The Incredible League of Goth Pizza Haters (RH)

Part 63

---Sylvia---
For my performance at the club, I slipped on the lacey dress I'd bought at Hot Topic with Ricky. It was black and most of my back and shoulders were showing through the wide spaced lace. The skirt of the dress ended a little above my knees. I wore stockings with it, and I curled the ends of my hair. Light makeup. I wore my combat boots and my pea coat. I thought about how I was beginning to overwear my pea coat.

I said goodbye to the cats and got into the car. It was already dark out, being around eight-forty. I was to perform at nine. Just as I started the car my phone buzzed and I turned to see a message from Ricky.

Want to skype? I had a crazy day

Can't right now. I'm in the car I'll call you when I get home

When I didn't get a response I added

Going out tonight. Haven't in a while.

I set down my phone and began backing out of the driveway. My phone buzzed again.

Ok. Be careful. Don't drink too much or do anything stupid

Me? Do something stupid? Of course not i always make the best decisions

❤️

❤️

I backed out of the driveway, smiling to myself as I started down the road.

***

I parked my car in the parking lot of the Taco Bell a block or two down the street from the club. It was something I'd done since I started coming here because I was paranoid about someone I knew seeing my car parked in front of a suspicious building like Phillip's.

Upon entering, I was greeted by the always welcoming smell of booze. I walked through the hallway and the man at the door nodded when he saw me, allowing me passage. I walked in and as I passed the bar, one body made it's way hastily towards me through the crowd.

Philip walked up to me and placed a hand on my shoulder, rocking it back and forth. He was an almost average looking guy. Average height and a little bit too skinny. If his drinking habits hadn't kept his hair messy and posture slack then you might think to see him at the community church with the kids on a Sunday. Except he was a drunk and he smelled and dressed like one too.

"Sylvia, my songbird," his voice quivered as he stared around, eyes red. He was obviously stoned. Lovely. I checked the time.

"I'm gonna get on stage, Philip," I said and he nodded, stepping back and bumping into someone. I found my way through the moving bodies, backstage, and then onto the stage. The show went about as well as it could have. The crowd moved to the music, most of them lost drunkenly in a place beyond sober comprehension.

Afterwards, I went around and slipped through the crowd, ending up at the bar. Philip grinned when he saw me and handed me a shot. I took it and felt the liquor burn fiery hot down my throat and into my belly. I alternated between shots at the bar and standing amongst the crowd moving to the music that now sung down from the speakers.

At some point, I headed over to the back lounge to rest my legs a bit and cool off. It was hot surrounded by all those people and performing for an hour on a stage had tired out my legs. They hurt, and frankly, I wanted to go to sleep. There was no way I was going to let myself fall asleep in this place. The alcohol mixing with the blood in my veins was making everything foggy. No way I was driving either.

I pulled out my phone to text someone but my fingers were taking a while. I remembered all the way back in September when I'd gone to that party with the strobe lights and been roofied. This wasn't that. Just the result of too much hard liquor too fast. I should've brought water. I opened my phone and it was still in messages. I managed to send something to Ricky. I think it was a picture of the floor. I almost texted him to pick me up before my brain snapped into motion again and reminded me he wasn't in Pennsylvania anymore. I was about to text Mena to come pick me up when Philip plopped down next to me on the couch.

"I loved it," he said, "You were amazing." I shrugged because I knew I hadn't been my best but the compliment was still nice. Even if it was from a drunk.

"Thank you," I murmured but I'm pretty sure he didn't catch it.

"C'mon," he said, getting to his feet, "I'll pay you." I placed my phone back into my bag and followed him out of the lounge and back into his private office. I'd only ever been inside when he paid me. He kept it secure with two keys and inside he kept his money locked away in a combination safe. I was impressed his body was working so well with locks and combinations while he wasn't sober.

He'd locked the door from the inside and when I'd walked in and you could hear the bass of the music vibrating through the door and walls. He had a desk and a few shelves set up, messy things scattered all around. I sat down in a lone chair by the wall and I could feel the vibrations of the music carrying up through the chair and directly into my brain. It was so loud. I leaned forward and put my head in my hands as he messed with his safe. He wouldn't want me watching him anyway.

I heard the safe door close and his shuffling as he moved but didn't walk over. I looked up to see him still in front of his money holder, facing away from me. I opened my mouth to call out to him when he turned around and aimed a gun at me.

Alcohol is a muscle relaxer, it makes everything slower. The brain is not a muscle but it behaves as one. For a few seconds, I just stared and tried to comprehend.

It was a handgun, no bigger than a hairbrush and it shook violently in his grasp. Slowly, I looked from his trembling hands to his face, where his red eyes looked even redder and perspiration made his forehead glisten.
From his quivering lips escaped several fragile words,

"My Songbird, please, please don't make me shoot."