A Dream Realized

Chapter One

Neave

Lizzie is pulling on my arm, dragging me toward one of the dingy buildings with flashing neon signs. My pulse is racing, the adrenaline of the night air and raucous laughter beginning to take hold of me. A crowd of women are standing around outside, blocking the entrance. Lizzie pushes through them with ease as I let out a whoop of joy. As we pass I see a woman with one of those plastic crowns on her head that says Bride in big sparkling letters. It must be a bachelorette party.

I feel a pang of sadness and longing in my chest. I was supposed to have that. I was supposed to be that woman. He had promised me a future together and I had waited for him to be ready. Waited for him to sleep with me, waited for him to marry me. Now it was out the window: my dreams, my love, my desire. I start for a minute when I realize that. I don't desire him anymore. If I'm willing to admit it, I would even say I haven't desired him in a long time. But passion and lust don't make a relationship, I remind myself. You have something special with him. You always have. And it can be fixed, in time. This isn't the end. But if this isn't the end, why does it feel so achingly final? I don't want to answer that. In fact, I don't want to think about him at all for a long time. So I let the alcohol and the writhing bodies of the dingy bar distract me.

Spotlights shine across the stage at the front. I know that this is a strip club, and I shouldn't be here, but the atmosphere has that effect on me, drawing me in deeper and deeper. I don't know how long I wander through the crowd in a drunken haze before Lizzie finds me again, gripping the same spot on my arm. Her small pink nails make crescent moon shaped marks in my skin. For some reason I can't even feel it. I feel her dragging me across the floor; try to ask where she is taking me. I can barely hear her response over the pounding of the music and the pounding of my heart, which is just as loud, if not louder. I'd never felt as blisteringly alone as in that moment. She yells back, and I hear something about wanting to introduce me to someone. She says she has a solution to my problem, which makes me laugh. As if. Desperate to regain some control, I twist out of her grasp, causing those crescent moons to become long red welts. Maybe I shouldn't have done that. Maybe I've had too much to drink. Lizzie doesn't seem at all fazed.

"This is Mrs. Reynolds," she tells me, beckoning to a woman who appears out of place in the dirty, sweating club. Her clothes are crisp and clean, and her jewelry looks expensive. I have to stifle a laugh, which somehow still escapes as a snort.

"Hello," I say, attempting to regain some composure.

"Hello," she parrots back, in a smooth voice that seems almost too deep for her delicate features. "I hear you'd like to do business with me. As I've discussed with your friend here, the costs are nonnegotiable."

"The costs for what?" I ask, distracted. I'm already wondering how I'm going to get home. Neither of us is in a state for driving.

"A private session," she states, as if this is a known fact. In fact, her tone suggests that this whole conversation is boring her. I, on the other hand, am speechless.

"Excuse me?"

"Your friend here suggested you would like to pay for a private session with one of our employees. The cost is two hundred dollars, straight up, and further fees may be discussed with the employee himself." She's talking to me like I'm stupid. I wish for the millionth time that I don't look so young. I can't even get any respect when someone is offering to sell me a hooker.

"That's- I'm- I can't." I'm going to kill Lizzie. She pulls me aside.

"Come on Neave, you need this right now."

"Are you seriously trying to convince me to pay for sex? After I've waited all these years for Nicholas?"

"Yes! Look, you're right, you've waited. And waited. And waited. Aren't you sick of waiting?"