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My phone buzzed and I groaned, leaning out of my small, creaky beg to whack it. It was too early for this crap. Then I frowned. It was too early from the buzzing to be my alarm, either. It was Sal, my boss from the bakery, and I cleared my throat, trying to sound like I hadn't just been sleeping. If it had been anyone except her, I might have ripped her head off. But killing the boss apparently doesn't go down well around here. Huh.

"Rose," I answered, smothering a yawn.

"Hi, um, Rose, it's Sal," my manager's nervous voice said. "Look, this is really awful, but… I'm gonna have to let you go". My mouth hung open, I couldn't reply.

"I'm real sorry, she apologized again. "We'll send you your paycheck for this month and next. "

"Oh, I managed. Oh…wow. Um, okay. Sure. I understand." Fuck. How could she do this to me? I'd been her most loyal employee. Showed up on time, worked hard, occasionally cracked a smile.

"I wouldn't do this if I didn't have to," she told me. "It's just that we got this new guy, been at college a few years…" I laughed harshly.

"Yeah. Right Got the message, Sal. Have a nice life", I told her, before snapping the phone shut and resting my face in my hands. I had no idea what I was going to do. I had to find more work, and fast.

Only a few days ago I'd found out my rent was being raised, and now without my job I'd be kicked out in a month flat. My stomach churned. What else could I do? Hell, if you needed a college degree to stack shelves at a freaking bakery these days, who knows what credentials I'd need to be a janitor. I couldn't help a chuckle. Atta girl, Rose. Aspirations and dreams just keep on coming. I glanced at the clock. It was three forty. I couldn't worry about money right now. I couldn't do anything. So instead, I did what I did best. I said 'fuck it', and rolled back over to sleep.


Two weeks later.

"Eh, fuck!" I hissed as I ducked behind the fire exit trying to avoid my shitty-as-hell landlord. I had what amounts to a target on my back- I was a full two weeks behind on my rent. Since I lost my job at the bakery, my other job's only been paying for food and bills. I needed to find something else, and fast. I couldn't say I hadn't tried…

"Your name is Rosemarie Hathaway?" The severe looking middle aged woman names Kirivoa asked me. I nodded nervously, knotting my fingers in the dark navy skirt I'd had to buy just for this occasion. She regarded me skeptically over her spectacles.

"You are twenty-four years old?" Another nod. Something about her irked me, maybe the holier-than-thou way she was looking down upon me like I was a piece of garbage.

"What credentials do you have?" She asked severely, and another surge of hate filled me. She knew for herself that my credentials were diddly-squat, she just wanted to shame me into voicing it. I tightened my jaw.

"High school diploma". She arched an eyebrow as I dug my fingers into my leg.

"Is that all?"

"If what you're asking is if I went to college, then no, I didn't," I snapped, then winced. Wow. Way to go, Rose. You just earned yourself a one-way ticket out of here. The witch's face soured. I sighed.

"I apologize, that was out of order". Sucking up is so not my forte." Ma'am, I graduated high school with a four-point-oh. I'm a qualified lifeguard, I hold up-to-date senior first aid certificates, I have excellent references." She leaned across the table.

"I know, Ms. Hathaway. You seem an accomplished young woman. Why, then, is somebody your age applying for a position I'd usually give to a fifteen year old? "

"Because I didn't go to college," I said quietly, knowing when I was beaten. She smiled triumphantly.

"Exactly. I suggest that when you become serious about entering the workforce in a more adult pathway, you come with the necessary accreditations." She tossed me my resume. "Keep it. I won't be needing it." I shot her a last, loatheful glare as I stood up, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it over my shoulder to land perfectly in her cup of coffee

"No, thanks. Why don't you shove it up your ass?" I suggested. "Come to think of it, it might adjust that stick you got shoved up there sometime during the eighteenth century." The old crow stared at me openmouthedly as I grinned, leaning off the door.

"How many of your college graduates can do that, huh?" I snorted. "Wait, that's right, none. Go suck it, you old bag," I advised her, and left the office in a surprisingly good mood.


Having butted heads with Dimitri quite frequently, I'd long since perfected the art of leaving somebody's office with the perfect dose of drama and insult. Well, that was until that certain somebody decided to lock their freaking office door, making me look like a complete idiot. I chuckled.

I could just imagine what Dimitri would say about that office scenario. Something about my immaturity and inability to take an insult lying down. Whatever. The ol' college number had been cutting me out of jobs for forever, and I hated it. Every year I applied to colleges, but they all had the same conditions. I'd been offered scholarships a few times, but it required me to work full time, which I just couldn't do with trying to keep a roof over my head. I desperately wanted to go to the community college and do acting, but they didn't offer scholarships for performing arts and the fees were insurmountable. I knew I had to break the cycle, but I hadn't the funds nor confidence to do so.


"Hey, Rose?" A girl called Raya asked, approaching me tentatively on my fifteen minute break at the coffee shop. I smiled. Raya was another person I liked-athletic with deep tan skin, almond eyes and beautiful black ringlets, she was native American with an almost-exotic look to her. She'd started here a while after I had, but only did half the shifts I did, because she was studying nursing at the community college. In my eyes, she was superwoman. How she found the time to do everything surpassed me.

"Hey, Raya. What's up?"

"You still struggling for rent?" She asked me in an undertone. I nodded, biting my lip as more anxiety surged up. She hesitated.

"I think I can help you. "

"Spill," I said eagerly.

"Well, a position's come up at another job I work. No prior experience needed, but customer service will help." I raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, I'm hooked. What is it?" She took a deep breath.

"I don't want you to think badly of me." I chuckled.

"Honey, I'm twenty four-years old with a mental disorder and can't even make enough money to pay my rent. I know what it's like to be judged, and I highly doubt I'll think badly of you." She hesitated.

"I work in a…strip club," she told me, her eyes downcast. My mouth shot open.

"Oh. Oh." She looked crestfallen.

"See! I knew you'd hate me."

"I don't hate you," I said numbly. "I just need time to get used to the idea. "

"It's good money, she said quickly. Every night from seven-thirty till twelve-thirty. Seventy-five bucks an hour." I choked on my crappy lukewarm latte.

"What?" I gasped. She grinned.

"I know. Not a bad little earner, aye? Her face fell. But it's not the best, Rose. If you let it, the place will kill you from the inside out. "

"I'm in," I said instantly. Geez, I really was a glutton for punishment. I was a little sad that I'd let it get this far, this desperate, but shook it off. Eh. Who the fuck was gonna tell me off?

"So tell me about the gig, I said practically. I'm talking no holds barred here. "

"They'll start you waiting tables, she informed me. There'll be small stuff, some insults, the usual. If they like you, they'll ask you to start working behind the bar. That isn't so bad. Then if you're popular with the customers, it moves to pole dancing, lap dances, all of that stuff. "

"I'm not going to be a prostitute", I said quietly. She shook her head wildly.

"Oh, no, Rose. It's bad, but not like that. Sure, that stuff goes on, but it isn't sanctioned. Besides, the cash is good, not to mention the tips from all your customers." She winked. I nodded.

"Brilliant. When do I start?" She shrugged.

"Tonight." She gave me the address as Stan poked his head into the room and yelled at us to get our asses back out there. Raya winked.

"Oh and Rose, remember…Dress code applies," she told me, mischief in her eyes. I shook my head. Maybe with my newfound friend, this wouldn't be so bad after all…


Two weeks later

I was wrong. So very, very wrong. It wasn't nearly as bad as I'd expected, it was worse. How much worse? Let me elaborate. On the first night when I'd come in wearing short-shorts, black fuck-me stilettoes and a belly top, I got called a prude. I don't want to go into what they made me put on instead. Can we just say 'see through', 'tight' and leave it at that?

On the upside I was making money. By my third night I was working the bar, earning my nearly-four hundred bucks a night and then another hundred in tips alone. By the end of the first week I'd been able to pay back my rent, which took a huge weight from my chest. On the downside, my self-confidence was peaking and hitting rock-bottom sporadically. When one of the girls who worked with me saw the cuts on my hands, she shook her head and offered me an industrial-sized tub of foundation.

"Cover those up," she told me, showing me her flawless arms. T"hey don't like to see your weaknesses. They don't need you to be human. All they want is a piece of ass."

I laughed humorlessly. A piece of ass. That was all I was. All I ever was. Dimitri had noticed the subtle change in my mood too, and though he didn't voice his concerns I caught him watching me, analyzing the heavy bags under my eyes and permanently mascara riddled eyes. I hated what he must think of me, if he'd indeed pieces the puzzle together.


It was Saturday morning when I stumbled into Dimitri's office, having not slept much from the night before.

"I gotta hang-over, whay-oh, oh," I mumbled blearily, falling into the chair. He arched an eyebrow, looking like a mix between Orlando Bloom and Johnny Depp, but much, much better. How the hell did he look so good this early in the morning?

"Care to elaborate? "

"Why? I drawled. Was my opening statement not obvious enough? Or do I not look shitfaced enough to be believable?" A little smile started on his lips.

"You look absolutely hammered," he informed me. I grinned.

"Thanks. I think." He tossed me a Gatorade from a drawer in his desk. I paused after catching it.

"Wait. How did you know I was smashed?" His smile quirked upwards.

"I didn't. With you, Rose, it's best to keep all bases open. "

"Oh, I said suggestively. All the bases, huh?" He shook his head, reaching for an aspirin. He popped three for himself, and then four for me.

"Whoa, that's like, double," I said, frowning. Bad comrade. He chuckled.

"Rose, you're going to have one hell of a hangover."

"I am hung over," I pointed out.

"No, you're still drunk," he informed me.

"Tomato, tomato, I mumbled. What's your point?"

"My point is that you're going to need all the help you can get. "

"What about you?" I asked, pointing to his own squad of tablets. He gave me an expression halfway between a smile and a grimace. A smgrimace. Ha Ha. Maybe I was still drunk.

"When you do wake up, you're going to be a grizzly bear. I'm going to need as much help as you," he said dryly. He got up and pulled the blinds on his office, pointing me towards the couch.

"What?" I said confusedly, letting him drag me to the cough." I thought I was going home. I paused. Man, I should get drunk more often if it gets me out of here." He smiled crookedly.

"It won't. Consider this a one-time thing." He tossed me a pillow. "Sleep here for a while. I hardly dare unleash an inebriated Rose Hathaway on the world. "

"I'm not a freaking Frankenstein," I grumbled, covering my face with a pillow. "I just got drunk. Wake me at two? I've got a shift at quarter past. "

"Okay," I heard him reply as he opened the door.

"Dimi-tri? I called. I lurrve you," I warbled, and heard him chuckle.

"You really are shitfaced. I promise you will regret that in a few hours." With that, the door closed and I promptly zonked.


I groaned, opening my eyes to sunlight. He had opened the blinds. I looked up and saw him at his desk, writing something.

"What time is it?" I groaned.

"It's four," he informed me curtly. I sat bolt upright.

"Four! I've got to go! I missed my shift. God, Stan's gonna kill me, " I groaned.

"I called by and informed him you were ill," he told me, not looking up from his paperwork. The tone of his voice was off, there was nothing playful about it.

"I don't have a hangover," I mumbled. He smiled grimly.

"The four aspirin and paracetamol-laced Gatorade may have something to do with that. Sit," he said abruptly, nodding at the chair opposite his. I did so apprehensively, waited a few moments until he looked up.

"Rose, I never thought you were stupid, he started. But do you have any idea what you're doing?" I flinched. How had he found out?

"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to mix alcohol and anti-depressants?" He said, his voice raising as he gripped the desk hard. "Did it cross your mind that you could have got yourself killed?" He growled. I winced. It had crossed my mind, but I'd shaken it off.

"I didn't mean to-"

"Bullshit you didn't," he snapped. I widened my eyes. Dimitri didn't swear. Ever. Clearly, the shit had hit the fan. "You knew exactly what you were doing. You aren't invincible, Rose. It was so incredibly irresponsible. I'm disappointed." We sat in silence for a minute before he sighed, pinching his nose hard.

"I'm not your keeper. But I do care about you, Rose, and numbing your mind with alcohol isn't the way to fix your problems, believe me." I met his eyes, and they were so honest, so sincere, I immediately felt worse. An unspoken question was in his eyes and I sighed reluctantly.

"Yes, I promise". He nodded, looking relieved.

"All right." I rose, and he frowned.

"Rose, you aren't leaving yet. We're only just starting." Apprehension grew in y stomach as I sat back down.

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked, biting my lip. He paused, his brow wrinkling as he gathered his thoughts.

"I want to know how a smart, beautiful young girl with a place in the most prestigious performing arts academy ended up in Westlakes working as a waitress," he said calmly, and I stopped dead. I had never told him any of that. Ever.

"What? How did you-" He shook his head.

"I worked as a police officer for a few years, Rose. I have my contacts. Now," he said quietly. "I have waited long enough. I thought you'd eventually tell me, given the time, but that hasn't worked. Neither of us are leaving this office until the entire story is out in the open. You're still living your past, Rose," he told me fiercely. "But that ends right here, right now." He shrugged his shoulders, folding his arms on the desk in front of him.

"I suggest you start talking." Shit.


Wow! Long chapter, quite a few developments. What do you think of Rose's new job? Should she tell Dimitri about it, or should he find out for himself? How will Dimitri react to learning about her past? I PROMISE a dpov in the next chapter, after Rose spills the beans. It won't be as in-depth as the rpovs, because Dimitri has a secret I'm not quite willing to give up just yet… ;) REVIEW!

Em xx