Isabella
The pounding of a fist on my front door wakes me up from my nap earlier than I intended to. Kat usually isn't home on Thursdays until late, long after I've gone to the club for my shift. I was scared to open the door at first, but once I realized who was on the other side I relaxed. But not by that much.
There was no pretending I wasn't home, which kind of forced me to go and answer the door. I rushed to answer the door while pulling on a hoodie, not wanting to piss Christian off more. He walks in as soon as the door is opened and I close the door behind him.
"Why aren't you at the club?" I ask, since he's always there by this time. It's honestly weird seeing him in my apartment since he pretty much has boycotted the place for as long as I can remember.
Christian wastes no time searching the apartment, "Where is he?" His voice is booming as he demands answers.
My brows knit together in confusion. "Who, Christian?"
"That fucking guy! I know you're screwing him!"
"What guy? And I'm not screwing anyone, Chris. I don't even have time to get myself off, I'm definitely not having sex with anyone." Not in my real life anyways. My dreams though, that's a different story.
Once he deems the apartment clear of any men, he turns his attention back to me. "Don't play stupid, Isabella. I know you sent your little friend back to the club because you thought it would scare me, but it didn't."
It probably shouldn't be that much of a surprise to hear that Harry showed up at the club again. It's not like I told him I was taking a few days off from the club and he clearly has no shame when it comes to showing up to my place of work and ogling at me. I just know the way my heart races and my face starts to burn up is wrong, especially given the circumstances.
Here's my unhinged ex screaming at me and all I can think about is Harry sitting in a booth waiting for me to walk onto the stage.
I do my best to snap out of it quickly, knowing that if I hesitate for even a second, Chris will get even worse. "I didn't send anyone. Honestly Chris, do you think I'm an idiot?"
"Yeah actually, I do. I don't know what games you're playing, but they end now. I'm putting my foot down, this isn't happening anymore. And if this guy shows up to the club tonight again, you're gonna regret it."
"Why? Why do you care so much? We're broken up. We haven't been a thing for weeks now. I told you I'm done with this headache, Christian. I'm not playing games. So who gives a crap if some perv decides to come and watch my set? Isn't that the point? Why is this guy getting under your skin so badly?"
Chris shakes his head, slamming his hand against the small, circular dining table, probably close to breaking the glass. "Stop saying that! I haven't ended this relationship, we aren't over! And when a guy comes in and knows your real name, it's gonna raise some questions."
My eyes involuntarily roll, hating how possessive he is over me. He's always called the shots in this relationship whether I agree or not. Usually I'd be too wasted or high to go against what he wants, which is why he hates my sobriety. "You slept with other girls, you don't get a say anymore. We're done, Christian. I don't want this anymore, I don't want you anymore. And I have a life now, outside of you and the club so people, men, are going to find out my real name."
He's quiet, too quiet for my liking. He looks away from me to the ground, letting out a long, heavy sigh. When he finally looks back at me, he shakes his head. "So that's what this is? You slept with him because you walked in on me? That's so childish, Isabella. You're always so childish."
"I didn't sleep with him." I repeat slowly, making sure to emphasize every word.
"He wouldn't be showing up, sitting in my club for hours knowing you're not there if you didn't fuck him. He's sitting in my club to gloat. To rub it in my face. That's why he got all crazy that other day, you ran to him to make me jealous. Let's face it, Iz, you're nothing special. You want us to be over? Fine, I could have someone hotter and more loyal than you ever were. Less baggage, someone who worships the ground I walk on. But just remember that I'm the best you'll ever have. Nobody wants a needy whore like you." His voice lowers to a dangerous tone, walking forward until I'm backed against a wall.
For the first time, I don't understand what I ever saw in him.
Christian was so nice in the beginning. He was always there for me, always willing to go the extra mile to make me happy. He supported me, or at least that's what I thought he was doing at the time.
I was so young when we met. Now, standing here in my apartment, I can see that he took advantage of how naïve and broken I was. He made me feel special and grown up, supplying me with alcohol, drugs, and sex whenever I wanted, way before I was twenty one. I thought he understood me in a way that nobody else did, that he wouldn't let me get as bad as I did. Hell, I even thought being a sex worker was my idea.
He didn't even want me to go to college. When I got my acceptances, he all but begged me to run away with him and never look back. College was one of the only real decisions I made during our relationship. And even then he kept me from doing as well as I possibly could. He wanted to keep me in the clubs, cut deals with owners to take my money until he had enough to cut out the middleman and profit off me himself.
The cheating was happening the entire time, I was just too fucked up to notice. It's probably the main reason why he hated that I got sober. He could still make money off my body, he could still keep me in our relationship, but he couldn't cheat right under my nose anymore. And his need to fuck anything with a pulse was our downfall.
I'd like to think that I would've woken up at some point. That I would've gotten sober on my own and ended things for good without any intervention, but I know that I wouldn't. Just a few short weeks ago I was in his bed again, even knowing that he cheated for the millionth time. I would've married him. I probably would've died before ever waking up. It was like my world revolved around him. I had nobody else.
I had nobody. And he was there for me.
But now? Now I have myself.
"You know what the funniest part about this is? You're letting him win. We didn't fuck, I don't even think I've done more than shake the man's hand, and yet you're seething with jealousy. You can't fathom that a man thinks of me as more than some needy whore, so you've convinced yourself that I had sex with him. Even if I did, he still is winning because you hate thinking about him even looking at me. So go ahead, Chris. Go fuck some hot little twenty year old that makes you feel like a god, but just know that you'll always be an insecure prick who'll be thinking about me in bed with him every minute of every day."
He looks beyond pissed, his jaw clenched tight. "Watch yourself, Isabella. You're walking a very thin line."
I don't let my eyes fall from his. "I could've fucked him, you know."
"I was never letting you in that private room with him."
"I'm not talking about the private room." I hold myself together, trying to act like I'm confident. "Harry came to me, outside of club hours, and asked me to go home with him. Me. Isabella. Not Jezebel. And I'm sure the offer is still on the table. Now that I'm single, and all."
"As long as you're working for me, you're not fucking anyone else. Especially not him."
"Then I quit."
My heart pounds as I realize what I just said. It kind of just came out before I had a chance to think about what I was saying. Even he looks shocked that I said that, his mouth slightly open as words fail him. I've never seen him so... lost.
He recollects himself quickly, putting on his usual tough guy persona. "You're gonna give up your biggest source of income to go fuck some guy once? Why, because he was nice to you?"
Tears prick my eyes. I never was able to speak up for myself without crying. "No, Christian. I'm quitting because I want to be free. I'm tired of living under your control, I want to be my own person. I'm quitting because if the opportunity presents itself to have sex with a man who respects me, I want to pursue it. So I'm done, Chris. I quit."
"You'll never work in the clubs again. Don't think that you're quitting my club and running to another one. You quit Afterlife, you're done. I made Jezebel, I can end her."
"Do it. End her. I don't want to be Jezebel anymore." None of his threats hold weight against me anymore. I can see right through all of them.
Not even the look of betrayal in his eyes is enough to make me reconsider. Yesterday that look would've ripped me open, hell two hours ago it would've destroyed me. But now it only tells me that I'm doing the right thing. He was my last addiction, the last thing holding me back from living my life.
Now I'm free.
He backs away from me, slowly shaking his head as he walks to the door. "You'll be back. And when you do come crawling back to my door begging for me to forgive you... Well you better hope I'm in a good mood that day."
"Don't get your hopes up."
He leaves, slamming my front door behind him. I jump at the loud noise, but as the silence starts to settle in, I feel peace. It's as if I've been locked away for the last seven years and I've finally managed to escape. I have no idea what I'm going to do next, but I'm just relieved it won't involve Christian.
It's time to move on to bigger and better things.
✧✧✧
would've could've should've is isabella's anthem.
gab