westward grove

one

"We're completely fucking broke." I whispered to no one in particular. Staring at my laptop's screen, I felt an immediate sense of dread. "We have one thousand, two hundred and seventeen dollars, and three cents in our bank account."

Her hands wrapped around my waist, enveloping me in a tight embrace. "That's not so bad," she reassured me. Though, when I turned around to meet her eyes, they betrayed her words.

I groaned audibly, not bothering to contain my concerns. I made an effort to get up, but she tightened her grip around my body. "Come on..." I whined, making a half assed attempt to leave before giving in to her touch.

She placed a series of soft kisses along my jawline, trailing them down to my collarbone. "A thousand dollars is two month's rent and utilities." She mumbled in between kisses. "We can just cut back a little bit. I could work more shifts. I could call my parents..."

I pushed her off of me, hopping out of bed in order to regain a clear mindset. "That's not fair to you." I argued once I had my thoughts sorted out. "None of that is fair to you. You shouldn't have to cut back any more than you have, or work more than you already do, and you should never have to call your parents, Normani." I used her full name, as to let her know that I was serious. "I'll just have to get a real job. This writing thing is clearly not working out. I'm never going to get a book deal and I'll just have to accept that. It's been years. I have to get a real job again." I took a deep breath, almost exhausted after my little speech.

Normani nodded, unable to draw up a valid argument. "You can't stop writing, though. You're going to make it big one day if you keep trying." Little did she know, I hadn't written anything for months.

"I love you," I told her somwhat honestly in a desperate attempt to change the subject before plopping down on the bed. Normani carefully grabbed my hand, playing with my fingers for a few long moments.

"I love you more." I couldn't diagree with that, so I simply didn't reply. I loved Normani, but not in that way. I would never leave her, but lately, spending time with my girlfriend was more exhausting than being apart.

I'm sure that'll change soon, though. All relationships go through rough patches, and like everyone else, we would work through them.

/

As it turns out, getting a job with an English degree is just as hard as they tell you it'll be. I applied anywhere and everywhere, though, maintained a small standard. Although, after two weeks of no luck, all of my inhibitions faded away.

Day fifteen of my job hunt involved biking around Miami and looking for anyone that would hire. Fast food restaurants, grocery stores, and various other locations that I was way over qualified for were suddenly all I desired. As much as I hate coming off as pretentious, I don't deserve these dead end jobs. I was granted a full scholarship to UFM, where I acquired an admittedly underwhelming education. I planned to be an English teacher, but got too caught up in my own aspirations to make it happen.

My aspirations felt pretty fucking useless as I rode my bike through downtown Miami, occasionally wiping sweat from my brow. Everything I had put into my work seemed more insignifigant than a spec of dust. Every choice and decision I'd ever made brought me to this curent roadblock in life.

It had to be at least 90°, but Normani had the car, and more important destinations. I was left with my bicycle, and no destination in particular.

I rode aimlessly for what felt like hours, occasionally stopping to take a drink of water or do anything to prevent myself from having a heat stroke, really. I was close to giving up until I found a building that caught my eye.

It was obviously a strip club, even if I hadn't heard about a club over here before, I would've known. In my many years in the city, I'd heard a few things about this place. From the outside, it was apparent that it wasn't as trashy as other strip clubs I've been to- and I've been to a lot of strip clubs. The large neon sign placed above the entrance read Westward Grove. I pondered what that meant for a moment before locking my bike to a pole, heading towards the door.

I was drawn to the building for some reason. I'd never considered being a stripper, and I didn't even know if they were hiring, but it had a good vibe. Every event in my life had brought me here, too. It was just a strip club, which were usually absolutely disgusting, but I felt something shift as I walked into the building.

The first thing I noticed was how pleasant it smelled inside. It was a mix of Grey Goose and vanilla, rather than the usual sweat and cheap booze. I looked around, taken aback by how classy the club was. Purple lights illuminated the setting, but I didn't find it hard to see under them. A song off of The Weeknd's new album played as the strippers did their thing in the center of the club. I made my way to the bar, taking a seat on the most desolate stool avaliable.

A blond bartender, who didn't look much older than me, walked over. "What can I get for you?" He asked in a thick Irish accent that caught me by surprise a tad.

"I'll have an apple martini," I replied. He laughed under his breath, not out of spite, but out of surprise. "What? I can't order a girly drink at noon on a Tuesday?" I asked as he prepared the drink.

He laughed louder this time, sliding the drink my way. "I don't make many apple martinis, believe it or not. Nor do I see a lot of girls come in here like this" He told me, cocking an eyebrow.

Now seemed like as good a time as any. "I was wondering if you guys were hiring, actually." I replied, sipping my drink.

He looked me up and down, obviously checking me out. I wasn't interested, but found myself feeling extremely self conscious regardless. "You Cuban?" I hesitantly nodded. "Wait right here, alright?" With the second question, he disappeared.

I turned around, finally taking a moment to watch the strippers. I was surprised by how sexy they were. Although, I'm not sure why I expected anything less.

I wasn't sure how long I sat, enticed by the girls dancing in front of me, but it had to have been longer than a few moments. I was brought out of my haze by the bartender tapping on my shoulder.

"They're pretty sexy, eh?" He asked, slapping my arm playfully. I replied with a smirk before taking the final sip of my drink. "Anyway, I got you an interview, babe." He added slyly, seeming overly pleased with himself.

I smiled involuntarily, as this is further than I had gotten at any other potential employer. "Thank you so much... dude!" I exclaimed, suddenly aware that I didn't know his name. "When?"

"Now," he replied casually, as though it wasn't surprising. "See that black door over there?" He pointed towards the door, which seemed oddly menacing. "Knock three times and wait." He stood for a moment, looking as though he was musing something. "I'm Niall, by the way."

"I'm Camila," I replied before hopping off the barstool. I took my wallet out of my pocket, but Niall shook his head. I thanked him one more time before heading towards the door, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I couldn't get McDonalds to call me back for an interview, but I was up for a job in this strip club after ten minutes.

If I could just nail the interview, I could get the job, and things would finally be looking up. This was all I needed to finally turn things around.

a/n: plugs:

twitter: europeanormila
snapchat: lizsevier