Beyond Hunger Page 3

  “Was he hot?” Bruno asks, making me look at him oddly. “It’s my experience that the one’s you girls think are hot, are usually the biggest assholes,” he explains.

  “I did think he was pretty hot until we got back to his house,” I admit with remorse.

  “What about the cop in the cab? Is he hot?”

  When I think about how to respond, I recall how good Serge’s body felt against mine when he was pinning me to the ground. Good grief.

  I’m so deprived even that turned me on? Shit.

  Trying to visualize Serge instead, my mind agrees that his body is definitely hot. His face isn’t bad either, with his kind brown eyes, rugged unshaven jaw, not to mention his smile. I think it was his honesty that turned me on the most though. Sighing dreamily, I realize it’s been too long and I haven’t answered.

  “He could be. If he got some sleep,” I add, picturing the shadows under Serge’s tired eyes. “He’d have that tall, dark and handsome thing going on then, but he’s in a tangle over someone else, so I don’t think I’d register. Besides, if he’s hot, he’s an asshole, right?”

  “There are exceptions to every rule, Vi. Look at me,” he replies with a not-too-shabby grin, making me laugh again.

  Ignoring a wolf whistle, I walk through the club door that Bruno holds open. Locking it again behind us, we enter the coded door to the side and climb the stairs to the upper apartments, making our way to the huge shared living room.

  Nina Pryzbylewski is a visionary. Basically our mentor, or cool aunt/ big sister, she cares for us, encourages us, and provides us with both a place to live and the means to work through our assorted issues, earning a living from it along the way. I’m not saying that we’re all messed up and that this is some sort of group home for no-hopers, where you can dance half-naked for cash to feel better about yourself. There is a deeper psychology at play here.

  For me, this place is home.

  These people are my family. These people care for me in a way my blood relatives wouldn’t. I didn’t come from a broken home or a poor neighborhood, like some people assume. I wasn’t abused by an uncle or addicted to drugs, but I don’t think less of my roommates that were. We don’t judge each other for our pasts, for what we do on stage, or what we like in the bedroom. Here, we are safe to discover how to live in our skins.

  We all have different reasons for dancing. Sometimes it’s money, sometimes it’s to gain confidence, and sometimes it’s purely for the love of dancing. If someone had told me five years ago, that I’d be working as a stripper in Buffalo, NY, I would have laughed them right out the door. But that was before.

  Tonight isn’t the first time my drink has been spiked. The last time it happened, I didn’t know it until the next day. I woke up groggy, my body aching all over from where I’d been used and I couldn’t remember a damn thing about it. Still can’t.

  Do I know who it was? Yes.

  Were they brought to justice? No.

  At the end of the day, there wasn’t enough evidence beyond my bruises and I couldn’t prove a thing. A freak violation with no viable culprit. Might as well have been a fucking alien abduction.

  I still haven’t decided if it’s a blessing to not remember, or a curse to never properly be able to work through what happened. I have good days and bad days, just like everyone else, but Nina’s club is a safe outlet for battling my sexual demons until I can reign them in.

  When I take to the stage, I know I’m not in danger of being invaded. Our no touch policy keeps unwanted hands at bay and allows me to stay calm as I express my sexuality. Letting go of fear means I can act out whatever I feel beneath it. The money that flows through the slot of my tip collection box lets me know that I’m desired and every move makes me feel stronger, braver and more at ease with my past and present self.

  A cheer erupts as I walk into the living room.

  Holding up my hands to swat the noise back down, I shake my head. “I struck out, guys. Another shithead, I’m afraid.”

  The room becomes quiet as my friends’ faces register their disappointment and mumble quiet words of apology. We don’t much talk about it, but a win for one of us, feels like a win for all of us. The same is true of any defeat. We’re all hoping we can resolve our problems and seeing it happen for someone else gives an injection of hope that it is actually achievable.

  “Consolation beverage?” Ireeni asks, offering a beer along with her sympathetic smile.

  “Already had a few, actually, but thanks. Think I’m just going to head to bed.”

  Alexa leans across the arm of the couch in her barely there outfit and grabs a pile of mail from the side table. “Before you go, there was a letter for you,” she says, flicking through the stack and pulling out a cream envelope. Reaching for it, I know what it is before I see my mother’s handwriting with its uniform black letters and emotionally-devoid, nigh-on repellent angles. Smiling politely at Lex, I back away to the door, almost tripping over Scarlett’s legs that are strewn over the arm of the chair she’s fallen asleep in.

  “You want me to help you get her into bed?” I ask Bruno, remembering he’d offered to carry her earlier.

  Looking a little shocked, Bruno glances around the room, before relaxing and nodding. “Yeah. I think that’d be best,” he agrees, moving to Scarlett and scooping her gently into his arms.

  Pausing briefly, I watch him avoid my eyes as he waits for me to move out the door ahead of him. Walking slowly down the hallway, I glance back to see his attention focused on Scar’s restful face. He smiles a little as a muffled snore interrupts the silence.

  Pulling my eyes away, I find myself smiling as I reach the end of the hall. Pushing my door open, I throw my letter inside before opening the door across the hall.

  Scar’s bedroom is comparable to a dumpster, though thankfully it smells more of perfume than trash. Kicking discarded clothes aside to clear a safe path to the bed, I pull the tangled covers of her unmade bed out of the way and Bruno lays her out with a tenderness that surpasses requirements. When Scarlett sleeps, she sleeps hard. It’d take a bomb to wake her. Or a nightmare.

  Removing her shoes, I set them by her closet. A matching pair standing together make them the tidiest thing in her room. Laughing to myself, I turn back to help Bruno tuck her in as she snores loudly again and rolls over. As I turn to leave, I pause again when I sense Bruno’s hesitation.

  “What?” I whisper as he digs around in the clothes and junk surrounding her bedside table. Retrieving a half-full bottle of water from the mess, he sets it on her bedside and starts to move after me.

  Clicking her door gently closed, I watch Bruno walking back toward the living room.

  “Bruno?”

  Turning slowly at my tone, he runs a hand over his short hair and looks at Scar’s door. “Don’t screw the crew. I know, Vi. Don’t worry about it.” Without another word, he walks away, his shoulders slumping just a little more.

  Leaning against my door frame, I watch him go, wondering why he doesn’t treat Scar the same when she’s awake and why he doesn’t just talk to her about how he feels. Turning into my room, the sight of my mother’s letter on my floor is enough to send thoughts of Bruno’s suppressed emotions from my mind.

  Closing my door, I pick it up, wondering if I should open it, or toss it without bothering. Taking a deep breath, I tear along one end and inspect the contents before committing to reading any more of my mother’s ‘well-meaning’ words.

  As soon as I see the check, I rip the envelope in half and throw it in the bin. Money. She thinks it can solve anything. As if money could repair the rift in our relationship.

  Catching sight of myself in the mirror, I relax my pinched expression and close my eyes. Releasing a huge breath, I take a step forward to assess the scratches on my face as I hold back a yawn.

  I look like crap. Grabbing a towel, I head to the shower for mind and body cleansing by hot water and a hefty smothering of antibacterial cream. By the time I flop into bed, I�
�m too tired to bother crying myself to sleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SERGE

  Following his running commitments, Serge showered at the station and caught a ride to the hospital with Mitch, who was on his way home with Muz after spending a morning catching up on paperwork. Mitch went everywhere with that dog; it even slept in his bed. Serge wished he could take his partner to bed.

  “She doin’ alright then?” Mitch asked, interrupting Serge’s daydream.

  “Huh?”

  “Gina,” Mitch clarified, giving him an odd look. “That’s where you’re goin’, right?”

  Pulling himself out of his daze, Serge nodded and tightened his grip on the flowers he held. Though they weren’t especially fragrant, they smelled better than the dog’s breath that wafted through from the caged back. “Yeah. I left my car there last night. I’ll go see her before I pick it up. She’s going to be okay, I think,” he added, to answer the original question. “She’s tough.”

  Nodding, Mitch watched the cross traffic at the lights. “Did you even know she was pregnant?”

  Serge shook his head and looked out the window. “No idea.”

  “I thought you guys were close?”

  Serge felt his frown deepen. “Me too.” He could feel Mitch’s eyes on him, but when he turned to one of the few guys on the force he actually made time for, he found Mitch looking anywhere else. The car filled with an awkward silence that lasted until Mitch pulled up to the curb outside Buffalo General.

  “Thanks, Mitch. I’ll let G know you were asking after her,” Serge said, closing the door before Mitch could question him about his motives as he had done in the past.

  After checking in at the nurses’ station on Gina’s ward, Serge paused outside her door. It was ajar and there was no noise from within. Knocking quietly, he pushed it gently open to see Gina’s pale face turn from the window to him. Her eyes fell on the flowers before meeting his.

  “They’re beautiful, Serge, but you didn’t need to get me flowers,” she said quietly.

  “The hell I didn’t,” he replied, kissing her cheek and sitting in the chair at her side. “When can I try and brighten your day if not when you need it?”

  Smiling a little, she took the large bunch of bright flowers he offered and spun them slowly in her hands. “I love sunflowers.”

  “I know.”

  She met his eyes again and her smile vanished. “Maybe you could put them next to the others?” she asked, gesturing to the small bouquet of yellow chrysanthemums sitting on the shelf.

  “Rick got you ‘mums?” he asked, mortified that Gina’s husband could be so insensitive.

  “Lay off, Serge. He doesn’t know their name, he was just trying to get the yellow-daisy-looking things he knows I like.”

  Gritting his teeth, Serge nodded and sat back down. “You okay?”

  Gina sighed and began to fidget with the folds in her blanket. “I will be. They sucked everything out and if my fever stays down, I can go home later this afternoon.”

  Cringing at her words, Serge watched her from under his eyebrows.

  “Is Rick out getting you some lunch? A Big ‘n Cheesy from Nancy’s?”

  “Hospital-style room service will be here any minute, Serge. I don’t need him to bring me lunch.”

  Looking around the room, Serge straightened in his chair. “Where is he then?”

  “The office,” she answered, her tone not quite hiding her disappointment. “You know he’s got a big case coming up.”

  Nodding again, Serge tried hard to release the tension in his jaw.

  “Serge, we have to talk.”

  Whipping his eyes up at her serious tone, he did his best to keep his emotions in check.

  “Rick and I had a long talk last night. He’s concerned about your feelings for me. They’re impacting our marriage. We talked it over and came to an agreement that I’d put in for a transfer. When I’m well enough to return to work, it won’t be downtown. You’ll have to get a new partner, Serge. We can’t go on as we have been.”

  Serge felt his stomach drop. His mouth went dry and his throat felt as if it were closing over, trapping any words of denial.

  “I know after Sadie left, you needed me, but that was years ago and this... attachment - it’s not normal. It’s not fair to you. You have to move on.”

  Serge sat, frozen.

  “Say something, Serge.”

  Inside he was screaming.

  This couldn’t be happening. Besides work, she was all he had; all he wanted. He had to make sure she stayed, but how could he stop Rick from pressuring her to leave? There must be some way to keep her in his life.

  Covering his face with his hands, he took a deep breath. “I am moving on, G. I’m doin’ good, seeing a nice girl. It’s kinda new, but I like her. A lot. I don’t want to break in a new partner. We’re a team, G. The way we work, it’s... We’ve got the best rep in whole the department.”

  Looking up at her, he saw her wavering. “You want to throw that away?” Serge knew how proud she was of her achievements. Rick must have really drilled into her.

  Sighing, Gina wiped at her cheek. “I’m not throwing you away, Serge. I’m just taking a step back. I have to.”

  “You have to?” Serge stared at her. “Because Rick said?”

  “We decided together,” she said more firmly. Studying his face a while, her eyes narrowed. “You lying to me, Serge?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You tell me everything and you haven’t said a thing about a new girl. There’s no way you’ve got a girl on the line looking like you do. Have you even slept this week?”

  Caught.

  Keeping his expression blank, Serge shrugged. “Kept it to myself so I didn’t jinx it. And it’s been a rough few days, don’t you think? You want me to talk about how pale and sick you look?”

  Gina’s blue eyes kept him pinned. She wasn’t buying it.

  “I haven’t been sleeping much,” he agreed, as the lies formed at lightning speed in his mind. “My girl, she works crazy hours and when we meet up we don’t get much sleeping done, if you know what I mean,” he explained with a wiggle of his eyebrows that he hoped looked more natural than it felt.

  Gina’s eyebrows rose high in response. “That right?” Nodding slowly, a small smile began to grow on her lips. “Good for you, Serge. I’d like to meet this girl who’s keeping you up at night. Why don’t you bring her to dinner next week?”

  Serge cringed, but tried to hide it.

  “Next week?” he asked, trying to keep his restless leg from jiggling. “I’ll have to check with her what her schedule is. I don’t know if she’ll be available.” The lies just kept coming. Speaking them felt so much easier than the truth as he kept his real thoughts in check.

  Gina smiled knowingly. “Well, you let me know when a good time for her is, and we’ll work around it. Rick and I would love to meet her.”

  Swallowing, Serge ran his hands down his legs and eyed the door. “Fine. I’ll get back to you.” Standing, he moved closer. “I should get going. Wouldn’t want Rick to come back and grill me because I cared enough to come see you.”

  Lingering a fraction too long as he kissed her forehead, he inhaled the scent of her shampoo. Catching himself before he moaned, Serge backed up. “Love you, G. Hope you feel better real soon,” he said as he rushed to leave.

  He barely recalled the walk to his car, but as he sat in the driver’s seat, he knew his lonely apartment was the last place he wanted to go. Pulling out into the street, he drove toward his gym. Catching his eye as he drove past, was Frank’s bar. The large ‘closed’ sign on the door was another rejection, reminding him it was too early in the day to drink himself numb.

  ONE ANGRY GYM SESSION later, Serge drove home. Walking in the door, he tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and opened the fridge. Almost empty. Giving the milk a sniff, he tipped it down the drain and sighed. Slamming the refrigerator door shut, he made for the bedroom, shedding
clothes along the way. Collapsing onto his bed, he let exhaustion claim him.

  He awoke to a siren. As the sound faded down the street, he pulled his pillow over his head and tried to get back to the comforting nothingness of sleep. Unfortunately, the pillow did nothing to dampen the noise of his thoughts.

  Awake now, he immediately thought of Gina. She was abandoning him, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t want to; that if he could just hang in there a while longer, she’d be his.

  Throwing the pillow across the dark room, Serge turned to his clock. Ten past midnight. So much for a good night’s sleep.

  Hauling himself out of bed, he shuffled to the bathroom as his sluggish body was forced to join him in the waking world. Splashing water on his face, he stared at his reflection.

  Gina was right; he looked like shit. I bet Rick never goes unshaven for days, he thought grumpily. She’d probably still love him if he did. The fact that she loved the man who ignored her all too frequently, was enough to curl Serge’s hands into fists. Rick didn’t deserve her.

  “And you do?” he asked himself seriously as he got out his shaving gear.

  Once tidied, his face might be one she could love. Frowning at himself, he fought to keep hold of the thought that she did in fact love him. The timing had just been so wrong.

  Was it honorable that she stayed loyal to Rick? Was it guilt that drove her to it? Her husband didn’t give her what she needed.

  “And you do?” he asked himself again.

  He wanted to.

  Rinsing off his face, he turned on the shower and jumped in. Washing the stale sweat from his body, he stood under the water, imagining the hand on his dick was hers as he stroked one out.

  The elation of orgasm was short lived as his feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing began to creep back in.

  “The fuck is wrong with me?” he said out loud, desperate for an answer. Maybe he should cut his losses and just move on like she said. But she didn’t mean it. Did she?