I do not own Fifty Shades

All rights go to E.L. James

~ Chapter 4: The Great Gatsby ~

A large neon sign spelling 'Gatsby' was hung above the doorway that led to the main dance-floor, and I concluded that it was the name of the club that we were at. I immediately thought of the attractive boy that had been lounging at Starbucks earlier this week, and blushed. Thank god that the lighting in this place was so dim- my face was the colour of Jen's hair.

The doorway leading to the main bar and dancefloor was framed with two heavy, red, stage curtains that immediately gave the venue dramatic early 20th century flair. Jen and I stepped through the arch and gasped. The venue was dim, with cool blue lighting. The industrial brick walls and marvelous glass chandeliers gave the location a true 1920s vibe, making it feel as if we were at a speakeasy. The only modern features seemed to be the DJ booth, the top-40 playlist, and the casual style of the people inside. 'Gatsby' was definitely an appropriate name.

Jen curled her manicured fingers around my wrist as we weaved through the crowds of students to the bar, muttering quick apologies as we squeezed between groups.

I watched my roommate heave a sigh as she threw her arms down onto the bar in exasperation, one hand quickly moving to fluff her already volumous mane. A handsome bartender, most likely a few years older than Jen and I moved towards us with a Colgate smile. He was tall and just bald with a dark complexion, his fitted black shirt emphasized his muscular arms. I couldn't help but blush.

Jen smiled wryly.

"Can I get a double shot vodka cranberry and…" She turned to me, cuing that I order.

"Oh," I stammered, leaning closer to the handsome bartender before us, "I'll just have a lemonade, please."

Jen gave me a dumbfound look.

"Jen, I'm driving," I reminded her sternly.

"Fine," she agreed, digging through her shoulder bag for the spare cash she had tossed in earlier, "It's on me."

At first, I hesitated—my parents had given me enough money to be able to pay for the entire university's drinks—but then I smiled and thanked Jen, happy with my new camouflage: middle-class normality. I watched as Jen handed over a couple of scrunched up bills to the bartender. They exchanged a few words here and there as well, but the loud volume of the music prohibited me from hearing.

I turned one side away from the bar to catch a better glimpse of the atmosphere. Every booth that traced the outline of the club was full; the dancefloor was equally packed with bodies. Everywhere, everyone was laughing, singing along, dancing to the music, and sipping on various drinks. The DJ danced along to his tracks enthusiastically, an intoxicated girl on either side of him. I smirked. Never in a million years would I have expected myself to be here.

I shrill scream from beside me caught my attention and I jerked my head to the source to find Jen scrambling in her heels, drink in hand, to embrace a group of girls. They pulled her away to the dancefloor, all giddy and drunk on the last school-free night.

I sighed and turned back to where my tall glass of lemonade was waiting for me, thanking the bartender and doubting that he heard my small voice over the blaring 90's throwback that the DJ was playing. Taking a small sip off the bar counter, I turned around again to realize that Jen's fiery hair was nowhere in sight. Maybe she had gone to the restroom, I thought logically.

Or maybe she had been kidnapped by the Russian mob and was being sold into the sex-trade.

I bit my lip.

"Hey," A voice came from beside me. I turned to find myself standing next to a tall, blonde, boy. His features were sharp, her eyes a pool of green.

He fixed his posture so that one of his arms rested on the bar counter while the other one slid along my waist. I froze, my eyes on the arm around me.

"What are you doing at the bar all alone?" He asked, coyly, a smirk on his tanned face.

I inhaled and confidently plucked his hand from my waist, "I'm, uh, waiting for my friend to get back."

He ignored my obvious disinterest, "Oh yeah? Where's your friend?"

Hell if I know, I wanted to say, suddenly upset with my roommate for leaving me.

I knew that I needed to keep my composure. I couldn't let this creep think that he was intimidating me. Even though he was. A lot.

"She's gone to the restroom," I said, my voice shaking.

He began to lean in. I panicked, instinctively grabbing the glass of lemonade from the counter to sip on, and strategically hold between us. I took a long sip, and would have finished the drink if I hadn't dropped the glass in shock.

The blonde boy before me had been knocked down to the ground by another body in a blur, and before I knew it, a crowd had begun to circle the two boys rolling about on the ground. I watched, still in shock, as fists flew from both boys, gasping as they rolled closer to the shattered broken pieces of glass that once held my lemonade. Blondey was still on the ground writhing in pain when the other boy had stood up, exhaling in exasperation and dusting off his pants. He turned his head to look at me and my stomach dropped. It was the Gatsby boy from the Starbucks. I stood in awe, watching him run a hand through his ash brown hair, frowning. Had I willed him into being here when I thought about him earlier?

"You need to get out of here now," he demanded, "Where's that redhead you were with a minute ago?"

Ugh, this again. I looked down at my palms before gathering the courage to look up at the handsome boy standing close to me, "I think she's in the restroom."

He closed his eyes, sighing in frustration. Meanwhile, Blondey was getting up off the ground, his anger evident in his tightly closed fists.

I screamed as Blondey threw a punch at Gatsby, Gatsby quickly ducking out of the way, Blondey's fist ramming the bar counter. He yowled in pain.

"YOU THREE," A voice cut through the music, "OUT. NOW."

Blondey, Gatsby, and I turned to find ourselves face-to-face with a hulk of a security guard, his bulging muscles and impressive height warning us all that we'd better comply.

I gulped. I couldn't leave; I was Jen's drive back to the dorm! My body suddenly began to feel very hot, and I felt a new heaviness to my eyelids. How was this all happening? How did I get myself into this?

"NOW," The security guard repeated, making me shudder. From behind him stepped forward two other security guards, both great in size, who forcefully shuffled the three of us out of the club. I tried to scan the dancefloor for Jen as one of the guards dragged me by the elbow towards the exit, but my head felt heavy. I needed to lie down; perhaps I was still in a form of shock.

Blondey squirmed from the other security guard's grip, "Don't touch me! That guy started it!" Nobody acknowledged his outcries.

The Security Guards effortlessly tossed us out of the venue—Blondey a little more harshly, throwing the boy with more force—and turned to walk back inside of the club, leaving the three of us outside, alone in an alleyway between the club and a warehouse of some sort.

Blondey huffed at the two of us and took out his cell phone, dialing a number and making a call while quickly pacing towards the entrance of the alley where a main street was just visible.

Gatsby turned to me, sighing, "I saw him put something in your drink."

That would explain his tackle. That would also explain my current physical state.

Oh god, my dad would kill me if he ever found out, I thought, leaning against the side of the club for support. My head throbbed. My knees shock like my confidence. I felt myself slowly slipping out of consciousness. My will-power battled my concrete eyelids; I was determined to stay awake. I needed to find Jen. I needed to get us both home. I needed…I needed to…

"Hey," Gatsby was at my side, holding me for support. His words were hazy, shrouded in fog, I could barely make out what he was saying, "Where's your phone? Maybe…can…try…your friend…Hey…got to…conscious…can…hear me…?"

I gave into the throbbing and let my body and mind fall limp.