When Heaven Felt Silent

The Kitty Kat

The neon lights painted the sidewalk pink and purple as I stood staring through the front window.

THE KITTY KAT

The name glowed against the darkness like a dare.

Music pulsed faintly through the glass. People moved inside. Laughed inside. Worked inside. Lived inside. Every few seconds the door opened and closed as customers entered or left, allowing brief bursts of music and conversation to spill into the night.

For several minutes, I simply stood there holding my bag and trying to remember how my life had ended up here.

A year ago, I had been planning a nursery.

I had spent evenings folding tiny clothes and imagining bedtime stories.

I had argued with Brandon about baby names.

I had wondered whether Grady would inherit my hazel eyes or his father's blue ones.

Now I was homeless, carrying everything I owned on my shoulder, staring at the front door of a strip club.

The contrast was so absurd that it almost felt funny.

Almost.

Instead, it just hurt.

Every decision since Grady died seemed to have pushed me a little farther away from the person I used to be. Standing there beneath the flashing lights, I wasn't sure there was anything left of her at all.

The rational part of my brain told me to leave.

Walk away.

Keep walking.

Find literally anything else.

But the rational part of my brain had been losing arguments for months.

The apartment was gone.

The car was gone.

My phone service had been disconnected.

Bethany's couch was gone.

The future I had planned disappeared the day Grady died.

What exactly was I protecting anymore?

I tightened my grip on the strap of my bag.

Then I pushed open the door.

The music hit me first.

Not loud enough to hurt.

Just loud enough to make everything feel disconnected from reality.

Colored lights reflected across polished floors. Conversations blended together. Laughter drifted through the room. Women moved confidently between tables while customers watched them.

Nobody paid much attention to me.

That should have made me feel better.

Instead, it made me feel invisible.

I stood awkwardly near the entrance clutching my bag while trying to convince myself I hadn't completely lost my mind. The room felt warmer than outside. The air smelled like perfume, alcohol, and stale cigarette smoke that years of cleaning had never fully removed.

For a moment, I considered turning around.

Nobody had stopped me.

Nobody would chase me.

I could leave right now.

The problem was that I still wouldn't have anywhere to go.

"You lost, sweetheart?"

The voice startled me.

I turned toward the bar.

The man standing there looked exactly like the kind of person who would own a place called The Kitty Kat.

He was short.

Maybe five-foot-seven.

Heavy around the middle.

His blackish-gray hair had thinned enough that his scalp showed through beneath the lights.

His brown eyes lingered too long whenever he looked at women.

Everything about him felt oily.

Like he had spent years learning how to smile without ever meaning it.

He walked toward me with the confidence of someone who owned everything around him.

Including the people.

"Well?" he asked, "You lost?"

I glanced toward the hiring sign hanging near the window.

His eyes followed mine.

Immediately, his smile widened.

"Ah." The word dragged out slowly. "You're here about the job."

I nodded.

For a second, I almost changed my mind.

Almost turned around.

Almost ran.

Instead, I stayed exactly where I was.

He looked me up and down.

Evaluating.

Calculating.

Like he was pricing merchandise.

"How old are ya, sweetheart?"

"Nineteen."

One eyebrow lifted.

"Nineteen?"

I nodded.

"When's your birthday?"

"June eighth."

"What year?"

"Nineteen ninety-nine."

Something about the question made my skin crawl.

Not because of what he asked.

Because of the way he asked it.

Like he was relieved by the answer.

Or disappointed.

I couldn't tell which.

The smile never left his face.

"Well."

He spread his hands.

"Nineteen's old enough."

The words settled heavily in my stomach.

I suddenly felt younger than I ever had before.

Not older.

Not stronger.

Just lost.

He extended a hand.

"Rick Dalton."

I shook it.

Immediately regretted it.

His grip lingered longer than necessary.

"You got experience?"

"No."

Rick laughed.

"Nobody does the first day."

His accent sounded like something out of an old mob movie. Every sentence seemed to end with sweetheart, kid, doll, or honey. The effect should have been charming. Instead, it felt rehearsed. Like he had spent decades saying the exact same things to hundreds of girls before me.

"So."

Rick crossed his arms.

"What brings you here?"

I almost told the truth.

Almost told him about Grady.

About Brandon.

About Bethany.

About the empty parking space where my car used to be.

Instead, I shrugged.

"I need a job."

His smile widened.

"That's usually how it starts."

The comment bothered me more than it should have.

Because it sounded practiced.

Because it sounded true.

While Rick talked, my attention kept drifting around the room. The women working there didn't look the way movies portrayed them. They weren't laughing constantly. They weren't having the time of their lives. Most looked tired. A few looked bored. One looked completely detached from everything happening around her.

It struck me that none of them had probably imagined this for themselves either.

Little girls don't grow up dreaming about strip clubs.

They dream about becoming teachers.

Nurses.

Veterinarians.

Mothers.

Artists.

Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, life had redirected them here.

The thought should have comforted me.

Instead, it terrified me.

Because for the first time, I could imagine the possibility that this wasn't temporary.

I could imagine waking up five years from now and still being here.

Still grieving.

Still surviving instead of living.

Before I could think too much about it, another woman appeared beside us.

She was beautiful.

Dark-skinned.

Black curls framed her face.

One eye appeared green.

The other looked hazel.

It took me a second to realize they were contacts.

She noticed me staring.

"Today's green."

She pointed toward one eye.

"Tomorrow might be purple."

I blinked.

Then, despite everything, a small laugh escaped me.

The sound surprised both of us.

"Jade."

She extended her hand.

"Jade Moreno."

"Katherine."

Jade's eyes softened slightly.

Not with pity.

With recognition.

Like she had met girls like me before.

Girls carrying too much pain and pretending otherwise.

Rick pointed toward the back hallway.

"Jade can show ya around."

Then he looked back at me.

"Assuming you're serious."

I swallowed.

For a second, Grady's face flashed through my mind.

Then Brandon's.

Then the nursery.

Then the empty parking space where my car used to be.

I nodded.

"I'm serious."

Rick smiled.

A predator recognizing an opportunity.

"Good."

As Jade led me through the hallway, she kept her voice low.

"Rule number one."

I looked at her.

"Don't tell anybody your real business."

"What?"

"Your life."

She shrugged.

"Keep it private."

We continued walking.

"Rule number two."

She pushed open a door.

"Don't loan money."

I nodded.

"Rule number three."

Her expression hardened.

"Don't believe customers."

Something in her tone suggested experience.

The painful kind.

The kind that came from lessons learned the hard way.

Then she stopped.

Turned toward me.

"And don't believe Rick."

That earned another small laugh.

The first real laugh I'd had in months.

Jade smiled.

"There she is."

For a second, I almost felt normal.

Almost.

Then another voice interrupted.

"Oh, great."

The sarcasm practically dripped from the words.

A blonde woman leaned against the doorway.

Her hair looked like she spent an hour every morning curling it.

Her makeup belonged in another decade.

Heavy eyeliner.

Bright lipstick.

Enough hairspray to survive a hurricane.

She popped her gum.

Loudly.

"This the new girl?"

Jade sighed.

"Sierra."

"What?"

Pop.

The gum snapped again.

Sierra looked me up and down.

Slowly.

Judgmentally.

Then she rolled her eyes. "She's gonna quit."

"I'm standing right here."

She shrugged. "Okay."

Pop.

"Then you can hear it."

I stared at her.

She stared right back.

For several seconds, neither of us looked away.

Finally, Sierra laughed.

Not kindly.

Not warmly.

Just cruelly.

"Give it six months."

"What?"

She pointed around the club. "You're gonna end up exactly like everybody else here."

Pop.

"A broken-down stripper."

Jade's face tightened.

"Sierra."

"What?" She crossed her arms. "I'm just telling the truth."

Then she looked directly at me.

The smile she gave me wasn't friendly.

It was resentment.

Pure resentment.

"Nineteen-year-olds always think they're different."

The room suddenly felt colder.

Sierra pushed away from the doorway.

"See you around."

Then she walked away.

Still chewing gum.

Still looking annoyed by my existence.

Her words stayed with me long after she disappeared. Part of me wanted to dismiss them as cruelty. Another part wondered if she was saying the same things someone once said to her. People don't become that bitter overnight. Something had broken inside her long before I arrived.

The frightening part was realizing how easy it would be to follow the same path.

Grief had already taken so much from me.

It had taken Grady.

It had taken Brandon.

It had taken my plans.

My future.

Pieces of myself I wasn't sure I would ever get back.

Maybe Sierra wasn't warning me because she hated me.

Maybe she hated me because she saw exactly where I was headed.

For a moment, neither Jade nor I spoke.

Then Jade sighed.

"Ignore her."

"Does she hate everyone?"

"No."

Jade smiled slightly.

"Just herself."

The answer stayed with me long after she said it.

Because for the first time since walking into The Kitty Kat, I realized something.

Not everyone here belonged here.

Some had simply stayed too long.

Some had run out of options.

Some had stopped believing they deserved better.

Standing there with everything I owned in a single bag, I couldn't stop wondering which one I was about to become.

For the first time since Grady died, I wasn't thinking about tomorrow.

I was thinking about survival.

And somehow, that felt even more frightening