Not Again!
1174 Words
The bass throbbed like a slow heartbeat under the dim lights of Club Mirage, pulsing through the marbled floors and vibrating faintly through Sofia’s bones. It was still too early for the wild crowd or the money drunk chaos that usually swallowed the club whole on weekends. But the music was warming up, and so was the smell of expensive cologne, and chilled liquor.
Sofia adjusted the straps of her bottle service corset, balancing the chilled champagne in her hands as she weaved through the half-filled VIP lounge. Her steps were practiced, she moved like she belonged to the shadows, always one breath away from danger and survival.
When she reached the last booth, she saw him, the quiet man.
He always came alone.
The others came with girls hanging in their arms, dancers perched on their laps, bottles popping like fireworks. But him? He always came unaccompanied. A heavy silence that wrapped around him like armor.
Tonight, that silence felt heavier. His shoulders were sagged, his jaw tense, eyes fixed on the table instead of the glowing neon lights.
Sofia set the bottle down smoothly.
“Your drink, sir.”
No response.
She hesitated, watching him. His fingers pressed against his forehead like he was holding his skull together. His breathing was shallow, uneven.
Against her better judgment, she leaned slightly forward. “You okay?” Her voice was softer than she meant.
He blinked, almost surprised someone spoke to him. “Yes,” he murmured.
But his eyes said otherwise.
“You sure?” Sofia asked, lowering her voice and trying to keep it professional.
He nodded, but the nod was hollow.
She stepped back. “Alright, then. Enjoy your…”
“Wait.”
His voice stopped her mid turn.
When she faced him again, he was staring at her really staring, as if searching for permission.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked, voice gravelly, desperate, human. “I can pay for your time.”
Sofia’s heart tightened. You could always tell the ones who were breaking. They weren’t loud. They were quiet. Quiet in a way that felt like falling.
She shook her head gently. “You don’t have to pay, and the club’s still slow.”
One corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile, but not quite. She slid into the seat across from him just barely, keeping a respectful distance.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
His throat worked before the sound came out. “My girlfriend.”
Sofia nodded slowly.
“We were together for six years,” he whispered, voice trembling with restrained pain. “And yesterday… yesterday she ended things.”
Sofia exhaled softly. “I’m so sorry, did she leave you for someone else?”
“She didn’t leave me for someone else.”
The way he said it made her chest tighten.
“What happened?” she asked gently.
He stared at his hands, hands that shook slightly. “She killed herself.”
Sofia’s breath caught. Her lips parted, but no words came.
He continued, voice cracking. “In our apartment. I found her.” His breath hitched. “I found her.”
Oh God.
Sofia reached out but stopped short of touching his hand. “I’m so… so sorry,” she breathed, voice trembling with sincerity.
He exhaled shakily, eyes reddening.
“She didn't even leave a note, or tell me she wasn't happy with her life. I was willing to give her the whole world without even batting an eyelid,” he murmured.
He looked up, and something inside him shattered. “She was everything. And now I keep blaming myself for everything.”
The tears came then uncontrolled.
Sofia stayed still, letting him unravel. He tried so hard to breathe through it, but the grief was a storm that refused to be calmed.
She waited. She knew what it was like to lose someone violently, without answers.
To carry guilt that didn’t belong to you.
When he finally exhaled, exhausted and empty, she spoke quietly.
“I know how it feels,” Sofia whispered. “To lose someone you love and not get answers. You feel angry, confused, guilty. Like you should’ve known. Or should’ve helped. Or should’ve done more.”
His eyes flickered to hers.
“You blame yourself because that’s easier than accepting the truth, that sometimes life is cruel and unpredictable, and people break where we cannot see.”
He swallowed hard.
“It’s my fault,” he whispered.
Sofia’s brows knitted. “What do you mean?” She almost wanted to ask if he killed her, but she knew that wasn't wise.
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
She didn’t push, some confessions were knives, you didn’t force someone to hand you the blade.
“What’s your name?” he asked softly.
“Sofia.”
He closed his eyes briefly, then nodded.
“Thank you, Sofia.”
She gave him a small, careful smile.
“You’re always welcome.”
She stood, smoothing her outfit, gathering herself back into the role she was paid to play.
“Take care of yourself,” she said quietly.
And with that, she left the booth, letting the club swallow her again.
…………
As Sofia approached the bar, the music had picked up. The lights danced across the room in pulsing blues and reds. More people were drifting in now, filling tables, ordering bottles, laughing too loudly.
She lifted her tray, ready to head toward the next section, but movement near the entrance caught her eye.
Denzel barged in, drunk and loud. Reeking of arrogance.
He stumbled in with two friends, all swagger and cheap noise. Sofia’s eyes narrowed. Her stomach twisted with irritation and hatred, maybe.
He spotted her almost immediately.
“Hey!” he slurred, waving his hand dramatically. “Guys, this is Jasmine’s roommate! And her best friend!”
Sofia forced the smallest possible smile.
Just enough to be polite. Not enough to be friendly.
She didn’t acknowledge their outstretched hands. One of the friends chuckled. “She’s feisty.”
Denzel leaned forward, eyes bleary.
“Where’s Jasmine? Back there changing?”
Sofia nodded once. “Yes.”
“Cool.”
He staggered away toward the dressing rooms, his friends trailing behind him like lost shadows.
As soon as their backs were turned, Sofia’s smile vanished, replaced with pure, undiluted disgust.
God, she hated him.
She took the bottles to the VIP booth and walked back to the bar, arms folded, waiting for the bartender to finish mixing another drink order. The room buzzed with growing energy chatter, laughter, clinking glasses.
Then, shouting.
From the back rooms. A woman’s voice.
“No! Stop! Denzel…let go!”
Sofia froze.
Every hair on her skin stood up.
Then,
CRASH!
Her heart dropped.
“Jasmine,” she whispered, breath knocking out of her. Instinct kicked in. She dropped the tray, without thinking she ran to the strippers changing room.
If he touched her again…If he laid a hand on Jasmine…Tonight, someone wasn’t leaving this club alive.
- Writer
