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I should probably turn around. She doesn’t seem to notice me in her trance.
Yeah, I’ll turn around.
“Hey,” I say with my back to her.
There’s no response, so I glance in her direction. My eyes linger on her face. The usual makeup is gone. Is she naturally this red and puffy? A tear rolls down her cheek.
To hell with it.
I put a hand on her small shoulder and shake her slightly.
“Tanya.”
Her name on my lips seems to bring her back, and I sigh in relief.
I miss her smile and her cheeky little comments when I mess up. I miss her next to me at the bar every night.
When Penelope betrayed Damien and took over the club, my life didn’t really change. The Arcana Empress told me she’d spoken to Penelope and that they had agreed for the Arcana to stay out of it.
I took the chance then to ask to leave and return to my normal duties, but the Empress said that my being there was essential. From punishment, it had transformed into important spy work.
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” she’d said.
“Tanya!” I give her another shake, my eyes sliding down from her face to her arms and wrists. They are riddled with bruises and marred with fresh claw marks. Fresh blood glistens on her neck in long, uneven lines.
“Huh?” Tanya’s eyes snap to mine. Her gaze clears and she flinches away, covering herself with the T-shirt.
“Who did this?” I ask.
She just stares at me. No, through me.
“This place is horrible now, isn’t it?” I say in a quiet voice, trying to get her to speak.
“I can deal with it. Turn around.” Her voice is hoarse, as if she’s been screaming for hours.
I obey immediately. The moment of tense silence and rustling clothes gives me the opportunity to do some mental math.
When Penelope took over the club, she changed Tanya’s job. She must have because I barely see her on the bar floor anymore. I catch glimpses of her when she goes back and forth from the booths to the private rooms.
She’s never been one of the sex workers, but what if Penelope...?
“I’m good now,” Tanya says, interrupting my spiraling thoughts.
“Is the new management forcing you to do things you don’t want to?” My voice comes out harsh. I’ve never been good at this type of interaction. I’m good at blowing stuff up. Subtlety is not in my blood.
“Is that what you came here to ask?” She sounds exhausted.
As she brings her hand to wipe at her cheeks, to hide the tears still spilling quietly from her eyes, I notice her bloody nails and put two and two together. The neck marks, the arms. She did this to herself.
“Does it help when you do this?” I ask, ignoring her previous question. I came to share a silly little thing; that I’d developed a vodka shot with a bit of flare that she might actually like. Only took me two years, but still.
She folds into herself like a hedgehog. My questions are making her uncomfortable. I’m bad at reading people but not that bad.
“It helps. Can you leave me alone now?” she says.
I keep my face composed but wince on the inside. How can making yourself bleed possibly help?
“I can help you. Let’s get out of here.” I reach to take her hand, but she dodges me.
