I pressed my lips together, frustration gleaming on my flushed face. Alone, undressed, my tangled, ruffled hair was too short to bother combing. The air felt thick, heavy with the echoes of her words.
Reaching into the pocket of my trousers, I pulled out a cigarette and lighter. The flicker of the flame lit the dim room briefly before I puffed a trail of smoke into the still air. The sharp burn in my lungs felt grounding—a moment of clarity in the haze of confusion.
My gaze fell on the bed. The sheets were a disordered mess, crinkled and rumpled from the night's fervor. The sight stirred something in me—a mix of desire and regret. An unforgettable night, now tangled with an equally unforgettable morning.
I took another drag from the cigarette, exhaling slowly as my thoughts swirled. Cola's words replayed in my mind, sharp and unyielding, cutting deeper than I'd expected. Her defiance. Her pain. Her resemblance to Sonia, yet the stark difference in how they carried their burdens.
The ash fell, scattering across the floor like the remnants of a moment that couldn't be pieced back together. She was gone, and the room felt emptier for it.
But her scent lingered in the air, a faint trace of her presence, mocking my futile attempts to reach her. To save her.
I sat back, the cigarette burning low between my fingers, and stared at the ceiling. What was I trying to do? Fix something broken, or ease the guilt of failing the one I couldn't save?
The smoke curled upward, disappearing into nothingness. Much like the hope I'd tried to offer her.
I dressed myself, the cigarette still dangling between my lips, its ember faintly glowing. The room, still in its disordered state, felt like a reflection of my mind—chaotic and unsettled.
Running my fingers through my hair, I felt its smoothness. It was a small vanity, but one I always acknowledged—I had nice hair, even in its current disheveled state.
I slipped on my buckled shoes, the leather creaking softly as I tightened them. Each action felt methodical, a way to distract myself from the heaviness lingering in the room.
Before leaving, I turned to the mirror. My sterling blue eyes stared back at me, piercing and unrelenting. For a moment, I couldn't look away. They held a haunting quality, as if they carried the weight of everything I'd seen, everything I'd done—or failed to do.
I exhaled a stream of smoke, the mirror fogging slightly. The face staring back wasn't just mine; it was a man caught in the tension between control and chaos, between trying to save others and failing to save himself.
With a final drag, I crushed the cigarette in the ashtray and straightened my old coat. There was no time for self-pity. The world outside waited, indifferent to the storm within.
I felt the Cathouse card in my pocket, the paper old and crumpled, its edges worn down with time. The once bold text was now faded, the promises of pleasure it offered reduced to a faint whisper of decadence.
This place was supposed to be the paradise of pleasure. A haven for those seeking to escape, or perhaps to lose themselves entirely.
I stepped into the narrow hallway, the air thick with perfume and cigarette smoke. The dim light cast shadows on the walls, shadows that seemed to dance in rhythm with the sultry murmurs around me.
The women stationed along the walls noticed me immediately, their gazes sharp and predatory.
"Look at the regular," one of them purred, her voice dripping with playful malice. "He's quite handsome... He could swoon any woman with that look. Can't he?"
Another leaned lazily against the wall, a sly grin spreading across her lips. "I'd ride him for free and pay him instead," she giggled, her laughter echoing down the corridor.
I didn't react, keeping my stride steady as their voices faded behind me. Their laughter, their teasing—it was all part of the ambiance here. A place where people became objects of desire, and where even the most genuine of words carried an edge of performance.
I saw the receptionist with a tea on her desk and biscuit on the plates. She sipped her tea.
""So, Hoffman?" she asked, her tone light yet probing. "How was it?"
"Unforgettable," I replied, letting the single word carry the weight of the night.
A faint smile tugged at her lips. "She's growing fast, don't you think?"
"Yes, she is," I said, my voice measured.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet, handing her the bill for the room. I didn't bother tipping her. If I did, I knew it would never make its way to Cola. Of that, I was certain.
"She knew you, right?" she asked, her curiosity evident.
"Yes. She did."
She nodded, her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something unreadable. "Sonia was the best one here. Now, she can take her title." She paused, as if savoring the thought. "Their beauty is unmatched. Almost ethereal. In a way, I find her more beautiful."
I bristled, the irritation seeping into my tone. "She doesn't need to be the best girl of the Cathouse."
"My, my, Hoffman," she said with a mock gasp, clearly enjoying my reaction. "Calm down." She took a sip of her tea, the delicate scent of lavender wafting through the air. "Care to join me for a cup? It's lavender tea—known to relieve stress."
"No," I said firmly, glancing at the tea in her hands. "I prefer coffee."
Without waiting for a response, I turned and stepped out of the hotel, letting the cool air hit me as the door closed behind me.