
"I'd pay good money to see you up there." She hears Lorenzo breathe into her ear.
"And I'd pay good money for you to leave me alone." She snaps, moving away from him.
"Aren't you just a ray of sunshine, someone piss in your breakfast this morning?" He says sarcastically.
She sighs and turn to leave, but a hand grips the waistline of her apron, tugging her back. She looks down to see Lorenzo pulling out a hundred-pound note, and then tucking it into her waistband. She can't help the slight shock that overcomes her face as she sees the sum of money stuck to her. Before she looks up at him, she quickly forces her face into a scowl.
"I don't need your money." She hisses, feeling like a charity case.
"Sure you don't. I'm sure you'll survive without daddy's money." He retorts sarcastically, that stupid smirk never leaving his face. "This is only a hint of what you could earn if you danced."
She won't lie it's so tempting to become a dancer, and especially now being given money just to bribe her into dancing. She wishes it didn't work, but if she truly did get money like that then she wouldn't have to work nearly as much as she does now. Lilith doesn't reply, not even bothering to thank him, before turning away back towards the bar. She's not going to argue with him anymore, she does need the money. She just can't let him know just how desperate she is for it. As much as she wishes she could wipe that smug smile off his face and scream at him that She's so far from having 'daddy's money' it brings her comfort knowing he can't say anything truly hurtful when he knows nothing about her.
The one time she opened up to someone about her life was with Ashley, they were only 12 and were both so drunk. Lilith told her all about how broke her family were, and how she was going to have to start working because her dad didn't earn nearly enough to afford the mortgage or bills. Let's just say her plan to open up backfired, Ashley went nuts after finding out she was poor. She didn't speak to her for the rest for the week, saying she didn't want to be friends with someone living in a slum with lazy parents. She forced her to spend all the money she had to buy new clothes and fancy things so she could 'hide the fact she was basically homeless' as she called it. She got one of the worst beatings of her life when her dad found out she'd stolen £20 from him to afford a new outfit that Ashley deemed appropriate enough to be seen with her in public. She couldn't walk without crying out in pain for days, she didn't show up for school the rest of that week in fear of someone finding out, instead making up that she was ill. Which wasn't entirely a lie, she's sure being beaten until you can't walk is classed as an illness.
She still has the scars on her back from that night where the belt hit over previous wounds that hadn't yet healed. It's a miracle they didn't get infected, considering she couldn't get up, let alone clean or bandage the gashes all over her back and thighs. She learnt a lesson that day, or two. The first, her dad really hates her. And the second, Ashley also really hates her. Two of the people she should be able to trust the most hate her. It should've broken 12-year-old Lilith's heart, but to be honest even at a young age she always knew she wasn't a likeable person. She'd grown to like it about herself though, nobody gets close to her, and she doesn't try to get close to them. She likes spending time alone, and she doesn't like talking to other people about herself or learning new things about them. She'd much rather listen to some good music and get absolutely pissed off her face in a random parking lot overlooking the city.
In fact, that's what She's going to do tonight. With her new £100 she buys a large bottle of vodka, still getting the cheapest kind because she's not stupid and she's not going to blow her money on expensive alcohol just because she now has some money for once. It's 3:45am, so nearly the end of her shift. There's barely anyone left in the club now, just the passed-out guy and a couple old men leering at the dancers in their dedicated dark corners. She throws away the discarded peanuts from the tray, and she tries to rouse the unconscious man. He looks dead if she's honest. If he wasn't a regular, she would assume he wasn't breathing. But this is just how he sleeps. She doesn't even know his name but he's here every shift, she just refers to him as dead dude in her head. She doesn't think he'd mind, considering the fact he's always passed out.
After a few more minutes of poking and prodding him, she decides to call it a night and leave it to someone else to kick him out. She's not small by any means, she's 5'10 and strong, but she just can't be asked to deal with him tonight. She grasps onto her chosen bottle of vodka after shrugging on her coat and grabbing her bag, then she walks out the door carefully avoiding the deep puddle in front of the exit to the club. Her feet ache from standing up for so many hours, and the walking both helps bring back some life to them but also tires them more. She trudges further along the dimly lit streets towards an old, abandoned car park with a good view of the city. It takes her awhile to climb up the multiple flights of stairs to the top, but once she reaches the top the view is totally worth it.
She looks at the cars driving through the city, it's surprisingly busy considering it's just gone 4am. But who was she to judge when she didn't even drive, she either walked or took the bus everywhere. She takes a long chug from the bottle of vodka, letting the liquid warm her. She turns on her music and watch the stars, laying back into the concrete. It's cold and the floors damp, but the vodka heats her through. She knows it's dangerous to be out on a cold evening, and that you can die from it easily enough, but she can't bring herself to care if she makes it through the night or not. She closes her eyes and lets the sound of the cars below and her music fade into the background as she falls into a light sleep.