The Forgotten Girl
“Okay, what do you want to start off with today?” I ask, setting the glasses down on the bar. The disconcerting feeling inside me, thank God, is cooling down. “Vodka? Whiskey? Tequila?”
“Just water,” she replies, tucking a strand of her blond hair behind her ear. “I’m getting burnt out. In fact, I actually went to an AA meeting down on Broadway the other day to confess my sins about how much I’ve been drinking.” She thrums her finger on her bottom lip. “Strangely, they were very unsympathetic.”
“That’s because AA is a recovery group.” I shake my head, reaching for the Vodka. “Not a church.”
She rolls her eyes. “You say potato. I say potato. Besides, I needed my support group fix.”
“You need to stop doing that.” I pour two shots of vodka, licking off a few drops that spill onto my hand. “People are really serious about that shit. Trust me. I used to go to one.”
“To an AA meeting?”
“To a support group.”
“For?”
I tap the side of my head and she nods, getting it. For my amnesia, although I think I could go to a Potential Killers Anonymous if one existed. Maybe there I could finally express what I was carrying around inside me. Maybe I could finally let Lily out for a moment and be okay with it.
“I sometimes forget that you’ve forgotten.” She grins then scoops up the shot glass like she’s going to make a toast. “And just so you know, I’m still going to go to the AA meetings. I met a hot guy there and now we’re dating. And let me tell ya, the sex is amazing.”
“Does he know you’re not a recovering alcoholic?”
She bites her lip guiltily. “I haven’t had the chance to mention it yet.”
“Sure you haven’t.” I collect the other shot glass, spilling a little of the liquid. “You’re so manipulative.” Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?
“So are you.” She grins before downing her shot. Then she puts the glass down and goes over to the table area and begins putting down the chairs. I slam my warm-up shot back, then begin to get ready to open up the bar, checking the glasses and alcohol bottles to see what all I need to get from the store. Glen usually doesn’t show up until the after hours, if at all, and River is always fashionably late, something he gets away with because he’s Glen’s baby brother by about twenty years.
After Bella and I get everything set up I turn the lights and music on, while three of the other waitresses/dancers—Mindy, Sydney, and I think the other’s name is Marilynn—get ready to open up. I try to remember names, but waitresses come and go here about as frequently as internet trends. I blame it on the high amount of males touching themselves at the tables and how the waitresses and dancers are just supposed to overlook it and “do our thing.”
Sydney is the only waitress that’s worked here for over two weeks. She’s tall, leggy, and has a heart tattoo on her ankle that matches the little heart buttons on her shirt, that are actually kind of pretty and for a stupid moment I picture myself plucking them off her shirt. She also doesn’t like me at all. No surprise since most women tend to not like my blunt and bold personality. Plus, I think she has a thing for River. Honestly, I’m not even sure what the real foundation of this dislike is for me, other than her first day working here, she took one look at me and made this noise in the back of her throat that sounded an awful lot like disgust. Then she walked away, shaking her head, and that was that. She hated me and has acted upon the loathing several times over the last couple of weeks, including one very intense fight where I discovered that I don’t fight like a girl. I kick and punch and can throw down like a guy, something Sydney and her nose didn’t appreciate when I crashed my knuckles against it. She actually tried to get me fired, but luckily Glen likes me.
As Sydney strolls by me today, she mutters under her breath, “Fucking slut. I know what you did the other night.”
The other night? I have to think about what I did… Oh, that was the night she caught me and River in his office making out. But I don’t say anything to her because there’s nothing to say.
“You know, you can be such a bitch,” she says, picking up the pace just a little as she looks at me from over her shoulder. “I have no idea how River can even touch you. You’re f**king pathetic and disgusting. You probably have herpes with how much of a whore you are. You’ve practically slept with everyone in this town.”
I’m not a whore. Yes, I have sex, but not that much, and not with just anyone. It’s all very high schoolish and I really just want to walk away, but I find myself standing there. The word whore has triggered an unexplainable rage within me. One that’s so overpowering it drowns everything else around me out. My vision blurs. My hearing pops. My pulse hammers and a figure appears behind Sydney. He’s not real—I’ve seen him before and know he’s just an illusion. But every time it happens, it makes me sick to my stomach.
You’re a whore!
You’re a whore!
You’re a whore!
It’s not my voice inside my head. Not Lily’s. It’s male. Baritone. Angry. I’ve heard it before. These episodes aren’t new to me at all. I sometimes wonder if something from my past sets them off, but since I can’t remember anything, I just get angry. Enraged. It’s so thick I can’t see. I’m not mad over the insult at this moment, but some time in my life, I have been. And sometime in my life, I’ve cowered like a child from the sound of it. I want to do it now, especially with the man there, staring at me, eyes I can’t see, face a shadow. I want to look away. Wrap my arms around myself and pretend to be somewhere else. Surrender and give up.
You will not. You can’t just stand around and let this go on. Take her out. Stop being Maddie.
“I don’t know how,” I whisper, my body starting to tremble as I grip onto the chair for support because my knees are about to buckle. The man fades in and out of focus.
You’re a whore!
Make her hurt. Like you’re hurting. Don’t be weak. Make her suffer.
Chapter 6
Lily
As soon as I get control, the imaginary man vanishes¸ because I have more power over the mind then to let the ghost memory remain there, attempting to torment me.
“I’m not a f**king whore,” I say in level voice. Sydney’s lucky we’re in a crowded place, otherwise this would all be over with in the snap of a finger. “And if you call me that again, you won’t be walking away from me.” My hands are calmly at my sides, my posture straight, my gaze unwavering. I’m in more control than I’ve ever been, which is good. Maddie is weak and the most undecided person I’ve ever known. It’s no wonder she needs me.