Nocturnes by Kendall Grey Page B

like she cut off my arm at the fucking elbow with no anesthesia.
    I scramble for an excuse to keep her here while she tosses on her coat. “Wait. You said you had a couple of things to tell me. What else…did you want to say?”
    Lola studies me for a long time. Same way Toombs used to when he wanted to speak his mind but feared upsetting me. She presses her lips into a thin smile and shakes her head. “Nothing else. Just stay away from Nocturnes. I’d hate for something bad to happen.” She turns. Pauses. Turns back. “Thanks for the coffee.”
    “Oh, come on, Lola.” I reach toward her as she walks away.
    Her black umbrella plumps at the entrance, and she blends into the night.

Side B: “Riders on the Storm”
    Trying unsuccessfully to catch my breath, I skirt away from Café du Monde toward Jackson Square. Raindrops patter on the skin of my umbrella, heartbeats pound against my ribs, and rushing blood sears my veins.
    Damn, people can be cruel. But the cruelest cuts of all usually bleed from the truth. That’s why they hurt so fucking much.
    I was going along just fine until T-Rex stomped into my life and shattered my glass house. I’d been keeping my past in a chokehold, not even sparing a passing thought for my parents most days, moving forward at a happy little clip, pipe dreams at the ready. Then, BAM! Cue obnoxiously candid drunk guy whose presence not only reminds me of the tragedy that probably made me who I am, but also points out that I am, indeed, nothing more than a whore. And not likely to ever be anything else.
    And that shit he said about how people perceive him as one thing when underneath he’s really another? The parallels to my own “godhood” were downright chilling. Rex and I are kindred spirits.
    And I was certain I was truly alone.
    What a fucking illusion I’ve been living. A bald-faced lie wrapped up in pretty white lace. I told myself when I got promoted from the floor at Nocturnes that Hell was just another job—like dancing. That I’d simply bury my emotions and let people use my body as they wish so I could reach my goal of a happily ever after and move on from the shitty hand life dealt me as a kid. Take a few knocks, endure some pain with a side of humiliation, but in the end, it’s worth it.
    Now…I’m not so sure.
    I cross the street, scanning for somewhere to veg. Can’t go home right now. I need to think. Jackson Square is devoid of human life. There’s no cover. It’s perfect.
    Darting through puddles, I traverse the sidewalks toward a patch of trees near St. Ann Street and commandeer a bench. It’s soaking wet, of course, but I don’t care. I look up at the umbrella shielding my head and snap it shut. Sitting here in the rain is the messiest this body’s allowed to get for as long as Nocturnes owns it, but tonight, I need messy. It complements my mood.
    Fuck Rico and the club’s rules. I drop the umbrella to the ground and draw up my feet, making a tight ball of myself. Arms hug my shins, and I rub the spot on my finger where Mama’s ring used to live. The only real memento of my dear parents—my good luck charm—is gone.
    My head rests on top of my knees, and I do something I haven’t allowed myself to do since I was twelve.
    I feel.
    My supersensitive skin registers dozens of drops every second. My perfectly coiffed hair dissolves into a disheveled mass of tangled keratin. Mascara runs, tackling the slope of my nose, and launching black dots onto my arm.
    This is who I am.
    Beautiful Eve Belikov is ugly and hollow inside.
    Footsteps disrupt the steady rhythm of the splatters. I lift my head. Shit. Maybe it’s a homeless person looking for a place to sleep. No, not on a night like this. They’d want someplace sheltered.
    Could be a cop.
    Or a mugger.
    Or…worse.
    Without my lucky ring…
    Squinting through the thickening sheets of rain, I focus on slowing my hasty breaths. In and out.
    Run, Eve. Get the hell out of here.
    I grab the umbrella, clutch my