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I can see the panic start to form in my mother. The worry that grows and grows. I have never shown vulnerability and have never let sadness show. But now I live in it. I let it take over my entire being. I know it must be hard for her to watch--hard for her to see me lose myself, knowing that she is very much responsible.
I won’t go up to the house. Not for any other reason than I don’t want to see my father. He has always disappointed me, but that night, when he had the chance to step in, to say he would love me even though I was gay and that of course I would always be his daughter . . . he didn’t. For me, that was the end of our relationship. I will be civil to him, but the tolerance is gone and my need to have his approval has disappeared. As far as I’m concerned, he showed me what mattered: my name, but not my happiness.
“You have to forgive him at some point, Willow,” my mom says softly when I put his birthday invite in the trash.
I look straight at her. “Would you? Would you forgive Pawpaw if he did that to you? Would you forgive Grandma, for that matter?” My voice is laced with venom--I can hear it. I see her physically recoil and I don’t even feel bad. All I feel is nothingness.
Sitting in my small, dimly lit cubicle, I am engulfed in a whirlwind of emotions. My heart feels heavy, burdened by sadness and longing. The remnants of our once-beautiful relationship still linger in my head, reminding me of what we had and what is now lost.
I stare at my phone, debating whether to call her or nota. It’s been weeks since we broke up, but the pain is still as fresh as if it happened yesterday. Memories flood my mind like waves crashing against the shore, leaving behind fragments of love and happiness that have been shattered.
My fingers tremble as I pick up the phone, hesitating for a moment before dialing Lola’s number. A part of me hopes she’ll answer, hoping I can hear her voice one more time. Maybe she will understand the ache inside my chest and offer some solace. Maybe even a glimmer of hope. But then reality sets in. The truth is, calling Lola won’t fix anything. I go to end the call quickly but not before I hear the automated message, “Number no longer in service.”
And it is like Willow actually answered, telling me what I already know. I don’t deserve to seek solace from her; I should be left to feel like this. Because I broke us, I broke her, and I have to live with it. Except I just have to see her. I have to know that she’s okay. So I make my decision. Tonight I will go to the club, just to check on her. It’ll be for her, completely.
But even in my head it is half-hearted. It’s not for her at all. It is all for me.
I sit in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection as I apply my makeup. Tonight is the night I’ll see her again. As I carefully swipe on some mascara, I can’t help but feel a sense of emptiness within me. All I see in my reflection is a clown painting on a smile.
It was our place, where we met, our little sanctuary. A place where we could escape from the world and just be ourselves. But now it feels like everything has changed.
I try to push away the thoughts that linger in my mind, reminding myself that tonight is about finding closure. But no matter how hard I try, the pain still lingers deep within my chest. Every stroke of lipstick reminds me of the passionate kisses we shared, while every swipe of the brush through my hair brings back memories of her gentle touch.
I take a deep breath and remind myself that tonight is not about winning Lola back. It’s about accepting that she’s moved on and finding the strength to do the same. But as I slip into my favorite dress, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever find someone who will love me the way she did. And what kind of person I am, to have let her go.
18
Lola
Iwalk into the back room of the strip club, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. The space is dimly lit, with a row of mirrors lining one wall. I find an empty chair in front of one mirror and take a deep breath.
I carefully unpacked my bag, laying out the tools of my trade. A palette of vibrant makeup brushes waiting to be used like magic wands. Jars of glittery eyeshadow that beckon me. I start with a clean canvas, applying foundation first, to even out my complexion. As I blend it in, I imagine the flawless mask I’ll wear tonight.
Next comes the transformation of my eyes. With each stroke of eyeliner, my gaze becomes more captivating, designed to draw people in like moths to a flame. Layers of mascara coat my lashes, adding a touch of allure and mystery. Eyeshadow colors dance across my lids, accentuating their natural beauty.
A hint of blush adds a youthful flush to my cheeks, while lipstick adorns my lips in bold hues. Each shade represents a different facet of myself—confident reds, playful pinks, or seductive plums. Choosing the right one is always an important decision because it sets the tone.
Next, I slip into my outfit for the evening—a dance set that hugs my curves in all the right places. As I adjust the straps and make sure everything sits comfortably, I can’t help but admire how confident and alluring I look.
I take a moment to stretch and warm up my body. Dancing takes strength and flexibility, so it’s important to limber up beforehand. I do some simple stretches, feel my muscles loosen, and prepare myself mentally for what’s to come.
I straighten my posture, reminding myself to exude confidence and grace as I move.
“Lola, sweetie.” Pearl pokes her head around the door frame and gives me the eyes of someone who has something to say but doesn’t want to say it.
“Yes?”
“I thought you would want to know that she’s here. We didn’t know if we should turn her away or not, but in the end, we thought it should be up to you.”
I feel ice run through me, my heart pounding and a little tremble in my fingers, which I instantly hide. I never drop my smile, not even for a second. I turn back to Pearl. “Who is here?” I say, with a shrug and a smirk. #
Pearl winks back at me. “Knock em dead. All of them.”
Willow sits, arms resting on the edge of the bar, savoring the last drops of her bourbon as the stage lights up. The first chord strikes out . . . and there I am. Well, what did she expect?
“Told me, told me . . .” My body has an almost iridescent glow under the spotlight. All hint of summer has left my skin and I’m paler than usual. I’m wearing black satin that doesn’t just rest against my curves, it enhances them--making them even more seductive. Long eyelashes, thickened with jet-black mascara and lined in deep kohl, frame my eyes. My lips are a deep cherry-red pout, and they press against the old-fashioned steel as I lip-sync into the microphone. My blue eyes sparkle boldly.
“You have been wasting time . . . on the other side.” Each whispered lyric is delivered straight to Willow. I wonder if she can remember how it feels to have my words whisper on her skin--my gasps, my moans. My hips sway softly as the satin brushes against my thighs. My heel taps in time to the music, stilettos so high that they make me several inches taller. My legs shimmer from the hosiery catching the light, and I can feel the snap of my garter belt straps against my skin with every move I make.
