Vivid Lies (4 page)

Curiously, I scan the tables for Kane. I'm not sure if I'm disappointed or relieved that he's not here.
 

I wipe my sweaty palms on my bare thighs. I will be up soon and I run the routine over in my head.
 

The men who drool over the dancers have no idea what goes into a performance. They see skin and fantasy. They have no idea the strength and preparation, not only physically but mentally, that goes into the three minutes they see.
 

The rush is what we are all chasing in this dim and loud room.
 

When I know the song is coming to an end, I go to wait at the steps. Even with my nerves fried, my hands are surprisingly steady. On the outside, I look confident and ready.

The lights dim and I feel the dancer before me brush past me as she exists. I take the three stairs to the stage and face my back to the audience.
 

Raising both hands above my head, I grab the pole. The silver pole holds my spine straight and separates me from the men watching me. I'm still in the darkness as the first few beats of the song fill the room. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes as the red spotlight hits me.
 

Catcalls and whistles come from behind me but I concentrate on the music. My body slowly slides down the pole and I spread my knees. The men yell because they can't see what I'm showing off. It drives me to keep going.
 

Straightening, I twirl around and hold the pole in front of them. I bend over, giving them a view of my ass and their calls drown out my music. Adrenaline rushes my veins as I spin myself around the pole. My boots hit the floor and I smile when I don't fall.
 

Feeling the power, I move like I practiced. I tease them. I flash them. I make them want me.

I spin and dance as though I have done it a thousand times before.
 

The leather jacket hits the floor, landing with the dirty paper money. I'm relieved to have the weight off, and I cool down. I'm more exposed to the floor than I have ever been since I started working here. Strangers have never seen so much of my body before.
 

Working the crowd near the stage, I let them touch the boots and slip bills into my thong. Bouncers hover nearby, ready to pull off any touchy ones.
 

I swallow my nerves and drop the bra slightly later than I had choreographed.
 

They love it.
 

More money hits the floor and I prance by it all to back the pole.
 

My hands are sweaty as I grab pole high and spin around. Locking my ankles together, my legs hold me up as I drop backward. Upside down, I hold the bottom of the pole and my back arches. My bare chest is facing the audience but I close my eyes as blood rushes to my head. The boots make it hard to feel my grip.

Panic sets in as my ankles break apart. I tumble down the ground and nearly smash my face.
 

I still, face down on the stage. My sweaty body is sticking to the floor.
 

The room goes dead silent.

The blood rushes back to my legs and I scramble to my knees. I look back at the dropped jaws and wide eyes.
 

I don't even bother to grab my tips before pushing to my feet and rushing off the stage. I slam through the door to the dressing room and grab a robe to cover myself. At my vanity, I bury my red face in my hands.
 

That was the single most embarrassing moment of my life.
 

I fight tears when I hear the music change. Candy quietly comes into the room and places my discarded clothes in front of me. My tips are neatly stacked on top.

"It happens," she says, meeting my eyes in the mirror.

"Not to you," I mumble, on the verge of crying.
 

She laughs and sits on the stool next to me.
 

"My first dance actually went perfectly. My second was a disaster. I ran for the top, jumped and missed."

I stare at her with wide eyes. I've never seen Candy be anything less than amazing. She must have been doing this a long time, but with all the makeup and wigs, it's hard to tell her age.
 

"Yep. I flew through the air and landed in the crowd. Gave a guy a black eye in the process."

I can't help it and start laughing. Candy laughs too and shakes her head.

"We all have a mistake when we start. Don't be too hard on yourself, kid."

She winks at me and leaves me alone in the dressing room. I stare back at myself in the mirror. My hair is a mess, my eyeliner is smeared and I'm still shaking with nerves.
 

I sulk until more girls enter the dressing room. Some look at me and laugh while others look at me with pity. Bitches. I can't take it anymore.
 

I dress quickly, pulling leggings and a tank top over the outfit I wore on stage. I put the boots that were my downfall back on and take the jacket with me out the back door.
 

It's a little after midnight when I pull into our underground garage. I park in our designated spot and shut off the car.
 

"Fuck!" I smack the steering wheel.
 

Tonight was my night to prove to someone that I'm good at something. I was supposed to be awesome here. Not one half of Brooklyn and London. I was supposed to earn my spot on the stage.

Instead, I made a fool of myself. I'll be lucky if they let me up there again anytime soon.
 

I should have practiced more. Probably should have taken dance classes as a kid or something. Ran away to join the circus. Who knows what kind of training Candy has?
 

I grab my bag and get out of the car, slamming the door behind me. The garage is cool and empty. My heels echo as I walk across the cement.
 

I'm passing the dumpsters when I notice the pole. Walking over to it, I see it's steel and probably needs painting. There used to be a sign attached to the top at some point.
 

I drop my bag and unzip my boots, kicking them to the side. I clench my jaw and rush the pole, locking my ankles at the top as I spin and drop backwards. Upside down, I hold my breath and wait to fall like I just did at the club.
 

My body holds and slowly rotates as planned. My back arches and I grab the bottom. I slowly drop one leg back down to the ground, then the other.
Perfect
.

I do it again. And again.
 

London and I fought too hard to get where we are now. I may be a stripper, but it's what I want. This is my version of freedom and I'll be damned if I'll let that go. I think about my sister who gave it all up, too. Together we need to make it or it will all be for nothing. He wins if I give in.
 

I can't give in. I keep trying for London. I keep trying for me.
 

My hands are raw and I start to shiver from the cold but I don't stop. I don't know how long I do the move that I failed on stage, but I keep going until my ankles bruise.
 

Clapping echoes as I stand back up from another move. A shadowed figure comes toward me and into the dim light from the exit sign.
 

"I knew you could do it," Kane says, stopping a few in front of me.
 

"You scared the shit out of me," I hiss with my hand over my racing heart.
 

"Good. You shouldn't be down here alone this late."

"I didn't think anyone was around. I just wanted to try something."

Kane runs his hand over the pole as he looks down at me. I pick up the jacket and put my boots back on.
 

"Are you okay?" he asks. "Did it hurt?"

"You saw?" My face heats with embarrassment.
 

He just nods and grabs my bags from the ground.
 

"I'm fine. Just need some more practice."

Silently, we leave the garage and get on the elevator together. In the light of the lobby, I see water dripping down Kane's jacket and his hair is wet.
 

"Why are you wet?" I ask.
 

"It's coming down pretty hard out there," he says, running his hand through his wet hair.
 

To prove his point, a crack of thunder sounds and the lights flicker.
 

"Shit." I rush to the elevator and hit the button. When the doors don't immediately open, I turn for the stairs.
 

"Brooklyn? Are you okay?"
 

"My sister. She's terrified of storms," I say as I run up the stairs.
 

London has been scared of storms since we were in middle school. Back home, a fierce thunderstorm rolled in one night. The thunder and lightning shook the whole house. We waited all night, huddled under the stairs for our dad to get home.
 

He wrapped his car around a tree that night on his way home from the bar. It was a long night of fear and worry. London freaks out with every storm since then.
 

I run up the four flights, praying my boots won't let me down again tonight. When I get to our door I turn the knob, but it's locked.

"London, open the door," I shout as I smack the door harder. "Fuck."

"Here."
 

Keys are forced into my hand and I look up at Kane in relief. He hands me my bags and I unlock the door.
 

"Thank you," I whisper before I close the door and rush to my sister's room.
 

London

I know I'm dreaming, but I can't make myself wake up.
 

My throat burns. My eyes burn. My skin burns. Smoke surrounds me in a red and orange hue. I'm screaming but the smoke chokes the sound.
 

I crawl on the floor, searching. I can't stop looking. I won't leave without finding her.

My chest aches with the need for air. The smell of my childhood home burning fills my lungs instead of the oxygen I desperately need. The room is so hot. I feel my skin burning like when I've been in the sun for too long.
 

Every step forward hurts. I keep pushing forward because my other half is still here somewhere. I'm so scared but I'm more scared of never finding her.
 

I feel like I'm being split in half. Torn apart and scattered into pieces.
 

Tears drip down my cheeks but they dry instantly in the heat. I keep screaming but I can only hear the crackling and hissing of the walls.
 

My head spins and the colors of red and orange blur together. The colors swirl and mix. Orange, yellow, red, and black.
 

A scream finally rips from me and I gasp fresh air.

"London," Brooklyn says in my ear as her arms wrap around my chest.
 

"Shit," I pant. The relief rushing through me is welcome and overwhelming.
 

"Just a dream," she whispers, hugging me tightly.
 

We fall back down to my bed as my heart pounds in my chest. I'm breathing heavily like I had been holding my breath. Or in a smoke filled house.
 

"Why are you in my bed?" I ask when I can breathe again.
 

"There was a storm last night. I came in after work."

I vaguely remember Brooklyn crawling in with me last night. I took a sleeping pill in an attempt to sleep through the storm, but I still kept waking up to the thunder.
 

I sigh, sick of always needing Brooklyn to hold me together.
 

"Go back to bed," I say as I get up. She probably got in only hours ago.
 

In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face. My eyes burn from the lack of sleep and they look bloodshot. My hair is a wild mess but I can't bring myself to do a damn thing about it right now. I feel dead on my feet despite spending all night at home.

I shuffle into the kitchen for coffee and hear muffled voices in the hall. It only takes a few seconds to recognize one of the voices. Of course he would be here.
 

 
I swing open the door and find Miles in the hallway. He's not alone.
 

Kane is glaring at him as they stand chest to chest. They turn to stare at me when they notice me.
 

"Brooklyn?" Kane asks.

"London?" Miles says at the same time. "Right?"

Miles brushes the madness of my hair out my eyes to get a good look at my face. I can tell he isn't sure who I am.
 

Brooklyn and I never made any effort to look different from each other. We could have colored or cut our hair, but we never did. Part of it was because we liked looking identical. We chose other ways to stand out from each other. If people wanted to tell us apart, they needed to actually know us. They couldn’t say 'the one with the short hair'. They’d say the quiet one, or the dancer. London or Brooklyn.