Page 128 of The Failed Audition

“I’m sorry,” I say, backing up abruptly, and my head collides with the metal hoop. Fuck.That really hurt.White spots dance in my vision.

“Careful,” Hazel Eyes tells me, but I push away from him before he steadies me again. I press my hand to my forehead, shuffling back in my stiletto heels.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” I recognize how much I don’t want to do this. And the sad thing is that I wish I could suck it up and finish the act. I wish I could be that fearless, no-holds-barred girl. Who can separate work and emotions—who can bask in the paycheck afterwards.

But I found my personal limitation. I can’t do whatever it takes to be here. I want to be okay with that, I do. I should be.You tried, Thora.

“What do you mean?” Blue Eyes asks.

I shake my pounding head in a daze. “I’m sorry.” And I rush out of the room before anyone stops me. I beeline down the dark corridor, walking as fast as my heart hammers. Once in the dressing room, I catch sight of myself in a vanity mirror, my skin ashen and a stream of blood trickling down my forehead.

“Fantastic,” I mutter, my throat swollen. I snatch a tissue and blot the skin that’s split open. I pass a couple giggling dancers to reach my locker. Which is…empty.

What? I turn to one of the dancers in confusion.

“Lana was pissed you took her gig,” the go-go dancer says.

I didn’t even realize it was hers. “So she stole my clothes?”

“I think she threw them in the trash out back.”

My eyes burn. Right. I inhale, pressure bearing on my chest.

“Virgin Mary.”

My blood runs cold at Roger’s voice. Maybe this is all karma. But if I didn’t try tonight…I would’ve always questioned if I dideverything I could. I know I’m justifying a mistake so that I’ll feel better, but it’s easier than living with bigger regret.

The moment I feel it, I’ll start crying. And I don’t want to cry right now. I just want to go fall asleep and pretend that everything turned out in my favor. That I’m lucky, just like Roger said.

I shield my boobs with my arm and face him.

His anger flushes his skin. “What are you fucking doing?”

“I can’t…” I feel blood trickle down my forehead sliding over my brow. I try to dab it up with the tissue.

Roger notices. “Because you bumped your head? Wipe it off and get your ass back there. You’ve committed tonight. Theypaidfor you.”

“I quit.”

He’s boiling. “Are you shitting me? Youjuststarted.” He shakes his head repeatedly. “Okay, you have two options.” He raises two fingers in my face. “You go and finish your act, or you pay for the timeyou’vewasted the club.”

I can’t finish. I know I can’t. I’ll puke all over myself, for one. For another, I can’t live with the memory of them watching me like that. I already want to scrub the partial one from my brain.

“I’ll pay,” I say.

“One grand.”

I feel more color drain from my cheeks. “I…I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Then get your ass back in that room.”

I made a costly mistake—one that was supposed to do the inverse of what’s happening now. I can’t even worry about paying for rent. That’s gone. It’s not even on the table anymore. Maybe I can max out credit cards and search for a solution later.

“I’ll pay you.”

He rolls his eyes likemake up your fucking mind.I’ve made it. I made it the moment I walked out of the private room. I’m certain that I’m never walking back in.

In the next five minutes, I find a thin blue jacket, zipper broken. If I choose to pull it closed over my chest, the hem rises higher than my ass. I pick my losses and expose my bottom, in favor of not flashing everyone. Then, with Roger’s assistance, I swipe credit cards and pay off a debt.

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