DAMIEN: Book 2 of The De Luca Brothers Series [COMPLETED]

1:

Funny how you think you're invincible until you madly screwup. Screwup so bad that you know that it will change the course of your life forever. Six weeks; six weeks since I saw him, since we went on that date and got wasted, before hooking up in a alcohol-driven haze in the shitty basement I've been renting for just over three months. Not only have a been going to work every night hoping I can see him, but the disappointment that crashes down when he's not there oddly hurts. I promised myself before I moved here that I wouldn't let myself get attached to a boy again. Guess I've already broken that one.

The tiny bathroom smells of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume, the walls are painted a dark red with multiple cracks and graffiti decorating it. This can only fit one toilet, a sink and a mirror, let alone a person. I look into the mirror, my hazel eyes starring back at me with dread, taking in my light olive skin tone, brown hair with blonde highlights, the bags under my eyes and frowning lips. I glance back down at the stick between my fingers and frown at the obvious positive sign glaring daggers at me.

How could I have been so stupid?

Someone bangs on the door, three sharp thuds before a nasally voice practically spits, "Get the hell outta there Crow! You ain't a princess!"

I roll my eyes and take a sharp intake of breath, blinking away the prickly feeling behind my eyes. Throwing the stick in the trash can and a wad of toilet roll, I fluff my hair before unlocking the door, only to bump into Saphire, the most pathetic bitch I've ever seen. How she developed this hatred? You guess it, from the certain guy who asked me on the date. Apparently she's always had this unhealthy attachment with him, becoming 'buddies' to satisfy each other's needs- however she never got officially asked on a date.

I give her a slow smile, looking at her bleached pixie cut, pouty lips and round blue eyes. She's beautiful, in an edgy type of way with smudged eyeliner, a small frame with big boobs that are obviously fake, a mix of lingerie and fishnets with a small skirt on and spiked boots.

"So sorry for the delay," I drawl, barging past her with my shoulder. Stop, you're pregnant. I bite my lip in a fleeting sense of worry, shaking my head slightly. She scoffs from behind me not realising my internal battle.

"Don't make a habit out of it, or else I'll have to have I word with Celine."

Celine as in the owner of the strip club; it's even named after her. She's what we like to call our 'saving grace' since she takes in us girls, treats us right and in return we do our best to keep and attract customers. This strip club isn't just a strip club though, a part of it is a brothel that some of he girls opt to do for extra cash. I've never volunteered, I wouldn't be able to cope with such a physical job and I oddly admire the girls who put themselves out there to do it.

I stride to my dressing table, a tiny desk with a crappy mirror, cramped with hair and makeup products. I swiftly apply my makeup to create a simple smokey eye with a bold red lip, matching my black and red lingerie underneath my miniskirt and buttoned blouse. I curl my hair and put it loosely in a big clip, piling atop my head like a mountain.

I stand up and put on my heels, my shorter nature finally reaching 5'8 or 5'9, however they don't stop me from spinning around the pole. No, pole dancing has always been a passion of mine, not necessarily stripping though. The thumping of an upbeat song sets me in the mood, adrenaline pumping through my veins, worries exiting my thoughts as I can't help but have one wish: I hope Gufo is here.

I need to tell him the news, as well as Celine; I can't keep this a secret, it's too big and life changing to just keep to myself. I hesitantly press my palm to my flat stomach and pause, the frightening realisation that life is forming there almost overwhelming. I can't cry, I won't cry; I'll smudge my mascara and everyone knows how problematic that is.