Loren knows not what he's done. (skelterhelter) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-04-12 00:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | tate langdon, violet harmon |
Who: Hannah & Loren
What: An audition, some anger, then a walk home.
Where: Little Darlings, then the street.
When: idk.
Warnings: Adult-ness?
Hannah was nervous, but it wasn’t on account of her audition (which she just thought was a strange word for interview). She was scared of the thing with the teeth, even though she knew it wasn’t a thing with teeth on normal days. But it was on the inside, and she didn’t like what Loren had said, about it putting her on display with the blood and water in the Passages lobby. She told him she wasn’t scared, the thing with teeth, but she didn’t really mean it. She was real scared, terrified, but it didn’t seem like it would do any good to tell folks as much. It wouldn’t make it better, and maybe if she lied about it enough she’d get unscared.
Violet wasn’t a whole lot of help when it came to anything lately, either. Ever since the party, she’d been quiet as a church mouse, and Hannah only knew she was still there because she could feel her in that strange way she always had. But there weren’t no influence or control, not up until then, and she had no real way of knowing that was meant to change as soon as she walked into the club. Little Darlings wasn’t what she thought it was, but that wasn’t important either, not just then.
Hannah walked into the club wearing a long, gray sack dress that reached down to her ankles. Loren was supposed to be there before she was, and she looked around for him, even as the manager came on up and introduced himself. Beyond him, lights were blinking and flashing, and girls were dancing on laps and wearing nothing at all; Hannah tried her best not to look at them. She hadn’t even seen herself naked, not even once, and looking at them was something that almost made her turn tail and run. In fact, she started to do just that. She managed a foot swivel, and then Violet exerted her influence. See, cause this was all on account of Tate, to make Tate pay for all the hurting he’d done her.
She was very much still Hannah, just with some influence thrown in that made her stay put as the manager asked her to hold on just a second.
Loren had spent most of his day at work, but left early in preparation for Hannah's interview. He'd told her that he would walk her home, and he'd meant it. From the first night he'd met Hannah, there'd been that instinctual need to ensure her safety. Perhaps because she was a young woman with a tendency to wander the dark alone, or perhaps because of their other connection. He knew that Tate did not want Hannah to know to know about their connection beyond the door, and he could only infer from the girl's continued silence on the matter that she didn't know. It made sense, Tate wasn't a very trustworthy person, and it would be best if that association remained separate from Loren. Despite so much evidence to the contrary, Loren did trust Tate., however Especially in regard to Hannah.
He'd never heard of Little Darlings, but even from the outside, there was no question about what was on the inside. The pink neon boasted the glowing outline of a woman in high heels. Strip Clubs were far from uncommon in Las Vegas, but as for what Hannah was doing here.. Loren had no clue. It didn't seem like her kind of crowd, needless to say. Loren waited for her outside, and in his wait, he began a slow walk up and the down the street side of the building. After some time, Loren began to wonder if he'd missed her somehow, if she'd been early, or he'd been late. Then again, there could have been another door, and Loren made a quick perimeter of the building in order to scope out the details. It was during this perimeter walk that he missed Hannah's entrance. Returning to the front, Loren watched several clusters of businessmen and tourists alike crowd through the door before he finally filed in as well. He paid his cover, determining that he'd stay only long enough to have a quick glance around to see if he spotted her. Maybe she'd told him the wrong place.. that was seeming more and more likely.
She was standing near the entrance, hands folded in front of her, impossible to miss in the gray dress. Despite the jolt of confidence that Violet’s presence gave her, she was very much her, and her face lit up thankfully when she saw him. She took two steps toward him, the crucifix around her neck glinting with the lights inside the club, and she only stopped moving because the manager sent her on back to room three to change into the clothes waiting on her there. She nodded at him, but as soon as he’d gone by, she crossed to Loren and tugged on his sleeve. “I gotta go change,” she told him, something thrilled and very unHannah like mingled with the trepidation in her eyes. “You come on with me?” she asked, pulling a little more sharply, because she didn’t want to go find room three alone, not when she didn’t know what was inside. Maybe she should have been worried about having a man in a room when she was changing, but Violet shushed Jesus and her stepmomma, and it didn’t occur to Hannah to worry.
"What are you doing here?" It was all he could say, really, eyes about falling out of his head when he did notice that she was here. Because Hannah assuredly didn't belong here, all convent dress and crucifixes trapped in red lamp light. The soldier in him dictated a brief survey of their surroundings, and it was always the littlest things that were the most important to notice. The door security were not weaponized, there was an emergency exit to the left of the stage, which he knew led to the alley outside. The continued tugging on his sleeve drew dark eyed attention and Loren's expression was grim, uncertainty set like stone in the cactus carve of his jaw. He very nearly told her that she didn't need to change, that they should leave.. but there was an undeniable excitement glinting in her young eyes when she spoke, and it made Loren pause. Has this really been her idea? He glanced over his shoulder, the exit looked inviting, but she'd asked him to come and watch out for her, to walk her home when all was said and done. He wouldn't leave her now if she wanted so badly to stay. "Alright."
Hannah didn’t answer his question, because by the time he asked, by the time he agreed, she was long gone. Violet didn’t have any experience with this stuff either, but she had something Hannah didn’t - motivation. She’d been a virgin before Tate came along, and she’d never been with anyone else - dead or alive - but she wanted to do this, and she was totally impossible when she wanted something this bad (just ask her parents, if you could find them). She was sure that whatever Tate had done during that party was terrible and, while she wouldn’t let anyone touch him for whatever it was, that didn’t mean she wasn’t completely angry at him herself.
She pulled him down the hall to room three, which boasted little more than a chair, a mirror with bare bulbs, and a rack of almost-nothing showgirl wear; she let the door close behind him. There were hints, maybe, in her silence, that it wasn’t Hannah, but Violet was quiet as nothing, not wanting to give it away yet. She knew Tate was in there, in Loren, even if Hannah didn’t, and she was wanted to shock him if she could, make it so he couldn’t stop her until it was too late to stop her.
The gray dress slipped over her dress without any fumbling, which might have been a hint of something, and the horrible, scratchy-hair shift below the gray fabric was a nasty, dark tan against pale skin. She turned, her back to him as she pulled the shift off, revealing long, long layered over lines from shoulder to thigh, red and angry, the mark of religious flagellation. The lines disappeared beneath white underwear that was suited to a grandmother, and a bra that was equally utilitarian, white and cotton and more concealing than any bathing suit currently on the market.
The room was small and cramped, and it was a lot like his apartment felt when the memories came knocking. There was something skeptical in Loren's expression when he regarded the lonely chair, the moonbeam luminescence of the glowing mirror. She didn't belong here. Vaseline smiles aplenty with glittered tits and latex thighs, all oddities out of the same sinslick carnival. Inside, Tate was pacing. Something was wrong, although neither could entirely tell what, and Loren drew a crooked breath. "Look, if you need money, I--" His saint eyed attention dropped to her just as Hannah was peeling loose from the formless shift of her dress. He coughed, damn near choking on the words for a second before he shook his head and shifted. The mirror wasn't a safe place to look either, it illuminated the red ruin of Hannah's back in a halo of light. With a frustrated sigh, Loren extended his eyes to the ceiling. ".. could lend you some, that's all." Ever the mindless bodyguard, he kept his arms crossed and said nothing else.
She heard his words, but she knew better than to turn and acknowledge them, and it was hard enough to make herself change out of the utilitarian undergarments, knowing he was there. Violet hadn’t ever managed to become bold in bed; her time with Tate had only been enough to get over the we REALLY just had sex thing, and she was still shy and uncertain when it came to stuff like getting naked around a boy. But she was determined, and she knew Loren was looking, and she knew Tate was in there somewhere. She didn’t turn around, bare back to him as she slipped on a pink bra and panties, ruffled and barely there at all, tips of her nipples visible as she turned around to face him. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulder, and she was too challenging when she looked at him, definitely not Hannah’s demure, sweet uncertain brashness.
Initially, Loren kept his eyes on the door. He'd agreed to come here because Hannah seemed to need protection, especially after the events of the masquerade. The only reason he'd followed her back to the dressing room is because she asked, but he wasn't sure why she wanted him here, and in the end, Loren looked at her only because she seemed to expect him to. The look he gave her was probably not the look expected, it was something different than the look a man would usually give a half-dressed woman. Tension sang in his jaw and there was nothing readable in his eyes when Hannah remained silent to his offer. He was immobile, but there was something dangerous in the way he could stand so still. A tiger just waiting for the latch to slip. Surprisingly, the pink suited her. Somewhere deep inside, he noted that. She was pale, but the color was just as gentle, and it didn't wash away what little color that she managed to hold onto. Hannah was soft, and small, and she seemed impossibly young in the ruffles, despite everything they showed. "Hannah," her name dripped with something new, something that had never belonged there before: anger. It was Tate's anger, but it felt right at home on Loren's tongue. Because he had a great many reasons to be angry these days. Angry at the boy in his head for all this acting out and all this chaos, angry at Violet for letting Tate carry on in this way, angry at the hotel itself for bringing this all down on his muddled mind, and angry at Hannah for whatever the hell it was she thought she was doing now. "Answer me." He stared at her, and his eyes did not stray from her's. "Why are you doing this?"
Hannah was real accustomed to anger, but it wasn’t Hannah looking back at him. Violet was used to bullies, people that poked and prodded at her for being different, and that wasn’t the same as this. This was something different, and she put her hands on her hips, the movement nothing that anyone could ever possibly associate with Hannah, not in a million years. “Because I want him to know I’m doing it,” she said, giving up the act, the pretense. She moved close, all teenager in her movements, as young as Hannah, and a kind of hurt on her features that Hannah never displayed. “I know he’s in there,” she added, close enough that all that pale skin pressed against his clothes. “It might not be my body, but it’s totally me. Do you hear that, Tate?” she demanded, a hurt girl with the desire to strike out written all over her. “I know you’re in there, and it’s still me.”
A knock came from over his shoulder, and she looked past him to the closed door. “I’m ready,” she said, even though she was scared, and part of her just wanted to stay there and cling to him. She knew Hannah trusted him, and she knew Tate would never let anything actually happen to her. That’s what finally made her step away and reach for the doorknob, the fact that they’d protect her if the men got rough.
Loren realized who was behind this just as Hannah's hands found her hips in a demanding, standoffish pose that was a little too fluid to belong to her. A warning flickered in his eyes and he grit his teeth because despite Tate's adoration, Loren did not trust Violet. She was hurt by the boy she loved, and something like that could make a person do irrational things. Like this. Tate yearned for the surface, pleading that he only wanted to talk to Violet, let him talk to her, please.. but Loren clamped down on his resolve and there was nothing friendly in his stare when she swept close. All skin and silky pink. "Listen to me, you little bitch. Whatever problems you and Tate have, you leave Hannah out of it." He stepped back for a foot of much-needed space and pointed at her, serious. "She doesn't deserve this," which probably implied that Loren somehow did deserve it, but if there was one innocent soul in Las Vegas, Hannah seemed to be it. He couldn't imagine her even knowing a place like Little Darlings existed if it wasn't for Violet. Maybe he had the girl on a saint's pedestal, but that's how he saw her.
"I won't let him out just because you're here. I can't.. you know what he's like." It was as close as Loren got to begging, even if it was only for Violet to understand. The knock to the door distracted him, and he glanced up with a half-rabid sneer that dared somebody to interrupt this. But Hannah was already heading out, and Loren straightened in surprise. "Where the hell are you going?" This conversation wasn't over.
Violet wasn’t expecting the cursing, somehow. Maybe she’d misunderstood something along the line, and maybe she’d thought Tate had more control that he did, but whatever, she wasn’t going to back up just because Loren was calling her names. She was used to bullies and, anyway, she was kind of doing Hannah a favor and stuff, right?
“She needs a job,” was her response to Loren’s demand that she tell him where she was going. There was a hint of defensiveness, of her own fear in the way her shoulders straightened, even if she tried to hide it. Maybe she was scared, but she wasn’t backing down. She was going to make Tate sit and watch, and she’d deal with the other stuff later. “If they do that exorcism, she’s going to die, dude, and she needs a place to live. I’m just getting her a job,” which wasn’t true, but it was kind of was, and she edged past him and after the manager, who instructed Loren to go sit in the private viewing area, if he was so inclined.
"What exorcism?!" He'd heard about a exorcism, but he hadn't imagined it to be anything dangerous, anything that would lead to Hannah dying. Maybe he didn't know very much about exorcisms. Loren turned dead eyes to the manager when he spoke, and it was enough for the guy to take a quick step back. He wanted to know about the exorcism, but this didn't seem to be the time for such a conversation. He wasn't going to drag her out of here and demand answers right now, because something in Violet's concern made him wonder if Hannah really did need this job. Maybe part of it had been her idea. "Hann-fuck, Violet!" He called after her, and cursed when she continued to follow the manager. After a brief pace, he resolved himself to waiting for her, and glanced skeptically in the direction of the viewing area that the manager had designated. "Goddamnit," the curse was all for himself when he started in that direction.
She was glad she didn’t have to answer about the exorcism, because it meant he’d stay until it was over. Violet couldn’t keep control of Hannah very long this way, minutes, a half hour tops, and Hannah would need a walk home, once it was all over. Violet got a feeling, based on how the manager was looking at her as they walked into the private showroom, that Hannah would be needing a lot more than walks home in the future.
The stage in the private room was tiny, just a thing with a pole, and Violet let Hannah take control as soon as she stepped onto it. She still encouraged and guided and kept the girl from running away, but the awkward movements were back, marking it as Hannah on the stage with a death grip on the silver pole.
The manager and assistant manager were seated within hearing range of Loren, and they barked commands into the microphone that fed into the showroom - take off the bra, shimmy, swing around the pole, now the panties. Hannah was terrible at all of it, awkward and unskilled, painfully virginal, but the men (discussing it among themselves) seemed to think that was a selling point, as were the welts along Hannah’s back - some men liked those things, they said.
Watching her was painful. Loren could tell immediately, the way that he could tell so many things just by looking at people, that it was all Hannah again. From the way her hands clung desperately to the pole, and the clumsy maneuvering of her steps as she moved around the stage. He had to keep himself from glancing away out of compassionate embarrassment when her nervous fingers fumbled with the bra straps. It felt like if she could do it, then he should be able to endure watching it. Even so, there was nothing overly male or hungry in his expression as she danced. The men's commentary as they discussed her profit margin made it all the tougher to swallow, and to Loren it felt like watching a gazelle being ripped apart by hyenas on one of those nature shows. He grit his teeth to resist saying something.
Once she was done, she stood there for an uncomfortable moment, hands unable to cover everything she wanted to cover with them. The men continued to confer, and then they sent her to change with a barked order to return once she was ready. Their conversation continued, as if Loren wasn’t present, his silence having lulled them into comfort. They haggled prices, talked shifts, worried about law enforcement, and finally decided on 20 dollars an hour, weekends to start, special bookings only.
Hannah returned within minutes, Violet gone quiet and almost not there at all, having found this particular taunt to make Tate miserable more taxing than expected. Hannah’s fingers fidgeted as she clasped them behind her back, and her gaze kept skating from Loren to the men, from the men to Loren. Eventually, the men got the picture, and they started giving Loren the particulars of special dances, lap dances, breaks and house rules, assuming he was her representative in some strange way. It was Vegas, and these men knew better than to ask too many question.
She sidled closer, slowly, slowly, and by the time the men stopped talking she was pressed against Loren’s side, as if she could hide there, against fabric and warmth. This was a real serious step, and she realized it. If the nuns ever found out, she’d be locked in the basement come morning, and the exorcism would be done come evening. She slid a cold, clammy hand into Loren’s without thinking on it too hard.
He watched Hannah fidget, and after she ran off to change, he watched the door she'd vanished through. The men discussed things at a rowdy volume, and still Loren watched the door. All pinched brows and solemn mouth, waiting for her to reemerge. She didn't take long, but he was already considering going to look for her. She might have run off, or been in the back alley vomiting, but she reappeared just before he thought to rise. All crestfallen quiet and floor focused eyes. The men were talking to him now, he could hear them explaining schedules and security, rules and wages.. but Loren's attention was all for Hannah. She was close, and he fanned his fingers loose to curl around her hand. Distantly, he realized that the managers must have thought him to be Hannah pimp. Such a thing was far from unheard of, especially in this city. He didn't correct them, and he didn't stick around to debate pay. With her hand in his, Loren drew her toward the door with a tick of his head. A silent co'mon with coat tails of further silence as he led her down the hall. "I hope you're fuckin' happy," and his clipped tone was all for Violet, because he knew she was in there somewhere. Loren didn't say anything else as he drew her through the heart of the club, dancers on poles and money all around them. "Tell me about the exorcism." It didn't sound debatable.
Hannah looked over her shoulder at the place they’d left behind, and she didn’t say anything about being happy or not, because she wasn’t real sure if it was meant for her or Violet or both. She’d decided to come on this audition, hadn’t she? Even if she wasn’t real clear on what it meant at the time. Her hand in his was tight as the cinch her momma made her wear when she was just becoming a woman, and her fingers were going all over white with lack of circulation. She was all kinds of quiet until they got outside, and she turned her face up to look at him, not expecting that particular question after everything that had happened. But Hannah was real used to following orders, to answering things asked with a strong voice, or a stinging belt, or the voice of the Lord behind it. “It’s on account of the demon. They say the boy locked up in the basement died before they could get it out of him,” she explained, a delicate shudder wracking her tiny body as she said the words. Her fingers strayed to her throat, where the thing with teeth had bit, and she almost expected her hand to come away all bloody. “You real mad?” she finally asked, after pondering a spell. Then, a beat later. “I was real terrible, wasn’t I?” A blush, and a self-conscious tug at the side of her dress. She didn’t realize that being terrible might be a kink all by itself, that inexperienced thing being worth more than most anything else in a place like Vegas.
"What boy in the basement?" He didn't look at her, his attention was a hungry thing on the horizon once they'd spilled out of the club and onto the street. A car zoomed by, all rims and bass, and his eyes followed it's prowling machinery like it'd done something to him. Like it was something he should destroy. Because Loren very much wanted to destroy something right now. He was damn near chewing a hole in his lip to keep Tate from burning the club down. He crammed a palm against his eyes, guncarved fingers making way for a marauder's fist. There was bile in his throat, pitch black behind the eyes, and an ache in his heart that wasn't his own, but he felt it all the same. His growl was all frustration, something pitched at the sky like a fucking challenge, a final plea against circumstance. What the hell was he supposed to do, huh?
Loren swallowed, realized he'd been quiet for too long, and pulled his hand from her. His fingers were slick and cool from where they'd been huddling with her's beneath floorboards. He sighed, clearing his thoughts with a drag of both hands against his unshaven face. Hannah was grown, she could do whatever the hell she wanted.. it wasn't about that. He just would have liked to of known that this was really her and not just Violet throwing pebbles at the animal in his cage. Loren didn't answer about being mad, there was really no reason to ask. He fanned some fingers against the top of her head, and dropped his maw to the back of his hand, in what was nearly a kiss to her halo. "You were just fine." His words rustled her hair, dandelion threads that hit the wind like a wish.
She tipped her head back to watch him not watching her. It made something ache inside, something that had nothing at all to do with what had just happened in the club. She didn’t understand men at all, and she didn’t know he was all wound up energy with Tate pacing all wild in his mind. She just knew that something was wrong (she could tell that much), and she blinked brown eyes as he growled, because she’d never heard a man make that kinda noise. She didn’t even know folks could sound like that, and she sure didn’t have Violet to help her, not when Violet had gone all quiet as a church mouse. “I don’t know his name. He was waiting on an exorcism, like me, but he kept trying to sneak out, and so his folks gave permission to lock him up down in the basement while they waited on the exorcism.” She dropped her voice, and it went all guilty, like Jesus himself might hear. “He died during the ritual, or so they say. I ain’t real sure, but they did pull a body out the back. I saw it through the window. I’m meeting with them about mine tomorrow, my exorcism.”
When his hand slid from hers, she tried to grab it back, but his hands were on his face by then, and she was stuck watching. The fingers against the top of her head made it better, though, she she stepped forward and against him, scratchy gray fabric and head not reaching his shoulder. When he said she was fine, she tipped her head back to look on up at him, and her smile was bright enough to gleam in the Vegas night. “You’re just saying that,” she said, a blush touching her cheeks. “I ain’t never- My stepmomma, she thought looking at bodies was bad, and I was never allowed. Even bathing happened with a shift on, and I’m pretty sure that was a sin just now, but-” She blushed more, redder. “Did you like it?” It was an earnest question, asked without any real understanding of what she was asking, and she waited for his answer, all pressed against him and feeling tingling way down to her toes.
Hannah's question took him back, and surprise escorted his eyes onto her in a half heartbeat moment of alarm. Then all attention slammed back into place on the line of sidewalk that stretched before them. "You were fine," he repeated. It seemed to somehow be the safest thing to say, and Loren crammed a palm against his temple, suddenly feeling cornered and in desperate need of a change of topic. "What time tomorrow?" Because he didn't doubt her for a second about the body she saw, not with her voice trembling in an ice cave of fear. Besides, who would lie about something like that? Loren didn't even think that Hannah was capable of lying, she seemed almost more than human in that regard. Loren walked alongside her, and the plan formed with every step he took. If what Violet said was true, Hannah couldn't go through with that.
“Ten in the morning,” she explained, not pushing him on his opinion about her dancing. She wanted to ask if he’d let her practice on him, but the subject of the exorcism stole her attention before she had a chance.
She had the time memorized, locked in place, a thing that almost flashed in front of her eyes. And no, she wasn’t lying, not about any of it. It was plenty clear just by looking at her face as she dragged him to a stop a block down the way from the apartment building. “The nuns and the postulates, we’re on the second floor. The priests and boys waiting on seminary, they’re on the first floor. I got to go to the office way down in the corner of the first floor, and they say there’s a door leads down to the basement from there.” She motioned at the building, which looked like a harmless apartment building, save for the cross hanging over the entryway. “My room’s above the garbage bin, round the back, but I’ll climb up into the bathroom window. It’s safer that way.”
Loren stopped when she did, casting a glance onto the apartment building from a distance. It was across the street from where he stayed, but he'd never shared that with her. It seemed safer not to acknowledge it sometimes, when Tate got to thinking too hard. "I see." It was all he said for a long time, patiently scoping out the architecture and thinking about the basement. What kind of things happened in an exorcism? What would they do to her? "Have you ever considered.." He hesitated because he was sure that he thought this was a sin, too. Then again, she'd just taken a job at a strip club, so why not put all the chips in? ".. getting out of there?" He turned to look at her, solidly for the first time since the club. "Staying with a girlfriend or something? That exorcism doesn't sound safe."
She didn’t expect him to be worried about the exorcism. Somehow, she thought he was the kind of man to worry about the stripping, but she didn’t know many men, admittedly, and she couldn’t tell what he thought or why he thought it. She looked up at him, brows knitting together, as if she was trying to figure out a real complicated puzzle, and then she shrugged her shoulders. “I just got this job, Loren. If I leave, my stepmomma and daddy won’t pay for me to live, and they’ll just drag me on down to another priest if I go back home.” She gave another shrug, more helpless this time, reminiscent of the awkward girl that had been on the pole just minutes earlier. “I don’t got any real close friends but you, and I don’t wanna leave Las Vegas.” There, there, a hint of a young girl’s determination in the way her pale fingers touched his sleeve. “I’d rather be a nun than do that.”
Of course she wouldn't have friends. The young women in this city were maneater extraordinaires, where would a weirdo nun girl fit in? Loren frowned, and turned his attention onto the halogen glow of the street lamp hovering over their heads. He didn't want to offer because Tate so desperately wanted him to. As a result, the offer was strained through his teeth, and seemed almost painful. "I have a couch.. if you.. want."
She didn’t notice the train, oblivious to it, like she was to everything else about men. She smiled a wide, young smile, and she nodded. “You sure?” she asked, because there wasn’t no going back if she did this, and she knew it. Her stepmomma and daddy might come looking, but she didn’t think she could go back after getting away, and she knew he wasn’t the sort to put her out without anywhere to go. “I’ll pay rent,” she promised, and she meant it. She didn’t want to take nothing from him; she wouldn’t even know how if it came to it. Impulsively, she gave him a hug, tight arms and a whole lot of space between her body and his (it was wrong to press up against a man that wasn’t your husband), and then she moved back. “Sleep on it? If you want to, really want to, send me a message before 10, and I’ll sneak out the window with my things.”
"No sleeping on it, just bring your things by when you can." There truly was no going back now that he'd offered, even if certain things made him ache for another alternative. Like the sudden, dead silence in his head that functioned as Tate's victory. Or the way his heart lurched into his throat when Hannah half leapt into him with a chaste hug of ecstatic compulsion. Loren took a wide step back and gestured down across the street. "I live in the Willows, apartment 1608." There was a beat of quiet as he glanced down the road, considering things. "If you need me, I'll be here. If I don't hear from you by ten, I'm coming to find you." It was as much a warning as it was a threat. If she wasn't going to go through with this, she better message him and let him know.
She nodded, because she’d already decided, standing there in the middle of the street after embarrassing herself all over the strip club. “I’ll come. I’ll pack up all my things, and I’ll sneak back out.” It wasn’t that she had a whole lot, but she had clothes and some things that she didn’t want to leave behind. It was late, and the lights inside were doused, and she wasn’t real worried about getting caught. She nudged up on her toes, and she kissed his cheek, and it was the first time her lips had done any touching of a man’s skin. He was scratchy, and a little salty (she licked her lips as she moved back without thinking). And then, with a girlish little hop, she turned and ran to the apartment complex, winding around the back and pressing her shoulders to the stone exterior once she was out of sight. She was getting out. She was really getting out. She tipped her head back, and she looked at the window above the dumpster - first things first.