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Her kind smile is like sandpaper on the raw edges of my nerves. I’m holding it together by a thread and if she’s kind, I’ll cry, and I can’t afford a mental breakdown right now.
She seems to sense it and just squeezes my arm. “I’m going to head back to school. Let us know how he is in a few days.”
“I will, thank you.”
As she walks through the doors, I turn to Dr. Stanley and know I’m going to have to pull up every ounce of strength I have to get through this next part without falling apart.
He ushers me into a quiet room two doors down from where Eric is sleeping and motions for the chair. I sit, grateful for the opportunity to rest my aching legs. Waitressing keeps me fit, but it’s hell on your feet and legs. “Hit me with the worst, doc, I can take it.”
He smiles kindly and my stomach sinks.
“Eric had a bad hypo. He’s very lucky not to be in a coma right now. We’re monitoring him closely and will for a few days, but either his medication isn’t working, or he isn’t having it.”
I’m grateful for his bluntness, even if I resent the implication, which is that Eric isn’t getting his meds. He isn’t being a dick about it, but anyone with eyes can see I’m scraping the barrel financially and insulin is horrendously expensive. “He’s getting his medication.” My voice is firm, as I enunciate every word. Determination and pride make my spine stiffen under his gaze.
“I wasn’t implying….”
“Yes, you were, and honestly, I get it, Dr. Stanley. I know what we look like and God knows I wish I could say you have it all wrong, but you don’t. I’m dirt poor but even if I have to sacrifice everything I own, Eric gets his medication.”
“Well, in that case, it would seem we’ll need to adjust his current medication. Increase the dose and monitor him more closely.”
“Do what you need to do, doc. I’ll find a way, I always do.”
I can’t even think about the cost of this stay and how I’ll be drowning in so many medical bills that even eating will become a luxury. Perhaps I can get a cheaper apartment and more shifts at the diner, but deep down in my heart I know it won’t be enough. At this point I need a miracle. My stray thoughts are cut short by Dr. Stanley speaking again.
“Does your insurance cover any of it? We have programs you can try, and medical aid.”
I appreciate his kindness, but I’ve tried them all, and it still isn’t enough. I still have my mom’s medical bills that I’m paying off. They say cancer is a death sentence to the poor in America and they’re right. Getting sick is too expensive, having good health is a rich person’s game. I don’t say any of that to Dr. Stanley though. He’s a nice man, but he won’t understand because he’s part of the rich person’s club.
I grip my bag tighter, my knuckles turning white as I fight to stay upbeat. “I’ll look into it.”
He nods and goes on to explain the details of what will happen and what he wants to try, and I take most of it in, but part of me is swimming against the tide, trying to keep myself from screaming at the sheer unfairness of it all.
Later, as I sit by Eric’s bed through the night watching him breathe deeply, I rack my brain for a way out of this mess and find nothing. I could try going to his father, but I know I’d rather die than ask that bastard for anything. He’d likely say no anyway, which means I have one option.
I have to give up the only two things I have left, my pride and my dignity, and do the unthinkable. I have one asset left and that’s my body. Looks like it’s all I have left to sell.
2: Linc
I down thescotch and lift my glass to the barman again. It’s Friday night at Club Ruin, my favorite night of the week as the excitement and anticipation of the weekend is hyping the vibe on the floor. I have a meeting scheduled with my business partners to discuss club business. Harrison Brooks, one of the partners and the man responsible for Club Ruin’s success, called earlier saying he needed to speak with us. It was Harrison who found this building as part of his enormous property portfolio.
The man has property all over the world, having made his money from the stock markets and then diversifying into buildings and land, but now he runs Club Ruin and has a manager handle his huge property portfolio. I think Harrison gets bored too easily and that’s why he needs the constant challenge, but that’s a boon for us because he’s taken our little club and pushed it into the stratospheric success it is today.
The beat of the music is pounding, and I can feel a headache coming on. I can’t be mad though, Harrison doesn’t usually ask for a meeting unless it’s important or sensitive, letting the rest of us stay in the shadows as silent partners for the most part. That’s why, when he called, I cancelled my date for the night and came here instead.
Honestly, I wasn’t feeling it tonight anyway. I shake my head and wonder what the fuck is wrong with me. Sienna is a sure thing with big tits and a curvy ass who’s always happy to get down on her knees and suck my cock like it’s her job, without me even having to ask. The fact I’m not bothered makes me wonder if perhaps I’ve grown tired of the nameless fucking. Women are a dime a dozen, always eager and willing, and I miss the chase and the way my blood would sizzle at the thought of making a woman submit to me. Perhaps I can head for the third floor after the meeting and have some fun there.
Club Ruin was formed one night five years ago, between me and three friends from college, then my cousin Audrey got involved too. We knew nothing of this scene then and it started out as just a normal club, a place to drink, dance, and meet people. Then two years ago it became so much more. Audrey suggested we make use of the third floor and although we’d been cautious, wary of the way it would be received, she’d been right.
I wasn’t exactly happy that my cousin had suggested a sex club on the top floor, but she’s a smart businesswoman and not someone you say no to, so we’d gone with it and the money had come flooding into our already laden pockets.
Now with three floors, Club Ruin offers something for everyone.
The first floor is a normal club, for partygoers, who just want to dance and have fun. Only the best-looking people get into Club Ruin, we’re elitist and unconcerned who that offends. We have a brand and if people don’t like it they can fuck off someplace else. We’re not here to cater to the whims of people who take offense as if it’s their job. We have a very strict policy and dress code. If you let in the riff-raff, you won’t get the clientele we’re looking for, the kind that doesn’t mind dropping thousands of dollars on liquor. The queue that goes around the block suggests it was the right move.
That’s not the fun part though, it’s the top two floors where the real fun happens. The second floor is the VIP section with waitress and waiter service only. The girls and guys are all smoking hot, with a very different uniform from the bar staff on the first floor. Normal bar staff wear tight black t-shirts with the Ruin logo and black denim skirts or jeans. VIP girls wear short black dresses and are required to have more on show, to entice the customers to spend their hard-earned cash. The men wear black slacks and are shirtless except for a black bow tie. It’s pretentious but it works and that’s all we care about.
My musings are interrupted by Ryker Cabot, tech genius and social media mogul extraordinaire, and one of my best friends since college.
