Witness
You stare at the mess you've made of your apartment in your frenzy to find your purse. Furniture has been shifted out of place and blankets and pillows have been carelessly thrown to the sidelines. You rub the leftover sleep from your eyes. You didn't get to ease into waking up, instead noticing the absence of your phone immediately and then realizing you don't know where your purse is. You shot out of bed and began tearing apart your home looking for it. To no avail.
You strain to remember where you lost saw your purse. You had set it down once to use the bathroom during the party. But you picked it up right after. You curl up on yourself like a roly-poly and dig your fingers into your hair. Your wallet, with all of your cards and what little cash you had was in it. Distress threatens to overwhelm you and you tug on your hair. The pain makes you take a deep breath and it takes everything in your power not to freak out and destroy everything. It's not a big deal, not really. Cancel your cards and go through the process of ordering new ones. Except you don't have a phone to do all of that, which means you'll have to go down to the bank. A frustrated whine bursts through your throat. This is all Valeria's fault.
She wasn't in charge of your purse, but she made you go to that stupid party and in your eyes, makes her just as guilty as you. You can't sit here and wallow though. You're already late for work on account of your phone also doubling as your alarm clock. It's almost amazing how long the body can sleep for and still wake up exhausted.
It's halfway through your routine when you realize you have no way of taking the bus. Your bus card was in your purse and you have no money lying around. You dig your nails into your arms and wince when you draw blood. A walk will do you good. You chuckle quietly, on the verge of tears. Why does everything always have to go wrong for you? Your chagrined laughter turns into small sobs. Which quickly evolves into angry shouting. You hunch over and repeatedly smack yourself in the head. Relishing in the ache building in your skull. You calm down and avoid your own gaze in your bathroom mirror. Ashamed and embarrassed of your outburst. Now you're late to work, have to walk, and have a headache.
It's perhaps an hour long walk. By the time you make it to the Canary Cage, your legs and feet are aching like hell and you want to do nothing more than to curl up in bed. You ignore the wolf-whistling from a pack of drunk men as you push your way into the building. You make it to the employee only hallway before getting stopped roughly.
"Where the hell were you? Your shift started two hours ago!" A woman snaps at you. You look at her, trying to recall her name. She's tall and slender with pretty narrow features and wide set eyes. You should know her name, but your mind draws a blank.
"Slept in." You reply, frowning at her.
"'Slept in.'" She repeats incredulously, widening her eyes. "You had the rest of us scrambling to cover your shift so that we didn't have an empty stage, and you're telling me you 'slept in'?" You open your mouth to defend yourself, but she continues furiously, not giving you a chance to speak. "You'd better go see Valeria. You'll be lucky if she doesn't fire your ass. Barely a week working here and you're already pulling some bullshit. Unbelievable." She rants, pushing past you.
Rubbing your face you step down the hall, towards Valeria's office. Anxiety churning in your gut. You hope she doesn't fire you over this. It's not like it's even your fault, you had no way of communicating with her. You knock on her door and wait.
"Come in."
You open the door and timidly step inside. You chance a look at her. Gauging her reaction. "Hey."
"You're awfully late." She says coolly. Her hands folded neatly on the table. You shut the door behind you and stand before her stiffly. Looking over the decorations in her office. It's all very generic and bland, nothing indicative of her personality.
"Yes, I'm sorry," You sigh. "I think I lost my purse at that party, and it had like, everything. My wallet, my phone. I use my phone as an alarm but since I don't have it or my bus card..." You expect her to snap at you, tell you it doesn't matter.
But she doesn't. Valeria gives you a knowing look and reaches down, grabbing something from under her desk. She sets down your purse and you perk up. Shoulders relaxing at the sight of it.
"You forgot it in my car." She tells you. You lean forward and grab it. Clutching it in your hands possessively. You're painfully aware of Valeria's gaze on you while you look inside. Everything is accounted for. Except a clear lip-gloss. You're miffed about that, but it was cheap and half used anyway.
"Thanks." You murmur. Your gratitude is very reluctant. You don't like having to be thankful to Valeria. She makes this small action feel like a favor she had to go out of her way for.
"You're welcome," she says, waving a hand dismissively. "Now get to work."
Shooed from her office, you quickly leave. You barge into the singer's backroom, startling one of the waitresses on break. She gives you a wary look over her phone which you ignore. You sit down at one of the vanities. Under the bright lights you have a better visual of your appearance. You look scuffed. The best you can do is touch up your makeup, which only looks cakey and heavy. You don't really want to go out and sing, but you don't have much choice.
Usually you don't mind being on stage. The nerves feel somewhat exhilarating. But you feel ugly and miserable and the eyes on you don't feel exciting, they feel judgmental. Like they can see your clogged pores and the little hairs on your lip that you forgot to get rid of. Or how clumpy your mascara is, or how your hair isn't sitting right.
The whole time you're singing you feel disgusting. Like the cheap flashy dress you're wearing has molded to your body. To make things worse, when the door swings open you see Erin walk in. Her presence sets you on edge. Sending anger flaring through your body. You're surprised she came here alone. Without Harlow attached to her hip, you almost don't recognize her. And suddenly she's the only person you can see in the crowd. It makes you nervous and you almost mess up the lyrics of the songs you're singing a few times.
You finish, take your final bow, and haul ass off the stage. Wanting to be out of sight from Erin as fast as possible. You scowl as you force your way through the drunk, dancing crowd. Why did she have to come here? Your name being called almost stops you but you push forward.
"Hey." Erin says, much closer now. You stop and turn, feeling guarded against this snake's tricks.
"Oh, hey." You say politely. "Sorry, didn't hear you." Erin stops in front of you and smiles, her cheeks dimpling. You used to like her dimples.
"I was surprised to hear you quit at the Fireflower," She speaks, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her baggy jeans. "When I heard you started working here I thought I'd come see how you're doing."
You clench your jaw. 'Come see how you're doing.' Erin always manages to make simple, even kind statements sound condescending.
"I didn't quit, I was fired." You dip your head, eyes blazing. And you're sure her new girlfriend has something to do with it. "And I'm getting on fine here. I'm really loving it." You lie.
Erin gazes at you calmly. "I'm glad," she says, face softening. "You deserve to have something good happen to you."
"Right." You nod. Eager to get away. You inch backwards but Erin doesn't seem to get the hint.
"It's been awhile since we've talked, I tried texting you, but I guess you blocked my number." She says breezily.
You did in fact, block her number. You couldn't have blocked her fast enough. You also deleted every single picture and video of her. Threw out all her gifts in a fit of rage.
"Yeah, it helped me move on." You shrug. She looks at you.
"I'm sorry for how things ended." She murmurs and steps closer, genuine remorse glittering in her dark eyes. You glance around nervously, not wanting to be seen too close to her.
"That's what you're sorry for?" You snap, your temper flaring hotly. "Not fucking the girl that you knew I hated? You're not sorry for that?" You glare at her hatefully. Erin winces, pushing back her hair with one ring clad hand.
"I'm sorry for that, too." She admits. "I broke up with Harlow."
The news should bring you pleasure, but you just don't feel anything but anger. Erin continues.
"I regret what I did, and being with her made me realize just what I lost in you. I'm not expecting you to say yes, but if you're open to it, I'd like to take you to dinner next weekend." She says softly. Cooing at you gently like she used to do after you had a destructive fit. Like you're a small child. Before you can answer, a cold voice speaks up from behind you.
"Who's this?" Valeria asks, coming up beside you. She gives the younger woman an unimpressed look.
Erin's soft, gentle demeaner dissipates like a leaf in a raging river. She straightens up and levels Valeria with a cool stare of her own. The two women engaging in some psychological warfare you're not privy to.
"Erin, I'm an old friend." She nods. "Who are you?" You stand between Valeria and Erin awkwardly.
"Hm. Never heard of you." Valeria replies, ignoring her question.
Erin wets her lips. "We had a bit of a falling out." She says. Falling out? You scowl at her. Cheating on you and leaving you for another woman is so much more than a 'falling out' in your opinion.
You look at Valeria, she almost looks amused.
"I see." She says. "Well, you can't come back here." She points to the sign that reads 'Employees Only.'
"Yes, I saw that." Erin says flatly. "We're just talking, and I'm not in the hallway."
You eye both women. A little curious to stick around and watch them circle each other like angry dogs, but that would mean spending more time in Erin's presence. And while time supposedly heals all wounds, it hasn't been long enough to completely seal up yours. You slip away from them back to the singer's backroom. Wanting to get some rest seeing as you'll be staying late an extra two hours to make up for your accidental tardiness. A sign of goodwill to the girl who covered some of your shift.
Though it doesn't take long for Valeria to catch up with you. She pads along beside you silently for a few seconds before speaking.
"Who was that?" She asks you.
"An old friend." You walk into the singer's backroom and attempt to close the door, but Valeria catches it and follows you in. There are a few other singers getting ready for their own sets. They glance over for a second before turning their attention back to their reflections. You flop down on the little sofa in the corner. Valeria stands next to you, crossing her arms casually, the muscles in her forearms flexing with the action.
"So she said." Valeria replies. "But it felt like something more was going on behind the scenes. Were you two-"
"I don't want to talk about it." You interrupt quickly. Uncomfortable with the conversation. You look at the other girl's quickly to make sure they aren't paying attention to you. You're ashamed of your embarrassment. But you don't want them to know you like women. Your preferences have historically made the women around you uncomfortable. Never mind the fact that you never made moves on them once.
Valeria eyes you meaningfully.
"Do you want me to blacklist her?" She asks you. You consider it.
"I don't think she'll come back anyway." You say. But deep down you're not entirely sure. Erin's not the type to leave things alone. She didn't leave you alone when you repeatedly rejected her, citing that she could handle all your issues. She also didn't leave Harlow alone after numerous warnings from you.
One of the other girls gets up and leaves the room, bidding goodbye to the other one.
"I'm going to do it anyway." Valeria decides. "I don't want her around."
"Fine. Whatever." You say. You're too tired and ruffled by the encounter to care. You're still reeling from the news. They broke up. They were only together for three months. You huff. Serves them right. You hope it hurt. You're also a little angry. Erin destroyed your relationship chasing after Harlow, and then just broke things off so she could crawl back to you. She had the absolute nerve to ask you out again. Like you were just waiting for her to come back.
It's offensive, really.
* * *
The Canary Cage is actually quite nice when it's empty and the overhead lights are on. You push in chairs and wipe up spilled drinks from the tables and floors. Arlo is behind the bar doing inventory. It almost feels like you're back in the Fireflower. Though it's not the same without Tony, you realize with a sharp pang. Arlo calls your name and you look up.
"Could you take these down to the cellar for me?" He asks, gesturing towards a crate of half empty liquor and wine bottles.
"Sure." You reply. You set down your damp rag and walk over to him, lifting the crate with some strain.
"Thanks." He says. "Cellar's just back through there." He juts a thumb over his shoulder, pointing towards a closed door. You dip your head and use your hip to push it open. The stairs down are lit by a dim hanging bulb, and the stairs themselves are steep and narrow. You carefully make your way down, trying not to trip and break your neck. You're a little dismayed to find yourself in a stone hallway. A few rooms on either side of the walls. You step forward and peek into the rooms, looking for anything that indicates alcohol storage.
A low, pained moan stops you in your tracks. You pause and listen, heart pounding in your ears. Maybe you're hearing things. You take another step forward and stop when a sharp cry shoots through the musky air. Followed by a low but very angry sounding voice. Talking too low for you to hear the words. You creep towards the voices, scared of what you'll see. They're coming from a room to the right, the wooden door just slightly cracked open. You peer inside.
The room is lined with boxes and crates. In the center stands two men you've never seen, another man lying on the floor, and standing over him is Valeria. Her face is twisted into hatred.
"How many of you are working against me?" She barks, sounding furious. You watch on helplessly as the man tries to explain himself, only to receive a heavy boot to the gut. "That's the problem with rats." She growls viciously. "They multiply faster than you can get rid of them."
"I'm not a rat, you've got the wrong person." The man groans.
Valeria scowls. "No?" She scoffs. She reaches into her pocket and takes out a wire of some kind. "Then what's this? Nico took it off of you when he brought you to me." She throws it down on him.
You will the man to come up with a sufficient, explainable answer but he just gapes at the object. Mouth opening and closing like a fish. While he searches for the right words, Valeria looks up at one of the two men standing behind him. Giving a sharp nod. Your eyes widen as you watch the man reach into his pants and pull out a gun with a silencer attached. He points it at the back of the man's head and pulls the trigger. The sound is muffled and swallowed up by the stones, but still sounds like a bomb to you. The man slumps forward, a puddle of blood pooling around his head. The sight makes you sick. You set down the crate of bottles and hurry away. Flying up the stairs.
The air inside the bar feels stifling and heavy. Arlo looks up with surprise when you burst out from behind the door.
"Are you okay?" He asks, concern in his voice. Your breath is caught in your chest. Is the young friendly bartender in on it? Did he know what was going on in the basement?
"Yes, I'm fine." You say tightly. Did he hear the gunshot? Silencers are only so quiet after all. "I'm going to go home, I'm not feeling well." You tell him. Rushing to grab your purse.
"But there's so much cleaning that needs to be done, I can't do all of it on my own!" He calls out to you. You pretend not to hear him, rushing out the door.
The cool night breeze feels heavenly on your hot face. Somehow, you feel so much safer outside after dark then you do inside the Canary Cage. The image of that man slumping over like a ragdoll keeps flashing through your mind in vivid detail. You've never seen a person die before. Your chest tightens and your mouth waters warningly. You compose yourself, not wanting to get sick on the sidewalk. You knew Valeria was involved in sketchy shit, but you never imagined it was this bad. You had assumed she was probably just a drug dealer. You rub your shaking hands over your face. His blood looked fake. The blood in movies were always much darker. And your own blood was never that... red.
You make the walk to your bus stop, periodically looking over your shoulder. Paranoid that Valeria knows what you saw. You mentally smack yourself for leaving that crate there. She'll know someone else was down there for sure.
The entire bus ride home is spent dreading tomorrow.