Page 13 of All Your Lies
The bar beckons us with its crimson lighting, casting an alluring hue and showcasing shelves brimming with bottles that seem to scrape the ceiling. Massive disco balls adorn its high ceilings, suspended at varying heights, casting an enchanting array of sparkles that captivate my attention.
“This place is gorgeous. Whoever owns it did an amazing job,” I yell over the music. “You wouldn’t expect this from the outside.”
“Are you saying you’re glad I brought you?” she asks with knowing eyes. I’m a sucker for anything interior design. If I wasn’t meant to follow in my dad’s footsteps, I could see myself being an interior designer, creating beautiful spaces like this.
“Possibly.” I smirk and give her a shrug.
“Good, because you need this, Lex. If it was up to you, you’d be in your bed reading your latest book about couples who don’t exist. Guys who don’t exist.”
“Hey, hey, hey, don’t bring my books into this,” I say, feigning defensiveness.
“Fine. But you know I’m right.”
“You are, and to show my appreciation,” I say as I eye the bartender heading our way, “I’ll buy the first round of drinks.”
After ordering my go-to vodka cranberry and Jenna’s classic martini, we move to the dance floor.
After three more drinks and a dozen songs, I’m in desperate need of a break and some air. This leather dress clings to the skin in the most uncomfortable way. I discreetly blow air down my cleavage in hopes it will cool me down.
Glancing to the left, I see Jenna dancing with some guy, their movements so close and intimate. It’s hard to tell where the dancing ends and something more begins. I swear she’s like a magnet for all guys, where I’m more of a repellant.
I catch her eye and communicate my need to visit the restroom. With a thumbs-up from her, I make my way toward the bathrooms. Wherever they are.
My eyes search for any sign that might indicate their whereabouts. There aren’t any. Maybe we should have taken the receptionist up on the tour.
Taking a gamble, I opt to go toward the first door I come across on the right-hand side. I hold my bracelet over the small screen, and it turns red. The door’s lock clicks before swinging open, revealing an empty hallway equally as breathtaking as the rest of this place. Okay... that’s kind of cool.
Shattered floor-to-ceiling mirrors create a mosaic of a million fragmented pieces, yet somehow remain intact as a kaleidoscope of colors form as the light dances along the walls.
The hallway turns left, leading me to yet another door. As I walk toward it, my eyes are drawn to a table adorned with a basket overflowing with vibrant masquerade masks. A sign politely instructs visitors to don a mask before proceeding.
I turn around in the empty hallway and wonder if I should head back the way I came. With a mix of curiosity and uncertainty, I decide to put on the mask and cautiously turn the knob on the door. Jenna’s earlier words of living a little propel me forward. What’s the worst that can happen?
As I walk in, I come to an abrupt halt.
The room is spacious but devoid of light besides floor lighting, like in a movie theater along the baseboards. There are large windows on every wall. Some people also donning masks are curiously peering into those windows. While others seem five seconds away from fucking in the middle of the room where more comfy-looking couches are situated.
What the hell did I just stumble into?
I clutch the mask tightly, ensuring it won’t slip off. The screams in my mind fade into the background as I wear the mask, giving me the courage to move forward, empowered by the anonymity that shrouds me.
No feelings of embarrassment or guilt run through me as they usually do when I’m watching porn. It’s refreshing and freeing.
With caution, I quickly glance through the first window. A shiver runs down my spine, my breath hitching in my throat as I find myself frozen, unable to tear my gaze away.
A woman is strapped to an enormous piece of wood in the shape of an X in the middle of the room. The room is decked out in some medieval-looking torture chamber shit. Bricks adorn the walls, giving the effect of a genuine dungeon.
Hundreds of flickering candles illuminate the room, casting a soft and mysterious glow on the walls, displaying various whips and paddles. The man in the room is naked besides his black leather mask. He whips the woman on different parts of her body, making her scream in ecstasy and beg for more. My eyes widen in shock. This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I’ve read about it, yes, even fantasized about it a time or two, but witnessing it firsthand is a whole new experience.
My heart pounds in my chest as I let what I see wash over me, making a powerful sensation reach my core. A spark of intrigue has ignited within me, and I never want the excitement to fade.
I take one last glance at the woman strapped down before making my way to the next window.
The next room resembles an exam room at a doctor’s office, with sterile white walls and a bright overhead light. A busty nurse in a candy striper costume with a stethoscope around her neck stands over a naked woman on the exam table. The nurse takes a metal instrument and rolls it down the woman’s body as she writhes on the table. As she goes between the woman’s legs, she rolls the instrument against her most sensitive flesh, making her scream. Which makes more viewers crowd the window. I take that as my cue to head to the next room.
A few people occupy the next window. The interior is a weathered, Gothic-style church, where the ethereal glow of stained glass bathes the space in a mesmerizing display of colors. A man in black clothing and a white collar stands over a young woman kneeling at his feet, dressed in only a plaid skirt, white ruffle socks, and chunky patent leather Mary Janes. He speaks to her while rubbing her head. She nods at whatever he says before a slow smile plays on her red-painted lips. The man grabs the woman’s hand, and they walk into the confessional that’s off to the right and out of sight.
Catholicism was a big part of growing up in the families. Another way to wash all the bloody hands—confessional on Saturday followed by Eucharist on Sunday just to murder on Monday. The teachings have made a lasting impression, and as a result, this scene is profoundly unsettling, but what’s truly alarming is how captivated I am by it.
