Your name is Jane Crocker, and you feel like an idiot.
You are standing outside of The Veil after a long night at work. The sidewalk is practically empty except for a few singing and dancing stragglers from the club. You avoid them effectively. By effectively, you mean awkwardly smiling and waving at each hello you receive, and attempting to back away from every faceless person that tries to hug you or ask you out. Drunk people creep you out. Which is silly, because you are a bartender at the hottest club in the south of Houston (which you suspect only the club claims to be).
You have been working part-time in The Veil for nearly a month, and you hate it. You don't drink, you don't like drunk people, the hours are unholy, and you have to lie about having a boyfriend so men will stop trying to hit on you while you try to work. The only reason you tolerate the madness is because the tips are incredible, and you really need the money.
A few months ago, you moved to Houston to study. You plan on owning a bakery one day and that business won't manage itself. Texas might be a bit of a stretch for someone who was born and raised in Washington, but Houston was the only acceptance you gained for university, and that's because your uncle works there and loves you dearly.
You aren't overly keen on Houston either. It's much to hot, even during this time of winter. You are still wearing skirts and tank tops to avoid heat stroke. You are not used to this kind of crazy heat, you are more of a rainy day kind of girl. The people of Texas aren't that charming either; they are loud and boastful and overly opinionated and not very accepting of people like you. Which is a stupid thing to say; people like you. You think of yourself as just another person, while a lot of other people disagree. Being a lesbian is a stigma; once people know about it, they think that's all there is to you. You don't particularly care; romance was never your speciality, especially since you moved to Houston.
You keep to yourself, and you go with the flow. Nobody bothers you, not that much anyway.
Your feet shuffle impatiently as you wait for Sebastian to pick you up. Sebastian is the sweetest cab driver in the world, you have decided. He is always complimenting you, asking how you are and what you're up to, how you're shifts were, how your studies are going. He is a real gentleman, he even walks you to your door when it's a ghastly hour.
You check your watch and notice it's five in the morning now, which means you called Lil' Seb ten minutes ago. You sigh, and clutch the strap of your old tan bag. Seb must be pretty far away. Maybe you would get a different driver tonight? That thought fills you with grief, as some of the drivers were grumpy old farts.
You shift your glasses out of boredom and an urgent need to fidget.
It was one hell of a night. It was a saturday night after all and every young adult with enough money from their parent's pockets turned the dance floor into what you like to call THE ULTIMATE MOSH PIT. You giggle lightly at your own silliness in the silence of the stree-
A loud moan interrupts your train of thought.
Your eyes widen, and you admit you jump a little at the sound. Carefully, you look around to see if you are just imagining it. You might be, you've done crazier things.
The moan comes again, following a much lower groan.
Oh good grief.
You cringe and stare at your toes. You can feel your face redden as the noises continue.
"Uugh... Fuck..."
You bite your lip and stare at your watch again. Hurry, Seb, please! You think as the pain of the situation increases dramatically.
"... Yes, yes, yes..." The pants and moans increase as well, and you want to walk home it's becoming that unbearable.
You spare a glance behind you, where you know the voices are coming from. A man and a woman, in the alleyway at the side of the club, doing the dirty. You manage a groan of your own, but yours is one of grief.
They become louder as the seconds tick by, which feels more like minutes to you, maybe to them too, however, you don't know, and don't care. You just want them to get their business done with and move along.
You hear a crash from the alleyway that sounds like multiple trash cans hitting the concrete, and then a needy set of cries.
How the hell has no one else notice this? Like some cops or something? Isn't what they are doing illegal? Public indecency or something?
Your heart beats out of tune as you hear the courtship reach it's climax. After a minute, you hear the man speak, but it is too low to hear.
You hear the woman, though. "Hahh, what? What did jou-do?"
There is no reply, but you can hear some stumbling and shuffling.
"Ohh shits-ah, what did you do to me...?" The woman says, in a slur of drunken confusion. "I can't feel my- What did you do to me?" She cries.
You look around at that, and feel a strong sense of urgency and fear.
"No no no, why are you- stop it-" She sounds faint, and you scurry closer to hear, hiding behind the corner which leads to the alleyway.
When you take a peek into the shadows, you see a woman sitting there, slouching against the wall of the alley. Her skirt barely covers her thighs, and she looks a mess. Her light hair is damp, and curls out at her shoulders, and her face looks oddly vacant. It doesn't take you long to realise that she was drugged, as the man rifles through her purse.
You are not a confrontational person. Your first instinct is to avoid danger and conflict, and any other unsavoury situations. You do not really understand where your scream comes from when you hear it, "HEY! What are you doing?!"
The man looks up at you, and flinches, and throws the purse down at the woman. He immediately turns and runs down the opposite end of the alley, and into what you can only guess is a labyrinth of shady back streets.
"I've called the cops!" You yell in an echo, and don't care to contemplate the lie as you rush over to the woman who is still lying against the graffiti stained wall.
"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" You ask, and lean down to hold her arms. You shake them, and gain a response from the young blonde woman.
"Imma, shit... I feel weird..." Is all she says as she stroke her hair, which looked like a pained action. "I have to go... The cops, and the, oh crap... No, shit... Please get me out of here, they can't find me... I'm doin' this-stuff..."
You frown, and bring her closer so you can try and help to stand. "I didn't call the cops, but you need to go to a hospital! I think you were drugged."
She pushes you away weakly, "no! You can't, the social woman will find out, she'll take my babies away from me, please!"
This makes your heart sink.
She looks you in the eye, and you can tell she is putting a lot of effort into keeping her lashes from falling. Her iris appears pink, you notice. Is she wearing contacts? Actually, you recognise her. She was at the bar last night, and that man had bought her a few drinks...
"I love them so much, please... I can't-I just can't lose them..."
"I need to at least take you somewhere safe!" You stroke her arm to bring her some sort of comfort. She might be okay if she just gets some rest. You hope there is someone able to take care of her if she gets worse. "Where do you live? I can take you home."
She looks away, and sniffs dryly, "Dirk won't be happy... They'll see me like, like this..."
Your heart goes out to her when she says this. She was cheating, and was drugged, and had kids. You think of her as stupid, and a bad mother, and a terrible partner (you fail to notice a ring, but she could have removed it). But the way she looks right now makes you feel so sad. She looks so broken.
"... It's okay," you say, "I'll explain to him you were, uh." You have no idea what to say. "That you, um, took a tumble on the dance floor, and don't feel well."
She giggles poorly, "that's so stuupid. He's not gullullibubble or anything, but, um, thanks, um... Eri... Emily?"
"Oh, my name is Jane. I work at The Veil."
"You look like an Emily," is all she says.
You look her over for a moment, and see that she is indeed a wreck. Only an idiot would believe your story.
"I'm uh, my name's Roxy, if you'd like to know, I think, maybe," she frowns, as if her own voice is intimidating her.
"I've got a cab coming, if you'd like a ride home, Roxy."
She nods, and looks out at the street, "I- Yeah, that sounds great."
You nod, and force yourself to smile, at least for her sake. Any kind of positive gesture seems to be of benefit to her at this point. "Alrighty then, let's get you out of this terrible place!"
She offers you her arms, similarly to a child wanting to be picked up. This causes you to squint at her, because she expects you to lift her, and your upper body strength is not that great. Baking requires a ridiculous amount of upper body strength, but people are rather different to dough and cake mix.
Nonetheless, you attempt to pull her up.
"Oh, okay, right, less wobbling, left a smidge, okay, oh dear, yes, alright," you shuffle up with her, but she is leaning too far right as if she doesn't understand gravity. You both nearly make it, before she falls down and takes you with her. You fall on top of her, and she wheezes.
"Janey, I think that you just busted my lungs..." She breathes.
"Sorry, Roxy!" You crawl back and push your dark bangs to the side. "Okay... Can you try to stand at all?"
She pushes herself up with a significant grunt, but to no avail, "I... I can't move... My hands, and arms, and... I can't feel them..."
You pout, and stroke her arm again for comfort, but know she can't feel it now. At least she can see you're trying to help her. "I'm sorry, I'm not very strong. I think lil' Seb could help, he's the cab driver, I hope."
She nods, and looks away from you with a red tinge to her cheeks.
You search your tan bag and find your phone somewhere near the bottom, underneath a load of lip stick (helps win more tips at the bar, you discovered), your purse, some tampax (you never know), and a ragged old copy of Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen.
You have Sebastian on speed dial, because he's a little sweetheart. He answers after a a couple of rings, "hello?... Hey Seb, yes... You are? Oh, sorry, I had no idea you called, yes, that's wonderful! I actually have an extra passenger for you this morning... Yeah, okay... We're in the alley next to the club... NONO! It's okay, we're both... Okay, yes... That would be great, thank you, Seb."
No sooner after you end the call does Seb come jogging down the alleyway.
"'Llo there, ma'am," he tips his baseball cap, which makes you smile just a bit. You love a well spoken gentleman. "Alright, let's get you into the cab, lil' lady."
"Thanks..." Roxy whispers as she accepts both your arm and Seb's, and with his splendid assistance, it takes no time at all to get the blonde woman into the cab. You settle her in the back and buckle her into her seat with practiced precision. After which, you jump in next to her and buckle your own belt. Safety first!
"So where y' headed, miss?" Seb asks as he closes the driver's door and starts up the engine.
You look over to Roxy when she doesn't reply. Perhaps she thought he was talking to you? You gentle rub her bare arm, and call her name in a soft stroke of your tongue.
You realise then that she is now asleep, and so does Seb when a loud snort bellows from the young blonde.
"Wonk..." She mumbles as she sprawls out over most of the back of the cab.
"Um..." You hate drunk people, they're so dysfunctional. "You know what, Seb... I think it would be alright if she sobers up at my place. That's not weird, is it?"
He looks back at you as his dark hands grip the wheel. "Well, ma'am, in this day an' age, I suppose it would be fine. If you were a young man, I might've opposed the idea. But you are one fine young lady, and trust me when I say this, there ain't a lot of those around nowadays."
You flush with a short giggle, and swish your hand in his direction. "Oh shoosh, Seb."
Seb pulls away from the sidewalk, and follows the route you recognise leads to your home. "I don't know much about you, young lady. But from what I've seen from these short journeys, you are one of a kind. Truly. All these young kids heading around with their screamin' an' their drinkin' an' their weed. I've seen a lot of terrible shit in my time, and I hope you pardon my language. But you are one off the most delightful people I have ever met. It's a real breath 'o fresh air."
You look away in slight embarrassment, "I'm flattered, Seb. You've been nothing but a true gentleman! Hoo hoo!"
The rest of the drive was relatively quiet. Seb knows your routine, and your shifts always leave you drowsy, you were up all night watching people get hammered. How ironic that you cannot drink when you are the one with access to every kind of alcohol. After five minutes, Seb turns the radio on at a low volume. You love piano music, and you've informed Seb on a previous drive. The low melodic string of the piano keys brings out a yawn from you.
You glance over at Roxy, and in your half sleeping state, consider her beauty. She is slim, and pale. And her hair is a rather light blonde, almost white, as if dyed. But there is no indication of a darker shade near the roots. How strange, you think. How pretty.
Her lips are parted, and purple lipstick is smudged around the natural pink. You wonder for a moment what they might feel like if you give them a quick peck.
Roxy hums in her sleep, and licks her lips.
A hint of a smile appears against your cheeks. She's quite pleasing to the eye, despite her sorry state. How tragic it was, that someone so youthful should have another person violate their body in such a disturbing manner.
You frown, and brush your fingers down her arm. "Poor thing..." You whisper.
She shivers under your touch, and you fear it isn't out of pleasure, so you retract your hand back down to your lap.
Roxy is wearing a short, and torn pink skirt, a dirtied white shirt with an obvious bright pink bra underneath. Her feet lack protection, but you consider the possibility that she put them in her bag.
You sigh quietly, and wonder where the hell she's going to sleep.