Seraphine

eleven

Seraphine 

Seraphine fidgets in the tiny black dress she never thought she'd pull out again, not having realized how tight it was when she slipped it on. The fabric barely covers her chest, but when she keeps tugging at it to bring it up, it rises on her thighs and exposes a bit of her backside. 

She flushes in anger, or maybe in embarrassment, as she glances around at the other patrons of the club. She recognized it immediately when she pulled into the parking lot, the long line of college students wrapping around the corner. It was one she frequented with Derek when they'd first gotten to the university. 

Electra is a fairly large club, with a sticky, shiny dance floor and flashing lights that keep blinding her. The main room is large enough to house over a hundred people, and it does: people squished together like sardines in a hot tin can, not caring who they step on or what they rub against. 

It used to thrill Seraphine, but now it disgusts her. 

"Seraphine, stop fucking messing with your dress. It looks fine." Derek hisses in her ear, his breath hot from all the alcohol he's devouring. She flinches away from him and his stench, wanting to put some distance in between her and this stranger she barely knew anymore. 

"Derek, I want to go home." She demands, but he doesn't hear her. He's too busy flagging down a scantily dressed waitress carrying shots in empty light bulbs. She tries tugging on his shirt, but he ignores her again. After a few seconds of this futile attempt at attention, Seraphine sighs and drops his shirt, turning back to her scotch on the rocks. 

She picks up the glass and swirls it around, watching the amber liquid as it sloshes to the edges but never spills. Seraphine tilts her head, suddenly picturing her anger as the scotch: always there, always bubbling, but never spilling over the edge. 

Still staring at the glass, Seraphine feels her nostrils flare as she tilts the glass a little too far to the left, and some of the alcohol spills over her fingers and onto the table. 

"Seraphine!" Derek shouts, making her jump and drop the glass with a clatter on the table. She turns to see her boyfriend staring at her with a look of disbelief, and burns red as she stutters. 

"I-I...it spilled," she answers lamely, and Derek stares at her for a beat of silence before he brings the shot he's acquired to his lips and tosses his head back. He licks his lips after swallowing, and Seraphine feels nothing but disgust towards him. 

"I love you," she murmurs, knowing he can hear her. She doesn't know why she says it, maybe to convince herself of the love that might still exist between them, maybe to remind herself why she stays. 

"I love you too, babe," he smiles down at her, but his words are garbled and his breath still reeks. Seraphine crinkles her nose, and Derek's smile turns into a frown. 

His brown eyes dart over her shoulder, scanning the room, and Seraphine closes her eyes. She knows what's coming next, and she's been dreading it ever since he'd announced that they were going out. 

"Sera," he sings, pulling out an old nickname that he hasn't used in years. It takes Seraphine so much by surprise that she gasps, her eyes darting up to his. 

"Derek?" She steps closer to him, her hand coming up to land on his arm. 

Is...is he trying to save us? Maybe he won't make me--

"Let's play a game." 

And, there it is. Seraphine pulls her hand back from his arm and sighs, yanking her dress down so it covers more of her ass. He sends her a dirty look and she pulls her hands away from the fabric, setting them down on the table. 

For a moment, her mind wanders as she looks down at her drink. She thinks back to today's events: Dr. Brummer's office, Dr. Reeves' proposal, Dr. Wern's eyes, Dr. Michaels' question...

Seraphine was mortified when he straight up asked her why she was still wearing her clothes from yesterday. She'd started crying when she realized what she was wearing, and who she was standing in front of--she knew he knew. And yet, she was still taken aback when he asked. 

She still remembers the way Dr. Brummer's eyes widened, Dr. Reeves' lips parting, Dr. Wern whirling around on his feet. None of them knew, and that just made the whole situation worse. 

So why had she still accepted the job? 

She thought of Liliana's words, her accusations about her professors, the Kings. That's what they were called, the Kings of Chicago. 

Dr. Reeves, Dr. Michaels, Dr. Wern, Dr. Brummer. 

Seraphine's thoughts suddenly run rampant and she has a vision of herself lying on a huge bed, all four of her professors surrounding her: Dr. Reeve's sultry voice telling her how good she is, Dr. Michaels' delicious hands all over her body, Dr. Wern's wicked smirk pressed against her skin, Dr. Brummers' plump lips over hers...

"Ready, babe?" Derek's harsh voice cuts over the music and through Seraphine's thoughts, making her gasp and spill even more of her drink. 

Fucking hell, what--

"You okay?" Derek places a hand on her bare shoulder, and she jumps again--it's cold from holding the shot. She blinks through her aroused haze and looks up at him, almost frowning when she doesn't see one of her professors' faces. 

Seraphine squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head, trying her absolute hardest to get rid of her thoughts. She can't think like this, especially while she's out with Derek, and especially about her professors. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just want to go--" she tries again, but Derek takes her "yeah" in stride and grins down at her. 

"Good, good, great. I've found the perfect guy," he smirks down at her, and places both hands on her shoulders before turning her around so she's facing the inside of the club. 

His hand lifts and he points to the very back of the club, and Seraphine's gaze slowly follows it to find a raised platform that's roped off with purple velvet. Her heart starts to race already in anticipation--he wants me to go to the VIP section? 

She's about to turn around and tell him no, she can't go over there, when her eyes meet a striking gray, and her whole body feels like it's been set on fire.

Sitting right there, staring right at her, is Dr. Reeves.