Open For Business || J.JK

8

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.
♫ 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙨- 𝙞𝙧𝙢𝙖 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙨 ♫

I'm dizzy and I can't feel my limbs.

He's barking orders at someone probably over the phone as I somehow got myself to sit in the swivel chair again. I refuse to look down at the floor as there lies a body and my vomit. The thought alone makes me gag again. I press the back of my hand against my mouth in attempt to calm myself.

But the copper smell.

He's cursing now. I don't take a peek at him again as I stand and rush toward the bathroom he has in here with wobbling legs. I surpress the urge to spill my contents again and turn on the faucet, scrubbing my hands purposely under boiling water. I put my mouth under the faucet in attempt to clean it out, then using the same scorching water to wash my face off.

I find the guts to look up in the mirror.

My lipstick, ironically still red, is smudged down my chin. My mascara is running. I sniffle while pulling the entire roll of toilet paper off and using it to scrub my face. My face is still stained with makeup but I don't seem to care. I curse as I bend down to take off these obnoxious heels that are somehow still on my feet. I throw them on the ground and find my way back in the office.

He's now tucking his phone into his back pocket, gun still dangling from his other hand. I look at it then back up at him. He finally addresses my fucking presence.

"Are they on their way?"

His dark orbs, practically a brick wall as unaffected and unfeeling as they are, lock on mine. I swallow the thickness of my throat. He doesn't answer.

He's alive and shot a man in the head in front of me.

"You called them, right?" I urge, attempting to maintain calm.

He docent answer but after a year of silence, I watch his chest rise and fall with a deep breath.

"Red,"

"Why the fuck aren't you calling the cops?" I'm now yelling.

"Red." He repeats.

My heart is actually trying to come up out of my throat. My hands are shaking. I note the fact that the gun's safety has not been put back on. I take a step back in direction of the stairs. I also note the fact that the door is closed.

"Please red." He says again, voice so unnerved it's robotic. I'm actually going to freak the fuck out again. I don't know what he wants or what to do.

"Put that shit down." I bark, taking two more steps toward the door.

"I can't do that." He replies again. His expressionless face turns a bit soft, like he's pleading for something I'm still unaware of. "You know I can't."

"No, I don't. I don't know anything. I just want to go home. No issues, no cops, I just want to go home," I pant, now directly in front of the door and inching toward the doorknob.

"Please."

I twist the knob as he immediately throws himself at me. I flinch, although he doesn't touch me, but his palm slams the door shut behind me. My back is against the wood. His arm is above my head. We're both breathing heavy.

My lip trembles and I begin to cry

"J-just let me go home."

Vulnerability is dripping from the words. He won't look at me, but I'm staring at him between sobs.

"I can't do that. You have to sit and listen, Y/N."

I'm incapable of forming words at this point. I'm a sobbing, hysterical, scared mess underneath him. He's hearing me cry and he still isn't meeting my eyes. He continues to watch his hand pressing into the door as I cry.

He doesn't touch me, he doesn't point that thing at me, but he also doesn't speak.

It's not until his phone rings in his back pocket that he shuts his eyes and takes a rough deep breath in. "Please sit red."

I don't answer.

"I can explain everything to you if you just sit."

I'm not sure what compelled me to do it, but I ducked down underneath his arm and stepped away from the door. Refusing to go to that chair and step over all of that, I simply turn to him and stand.

He still doesn't look at me again as he opens the door and answers the call. "She's alive. Just come up here."

As plenty footfall hit the steps on the way up, everything goes black.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

I wake up downstairs at one of the booth tables. I sit up and look around the club, realizing the absence of people. My bag is on the table, so I immediately begin rummaging through my things trying to find my phone. Everything is here. Money and all. Everything but my phone. I curse and look down, realizing I'm fully clothed and wearing the clothes I came here with. I sigh with relief when I peak under my shirt and catch a glimpse of my dance outfit underneath, meaning nobody got me naked.

The lights are still on inside.

I take a risk by slinging my bag over my shoulder and heading for the entrance. I pull on the handles and rattle them, noting not only the fact that they're locked but that two men dressed like our club bouncers are posted up outside, watching me attempt to leave.

I let out a fuck.

I turn and make my way to the bathrooms down here, using it, rising my mouth out again and pulling my hair up into a ponytail.

I take a deep breath and make my way upstairs.

Creeping up, I'm met with the sound of very very faint laughter and chatter from outside the door. At this point my nervous system is exhausted, so my hands are perfectly still when I push open the door.

All seven heads turn in my direction.