Page 2 of The Lies Always Told

“I’m not attracted to women, babe, and even if I was, I don’t share,” she replies, winking back.

“Just hush, you two. We all look hot. Tonight’s gonna be a blast. Now can we just go?” I stand and walk toward the front door, determination in my steps as I wait for them to get the memo. “The club is not going to come to us. Let’s go girls!” They finally grab their purses, ready to go.

We have tonight and tomorrow left on this trip. Originally, we were only supposed to be here for the weekend, but our school being closed longer meant we could stay one more day. After tomorrow, we have to go back to reality—and a good one, at that. I graduate with my master’s degree in counseling next month and then hopefully find a job back home in Baker Oaks.

Most people want to move away from their small town. They see college as the escape they need to start their new life, but that’s not the case for me. I’ve been in college for the past four years because I wanted to experience it but that’s longenough for me. I love Baker Oaks, I love my little northern Florida town, how close it is to bigger cities, how safe it is. I love it all—except the men. Well, most of them, anyway. There could be someone new who may be worth my time now.

Still, I actually like it there, and I can’t wait to be back in my comfort place, where I know where everything is. Where I know what to expect from people. I struggled with finding my footing for so long until I realized what I was missing—routine. Once I learned everything I needed in order to thrive, I realized that knowing what to expect, having the same routine, and having little-to-no surprises are essential for my mental health. My biggest struggle living away from home was the unexpected, so I can’t wait to go back to the predictable.

Right now, though, we’re walking down Bay Street from the condo we’re renting and getting ready to step into Bay Bliss, an upscale bar at the bottom of the Bay Hotel. Everything is packed; it seems like everyone is spending spring break in the city.

There’s a line of people waiting to enter the bar, a bouncer not letting anyone in.

“I don’t feel like spending my whole night waiting in that line,” I tell the girls with concern. I refuse to stand in a long line unless it’s for an amusement park ride. Time is the only thing we don’t get back, and wasting mine standing in line, especially at a bar in this backless black minidress, is a big no. I bought this dress thrifting with Cara, my older sister, a while ago, and I’ve been waiting for a good opportunity to wear it. What better opportunity than the birthday when I finally have access to all types of entertainment?

I stole Cara’s ID at sixteen and have been using it ever since. People ask about the hair color, and I just say that it got darker as I got older. Cara’s naturally blonde, matching her light and airy personality, while I have dark hair, almost black—darkness surrounds my thoughts constantly, like strong weeds that keep growing no matter what you do.

“Oh, please. Come on,” Bee replies, pulling us both by our hands as she steps toward the bouncer without getting in the line. She looks like a woman on a mission, using every weapon in her arsenal before the war begins. She’s swaying her hips, moving her head slightly side to side, enough for you to wonder if you imagined it but not enough to tell if she’s moving it or not. When we reach the bouncer, she smiles sweetly at him.

“Can I help you?” His voice is deep, and his eyes flare. I don’t blame him; if the walk and the dress weren’t enough, she’s also smiling and discreetly touching his hand over the rail.

“We have reservations for tonight, handsome. We’ll miss it if we have to wait in that line, and I really don’t want to do that,” she purrs.

“They all say the same thing, but unless you’re on this list, I’m afraid you’re out of luck tonight.” He holds the black clipboard up without an ounce of emotion on his face.

“Why so grumpy? I bet my name is on there.” She traces her finger slowly down his arm and over the clipboard. “It’s Bee.”

He raises an eyebrow at her, asking without words if she thinks he’s dumb. I wonder how many people try to tell him a random common nickname to see if he’ll bite and use a full name. Little does he know, Bee is her full name. Her mom was obsessed with bees when she was pregnant. Weird as fuck, but what do I know?

“Bee Zimmerman,” she adds. “Go ahead, look.”

“Oh, come on!” someone shouts from the line, clearlyannoyed at the situation.

“Oh, shut the fuck up! It’s my birthday!” I shout. The collective grunts, claps, and cheers make the space more chaotic. Mr. Grumpy security guard, though? He does none of that and looks down at his list.

“Ms. Zimmerman, you have an ID to verify it’s you? I would need IDs for all your friends here too.”

We hand him the IDs, and after verifying all of them and eyeing us up and down, he lets out a breath.

“You’re all good to go. Happy birthday, Cornelia,” he says as he hands me my ID back. I flinch at my full name. Other than the first day of classes, and my mother when she’s mad, nobody calls me Cornelia. Cornelia was my grandmother and I happen to be the one blessed with her name. It’s sophisticated and posh; neither word suits me.

“Thanks, darlin’,” Bee announces as she blows him a kiss.

Walking into Bay Bliss is like stepping into an alternative reality. The sleek, modern interior is bathed in dim lighting that casts long shadows over dark wood floors and what seems like leather upholstery. It has an air of sophistication, with a touch of industrial designs. The loud hip hop music reverberates in the space as the scent of something musky lingers in the air, awakening all my senses.

I look around and see hidden alcoves behind velvet curtains, which I assume may be VIP booths or areas for privacy.Exclusive and private with a touch of funis their slogan, so I’m sure plenty happens behind those curtains that I don’t want to know. I’ve been trying to steer myself away from trouble these past few months, and thinking about all the mischief I can get into here is not going to help me to stay on track.

“Let’s go get a drink,” I shout over the noise, grabbing both Victoria and Bee’s hands. Bee leads us around the sea of people moving, dancing, kissing, and who knows what else. Not my business. We have to cross through the middle of the busy dance floor to make it to the bar, and even though we bump into a few people, we make it there without letting go.

The bar sits in the dead center of the dance floor—convenient for the people dancing, a pain for everyone else. There’s a giant neon sign in the middle showing the name of the venue, surrounded by bottles of the most expensive liquor you can think of. This is nothing like the bars we usually frequent. An elaborate chandelier hangs like a piece of art above, and the flickering lights reflect a kaleidoscope of colors across the room.

“This place is incredible!” Victoria says from behind me, loud enough for me to hear.

Walking up to the bar, we’re lucky there’s a small space for the three of us to reach the counter. Even though there are no empty chairs, we will be able to ask the bartenders for drinks soon.

There are three bartenders on our side of the bar, all men, and from the looks of it, all three of them damn delicious. They’re all wearing dark t-shirts and dancing to the beat of whatever this song is.

Cara, my sister, loves music. I bet she could name this song without hesitation. My parents are both musically inclined too. Me? I know if it’s a song I can dance, fuck, or cry to. Other than that, unless I already know the artist and lyrics, they all sort of mingle together.

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