Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(99)

What? I turn to one of the dancers in confusion.

“Lana was pissed you took her gig,” the go-go dancer says.

I didn’t even realize it was hers. “So she stole my clothes?”

“I think she threw them in the trash out back.”

My eyes burn. Right. I inhale, pressure bearing on my chest.

“Virgin Mary.”

My blood runs cold at Roger’s voice. Maybe this is all karma. But if I didn’t try tonight…I would’ve always questioned if I did everything I could. I know I’m justifying a mistake so that I’ll feel better, but it’s easier than living with bigger regret.

The moment I feel it, I’ll start crying. And I don’t want to cry right now. I just want to go fall asleep and pretend that everything turned out in my favor. That I’m lucky, just like Roger said.

I shield my boobs with my arm and face him.

His anger flushes his skin. “What are you fucking doing?”

“I can’t…” I feel blood trickle down my forehead sliding over my brow. I try to dab it up with the tissue.

Roger notices. “Because you bumped your head? Wipe it off and get your ass back there. You’ve committed tonight. They paid for you.”

“I quit.”

He’s boiling. “Are you shitting me? You just started.” He shakes his head repeatedly. “Okay, you have two options.” He raises two fingers in my face. “You go and finish your act, or you pay for the time you’ve wasted the club.”

I can’t finish. I know I can’t. I’ll puke all over myself, for one. For another, I can’t live with the memory of them watching me like that. I already want to scrub the partial one from my brain.

“I’ll pay,” I say.

“One grand.”

I feel more color drain from my cheeks. “I…I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Then get your ass back in that room.”

I made a costly mistake—one that was supposed to do the inverse of what’s happening now. I can’t even worry about paying for rent. That’s gone. It’s not even on the table anymore. Maybe I can max out credit cards and search for a solution later.

“I’ll pay you.”

He rolls his eyes like make up your fucking mind. I’ve made it. I made it the moment I walked out of the private room. I’m certain that I’m never walking back in.

In the next five minutes, I find a thin blue jacket, zipper broken. If I choose to pull it closed over my chest, the hem rises higher than my ass. I pick my losses and expose my bottom, in favor of not flashing everyone. Then, with Roger’s assistance, I swipe credit cards and pay off a debt.

I’m out of Phantom for good.

Tonight of all nights.

Not long after, I teeter in my high heels along the uneven cobblestone, inside The Masquerade’s lobby. Blood drips down my forehead, and I am one-hundred percent mooning people on the slots. I’m pale. Close to crying. And just really, really wanting to erase myself.

For just one moment.

Please.

“Thora!”

My heart lurches, and I rotate towards the voice.

Nikolai is running down the east wing, past a 24-hour café and gift shop, silver and purple paint streaked over his eyes. But it can’t mask his raw concern.

I sway to a stop, queasy and despondent, too many feelings entering me at once. Don’t cry. His distraught presence tries to puncture the dam I’ve built. I skim him quickly: shirtless, red slacks, hair slicked back—he’s in his costume. I check the giant 1920s inspired clock that hangs in the center lobby. Amour is still playing, isn’t it?

“Thora…” He reaches me, his phone in a fist. His other hand holds my face, scrutinizing the line of blood. His eyes flit rapidly over my features, studying my state of being.

“What happened?” I ask him.

He flies over my question. “A guy hit you with something,” he states, brushing my hair back and examining the cut. His phone rings incessantly, adding to my confusion. He lets out an irritated growl at his cell, ignoring the call.

I hone in on that phone. “Did Amour end?” I think I know the answer. And it scares me.

“Thora—” His phone rings again. He curses under his breath, presses another button, and slips it in his pocket. He holds my face once more. “What the fuck happened?” The distress in his eyes nearly sweeps me backwards.

I open my mouth to gush forth the night’s events, but those words aren’t the ones that come. “Why are you here? I mean, how are you here?”

He breathes heavily, like I’m chasing him up a mountain with these questions. He’s making me just as out of breath with uncertainty. He glances over my shoulder, and before I have time to capsize his previous assumptions, he storms towards Phantom, where I just left. Where I am never returning.

I sprint around him, almost face-planting with these stupid heels. But I manage to place my palms on his chest, in a runner’s stance. “Stop.” I try to push him backwards with all my might.

“We’ve already played this game before.” He peels my hands off.

That’s right. We did this in The Red Death. And I lost. But I foolishly never stop trying.

My failures are finally starting to catch up to me.

“What are you planning on doing?” I question with a frown.