Chapter Text
4 weeks after....
The neon haze of the club pulsed through Ani’s skull and the music being loud as always, her mind always found a way how to overthink. Anora Mikheeva—she’d rather choke than embrace her full name—remembering where she comes from and her family, not now omg. Slumped against the bar, a nearly empty bottle of cheap vodka clutched in her hand. Her dark hair was a tangled mess, matted with sweat and glitter from a night of grinding on the stage, her sharp features smudged with mascara and lipstick, her expressive eyes dulled by a haze of booze. Her strappy heels, scuffed and impractical, lay discarded by her feet—she’d forgotten her comfy boots again, left them at home, casualties of the fog that had swallowed her mind. Four weeks back in her reality, and it was worse than she’d feared: no husband, no mansion, no stable future—just the same sticky stage, the same leering clients, the same life that refused to stop. She lit another cigarette, her seventh of the night, the smoke curling around her like a cloud. She’d been smoking like a chimney, the burn in her lungs a fleeting distraction from the ache in her chest.
The past days had been a downfall into chaos—booze to numb her pain, lines of coke snorted with clients in the VIP room to feel something, anything, other than the weight of her failure. Last night, she’d let a guy with a gold chain and sweaty palms talk her, to convince her to be his girlfriend and shit, his hands grazing her waist as she faked a laugh, trying to, everything was a fuking game. The first week after that night, she’d locked herself in her apartment, crying until her eyes were burnt, mourning the dream she’d been stupid enough to believe in—a life where she wasn’t just a stripper, a hustle, a nobody. Hope was a scam, that got her into that mess in their first place, fuck hope and her reality was this: a club full of men who thought they could buy her completely, a rent due to pay, the 10k and diamond ring sitting untouched on her coffee table, a glittering reminder of what she’d gain and lost.
The club buzzed with chaos—girls weaving through the crowd, music pounding, men hollering for attention. Ani’s only lifeline was Lulu, her true friend since her first shift years ago. Lulu, with her bright pink hair and quick laugh, slid onto the barstool next to her, snatching the cigarette from Ani’s fingers. “You’re gonna hack up a lung, babe,” she said, her voice teasing but her eyes heavy with worry. “Ease up, yeah?” Ani smirked, but it was brittle, barely reaching her eyes. “Gotta keep up with you, Lu,” she shot back, her voice rough from smoke and vodka. She grabbed the cigarette back, taking a defiant drag. “Jimmy’s got me on doubles, I’m in my probation week, can you believe that bullshit? Need something to stay upright.” Jimmy had let her back without a fight.
She has not been the only one to disappear—strippers came and went, chasing more than they actually can get, but most of the time everything just a spiral. But Ani pulled in clients, the kind who dropped decent cash for her fake sassy flirting and sexy moves, and Jimmy knew it. Most of the dancers had welcomed her back with quiet empathy—Jenny with a tight hug, Lisa with a shared joint in the dressing room, even shy little Jade with a nod. They’d heard whispers of her whirlwind marriage and its crash, and they knew better than to ask. Diamond, though, was a different story. She’d smirked when Ani walked in, her fake lashes fluttering as she hissed, “Thought you were too good for us now.” Ani had flipped her off, her sharp features hardening, but the words cut deeper than she’d admit, slicing into the raw wound of her failure and plus the fight that they had was still recent for them. At home, Vera, her older sister, had seen the wreckage up close.
Vera, with her tired eyes, had banged on Ani’s door the first week, pissed when Ani didn’t answer texts. She’d found her curled up on the couch, surrounded by empty bottles, cigarette butts, and takeout containers, her dark hair greasy, her face gaunt like she’d aged a decade. “Jesus, Ani, you look like hell,” Vera had said, her voice tight with worry, not judgment. She’d forced Ani to eat—a grilled cheese she threw together from their nearly empty fridge—and filled the tub, sitting on the bathroom floor while Ani soaked, her knees pulled to her chest, staring at the tiles like they held answers. “Talk to me” Vera had said, her voice soft but firm. “ What happened?” Ani just shook her head, her eyes distant, unable to voice the humiliation or the strange weight of that night in the car, when she’d fallen apart and been seen, really seen, for the first time. Vera had never seen her like this—not after their dad bailed, not after Ani’s worst nights at the club, the closest time was when their grandma died. She was shattered, and it scared Vera shitless. She’d stayed for hours, cleaning dishes, folding laundry, trying to pull Ani back to herself, but Ani was a ghost, slipping further into her haze I know she will tell me one day, but damn it’s taking too damn long.
Now, in the club’s dim light, Ani downed another shot, the vodka burning less than her thoughts. She’d done another line earlier, a quick hit with a client who’d tipped big, his eyes greedy as he watched her dance. She hated it—the rush that faded too fast, leaving her emptier than before. But it was better than the memories that kept creeping in. The ring on her coffee table, worth more than she’d make in a year, mocked her every time she passed it. She couldn’t sell it, not yet—also she couldn’t stop the annoying feeling that she had after everything that happened inside his stupid beat up car. It was the cherry on top, the perfect way how to end her shitty fake ass romance, was to have a mental breakdown with him inside of her, like that was too surreal and pretending to treat her like she matter ….. yeah right.
Lulu nudged her, pulling her back to the present. “You’re zoning out again,” she said, her pink nails tapping the bar. “You sure you’re good for that stage? You’re wobbling, girl.” Ani forced a grin, her sharp features twitching with that fierce energy she used to own. “Wobbling’s my new move, Lu. Clients love it.” The lie was thin, but Lulu let it slide, her laugh warm and familiar, the only thing keeping Ani tethered tonight. “Bullshit,” Lulu said, stealing a sip of Ani’s vodka. “You’re a mess, but you’re my hot mess. Come crash at my place again after. No way you’re walking home in those heels again.” She glanced at Ani’s discarded shoes, shaking her head. “You forgot your boots again?” Ani groaned, rubbing her temples. “Yeah, and my charger. Been forgetting everything. Too busy trying not to feel shit.” Her voice cracked, and she covered it with a cough, taking another drag. Lulu’s face softened, her hand resting on Ani’s arm. “You’re the baddest bitch I know in this place, Ani. Always have been. Just… don’t let it swallow you, okay?” Ani nodded, but the words felt hollow.
She wanted to believe them, but the weight of her reality was crushing—clients who saw her as a body, a sister who couldn’t fix her, a future that had burned to ash. She stubbed out her cigarette, her fingers trembling, and grabbed her heels, slipping them on despite the ache in her ankle. “Gotta get back out there,” she said, her voice flat. “Jimmy’s watching.” As she stood, Diamond passed by, her smirk cutting through the neon haze. “Finding a new husband babe?” she called, her voice dripping with venom. Ani’s eyes flashed, her sharp features hardening, but she didn’t take the bait. She just flipped her off, her grin tight, and headed for the stage, her hips swaying with a defiance she didn’t feel. The music kicked in, and Ani moved, her body falling into the rhythm like muscle memory. The clients cheered in the VIP , their eyes hungry, but she barely saw them. She was dancing for herself, for the flicker of control it gave her, even if it was a lie. The vodka buzzed in her veins, the coke’s edge fading, and for a moment, she could pretend she was still fighting. But deep down, she knew: this was her reality, and it wasn’t letting her go.
At home that afternoon, Vera was waiting, her braid loose, her eyes heavy with worry. She’d let herself in with the spare key, a plate of reheated lasagna on the table. “Eat,” she said, her voice firm but gentle. “And don’t bullshit me, Ani. You haven’t eaten all day, have you?” Ani sank onto the couch, her heels kicked off, her hands shaking as she lit another cigarette. “Not hungry,” she muttered, but Vera pushed the plate closer, her jaw tight. “You’re killing yourself,” Vera said, sitting beside her, her voice cracking. “You look to fucked up. Talk to me, please. What happened?” Ani stared at her. “I thought I could be more,” she said finally, her voice barely a whisper. “Thought I could get out. But it’s just… this. Same shit, same life.” Her eyes stung, and she blinked hard, refusing to cry again. “I’m so fucking tired, Vera.” Vera pulled her into a hug, her arms tight, like she could hold Ani together. “You’re still here, hustlin’, and you’re way too damn stubborn to let any crap mess with you, aight?”" she said, her voice fierce. “That’s more than nothing. You hear me?” Ani nodded, her face buried in Vera’s shoulder, but the words felt like air. She was still here, but it wasn’t enough—not yet. The club, the booze, the drugs, the grind—it was all she had, and it was consuming her whole.