I almost hurled the alarm clock across the small, worn table. The insistent, shrill ringing was a personal affront, a violent disruption to the fragile peace I'd managed to grasp for a mere three hours. Three hours. It felt like a cruel joke. My body ached with exhaustion, my eyes burned with grit, and my mind was a swirling vortex of anxieties. It felt like I hadn't closed my eyes for even a fraction of a second, each blink a painful reminder of the sleep I desperately craved.
With a groan, I forced myself to sit up, my muscles protesting with every movement. I massaged my throbbing temples, trying to quell the rising tide of a headache that threatened to overwhelm me. The weight of responsibility pressed down on me, a suffocating blanket of worry and fear.
My bare feet hit the cold, linoleum floor, sending a shiver up my spine. The house was eerily quiet, the silence amplifying the emptiness that had become a constant companion. It was a telltale sign that Mama had already left for her grueling night shift at the hospital, battling illnesses and exhaustion while I battled my own demons in the dimly lit corners of this city.
"It's already three," I whispered softly, my voice raspy and barely audible. I shuffled towards our cramped kitchen, the familiar route etched into my memory. The fluorescent light flickered overhead, casting long, distorted shadows that danced across the peeling wallpaper.
I filled the kettle with water, the metallic clang echoing in the stillness. As I placed it on the burner, a wave of fatigue washed over me, threatening to pull me under. I leaned against the counter, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to center myself. The steam from the kettle began to rise, a swirling cloud that briefly enveloped the air, but my mind wasn't here, in this small, humble kitchen. It was at the hospital, with my sister Claire.
Claire. The thought of her sent a sharp pang of guilt through my heart. She was the reason I pushed myself to the breaking point, the reason I endured the endless nights and the demeaning gazes. She was my everything, my responsibility, my hope.
We were three weeks behind on paying for her medication, a debt that loomed over us like a dark cloud. Each day that passed brought us closer to the terrifying possibility of her treatment being stopped, a prospect that filled me with a bone-chilling fear. If I didn't go to work tonight, if I didn't earn enough to make a significant payment, they might completely stop her treatment. The thought was unbearable.
So even though I was bone-tired, even though my hands were still trembling from lack of sleep and the gnawing anxiety, I forced myself to prepare for the night ahead. I pulled out a simple black dress from my meager wardrobe, a garment that had seen better days but still managed to project a semblance of respectability. I slipped it on, the fabric clinging to my skin, a silent reminder of the sacrifices I was making.
I applied a thin layer of lipstick, a shade of red that was supposed to convey confidence and allure. It felt like a mask, a desperate attempt to hide the weariness and vulnerability that threatened to consume me. I glanced at our cracked mirror, my reflection staring back at me with haunted eyes.
"Smile, Elaris," I reminded myself, my voice barely a whisper. "Even if it's fake. You have to be strong. For Claire."
I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and walked out the door, leaving the quiet sanctuary of our small home behind.
The moment I arrived at the bar, I was assaulted by the familiar, overwhelming sensory overload. The air was thick with the cloying aroma of cigarette smoke, cheap alcohol, stale sweat, and the overpowering perfume of the women dancing on stage, each scent vying for dominance, creating a nauseating cocktail that clung to my clothes and invaded my senses.
The neon sign lights flickered erratically, casting a lurid glow on the wet and slippery floor, a constant reminder of the spills and carelessness that were commonplace in this establishment. The noise was deafening, a cacophony of raucous laughter, drunken shouts, and the thumping bass of the music that vibrated through my very bones.
And then there were the eyes. The ever-present, leering eyes that measured me from head to toe, dissecting my appearance, judging my worth. They were the eyes of men who saw me as nothing more than an object, a fleeting source of entertainment, a temporary distraction from their own miserable lives.
This was my night.
Night after night.
A never-ending cycle of forced smiles, polite gestures, and silent endurance.
"Elaris!" Carla, my coworker at the counter, shouted above the din. "Bilisan mo, bago dumating si Martha!"
I grimaced, my stomach clenching at the mention of her name. Martha—the demonic manager of the bar. She was a woman who thrived on power and control, a master manipulator who knew exactly how to exploit the vulnerabilities of those around her.
Even the most hardened drunk quiets down when she arrives. Her presence was a suffocating weight, a constant reminder of the precariousness of our positions.
"On it," I replied, forcing a smile and grabbing a tray full of beer bottles. The glass felt cold and heavy in my hands, a physical manifestation of the burden I carried.
"Table five!" Carla shouted, pointing towards a group of rowdy men near the back.
As I navigated my way through the crowded bar, I could hear the jeers and catcalls of the men sitting on the side, their words like stinging barbs that pricked at my skin.
"You're so beautiful, miss. How much for one night?" one said, with a crude laugh that sent a shiver of disgust down my spine.
I took a deep breath, forcing a smile that felt brittle and unnatural.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm just a waitress here."
I had to smile, had to be polite, had to endure their crude remarks, even though I wanted to pour the beer on his face, to wipe that leering grin off his face.
One wrong move, one moment of defiance, and I could lose my job, jeopardizing Claire's treatment.
"Hey, Elaris," Vina, one of my coworkers, whispered as I passed her. "Why don't you move? There are many jobs out there that are safer, that don't require you to endure this kind of humiliation."
I looked down, avoiding her gaze. "I'm almost finished with my studies," I mumbled. "And Claire still needs medication. This is the fastest way to earn enough money."
She nodded silently, her eyes filled with a mixture of pity and understanding. She knew that what I said was true. We were all trapped in this cycle, each of us bound by our own desperate circumstances.
Several hours passed, each one feeling like an eternity. The bar grew louder, hotter, more dangerous. The air became thick with a palpable sense of desperation and recklessness.
The bar was like a world of monsters—where a smile is a weapon, and secrets are bullets. Where survival depended on your ability to navigate the darkness and protect yourself from the predators that lurked in every corner.
"Table fifteen!" Carla shouted, her voice strained.
Carrying the beer and appetizers, I approached the group of men laughing loudly, their eyes glazed over with alcohol and lust.
"Miss," one said, his voice slurred, "after those four dancing on stage are done, bring them here, okay?"
I forced a smile, my stomach churning with disgust. "Okay, sir."
He smiled back, but it was different from the polite smiles I was used to. It was cold, predatory, dangerous. It was the smile of a man who believed he could have anything he wanted, and that I was nothing more than an object to be used and discarded.
Back at the counter, I heard Carla's voice, low and urgent.
"Remember, Elaris, don't argue with anyone. Don't make eye contact. Don't draw attention to yourself. The important thing is that you're safe."
I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest.
But inside, I was screaming.
How long will I remain silent? How long will I endure this humiliation? How long will I sacrifice my dignity for the sake of survival?
"Elaris!"
Martha's voice boomed from behind, cutting through the noise like a sharp knife.
Carla grimaced. "Here comes the demon spawned from bitterness," she whispered, her voice laced with resentment.
"Yes, Ma'am?" I asked, forcing my tone to be calm and subservient.
"Don't you need money for your sister?" she said, her eyes glinting with a cruel satisfaction.
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "Yes."
"Just one night, Elaris," she said softly, her voice a seductive whisper that sent a shiver of fear down my spine. "Go with Mr. Gardo, and all your problems will disappear."
My blood ran cold, the weight of her words pressing down on me like a physical blow.
I'm not a saint, but I can't sell my soul. I can't sacrifice my body for money. I can't betray myself in that way.
"Is it taking much longer, Martha?"
An older man, smelling strongly of alcohol and stale sweat, approached, his eyes fixed on me with a predatory gaze. It was Gardo, one of the bar's big spenders, a man known for his wealth, his power, and his insatiable appetite for young women.
"Ma'am, that's not allowed," Carla interjected, her voice trembling but firm. "The boss himself said—the waitresses here are not to be touched. It's against the rules."
"Can you please, Carla, don't interfere!" Martha snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. "This is none of your business."
"I'm sorry, sir," I replied, my voice soft but firm. "That's not part of my job. I'm just a waitress."
Martha's face darkened, her lips curling into a sneer.
"Just make me happy tonight," Gardo said, slowly approaching, his voice thick with lust. "I'll give you a large sum… I can even double it, if you want."
I could feel his cold breath on my skin, his eyes burning into me, stripping me bare.
"I'm really sorry, sir, but it's not allowed—"
He grabbed my hand, his grip tight and possessive. Audaciously.
"I like this—the ones who fight back," he said, his voice low and raspy, bringing his lips closer to mine.
SMACK!
He was now holding his cheek, his eyes wide with shock and anger. Carla, stood protectively in front of me, her face contorted with fury.
"You disgusting old man!" she spat, her voice trembling with righteous indignation.
A smile flickered on his lips, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Do you want to see your sister disappear from the hospital because you can't pay?" he whispered, his words like a venomous sting.
I swallowed hard, the name of my sister was like a slap in the face, a harsh reminder of the reality and hardship of life. The weight of my responsibility pressed down on me, threatening to crush me.
"Elaris come here! "Martha said, her voice sharp and commanding, but I did not pay attention to it. I was frozen in place, paralyzed by fear and desperation. Until a voice piqued me, a voice that was deep, resonant, and utterly unfamiliar.
When I opened my eyes, he was there.
A man in black.
Tall, with broad shoulders that seemed to fill the entire space. He exuded an aura of power and danger, a silent promise of violence and retribution.
You couldn't read the expression on his face because of the golden mask that concealed his features. It was an ornate, intricately designed mask that covered the upper half of his face, leaving only his mouth and jawline visible.
The only thing visible was his lips—red, perfect, and slightly curved in what might have been a hint of a smile.
Under the mask, a word was engraved in elegant, flowing script: Empereur-Roi.
"Want to meet my cousin—Satan?" he said coldly, his voice a low, menacing growl that sent a shiver down my spine.
His voice, low and sharp—like a crack of lightning in the silence. It was a voice that commanded attention, a voice that brooked no argument.
In his presence, it felt like the world stopped. The noise faded, the lights dimmed, and the air grew thick with a palpable sense of anticipation.
The people backed away, their faces etched with fear and confusion.
No one breathed, as if afraid to break the spell that had fallen over the room.
A mocking laugh was Gardo's answer, a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation.
"And who are you, you know-it-all kid—" he sneered, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and fear.
Suddenly, men in black began to emerge from the shadows, appearing as if from nowhere.
Silent, expressionless, they moved with a coordinated precision that spoke of years of training and unwavering loyalty.
Like shadows of death, they surrounded Gardo and his men, their presence a silent threat that needed no words.
The ranting Mr. Gardo was speechless, his face pale with terror. The engravings on their suits trembled, reflecting the dim light in a macabre dance.
He approached me, his eyes fixed on mine, his gaze both intense and strangely gentle.
He grabbed my arm—tightly, but not violently. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through my veins, a strange and unsettling sensation that I couldn't explain.
He pulled me away from the middle of the chaos, guiding me through the crowd with a firm but respectful hand.
The beat of my heart seemed to keep pace with his steps, a frantic rhythm that echoed in my ears.
"Let me go!" I shouted, but softly, my voice barely audible above the pounding in my chest. I was torn between fear and a strange sense of safety, between wanting to escape and wanting to stay close to this mysterious stranger.
Before I could speak, before I could fully process what was happening, his lips touched mine—hot, quick, dangerous.
It was only a second, a fleeting moment of contact that stole my breath and sent my senses reeling. But in that single second, it felt like time stopped. The world around me faded away, the noise disappeared, and all that existed was the feel of his lips on mine, a brief spark of heat and electricity that ignited a fire within me.
When I opened my eyes, he was gone.
Just like that, he had vanished into the shadows, leaving me standing there, breathless and bewildered.
All that was left was the lingering scent of caramel and Bvlgari Man Wood essence, a sophisticated and intoxicating aroma that clung to the air, a haunting reminder of his presence.
And in the silence, while I was still holding the tray that was just full of beer, I heard people gasping, their voices filled with a mixture of awe and fear.
Security guards were running around, their faces flushed with panic, trying to restore order to the chaos.
Carla was trembling, her eyes wide with shock, her hand pressed to her mouth as if trying to stifle a scream.
Martha was cowering in fear, her face buried in her hands, her body shaking uncontrollably.
Me?
I was just standing there, frozen in place, my mind reeling, my body trembling.
Feeling nothing but the intensity of my pounding heart—a frantic drumbeat that echoed in the silence.
and the one question that kept etching itself into my mind, a question that consumed my thoughts and haunted my dreams:
Who are you?
The question echoed in the sudden silence of the bar, a silence so complete it felt like the world itself was holding its breath. The air crackled with unspoken tension, the lingering scent of his cologne a phantom touch on my skin. My lips tingled, a faint echo of the brief, electrifying kiss. I lifted a trembling hand to my mouth, as if to capture the memory, to hold onto the fleeting connection I'd felt with this enigmatic stranger.
Around me, the bar was a tableau of stunned silence. The music had stopped, the laughter had died, and the usual cacophony of sounds had been replaced by an eerie stillness. People stood frozen in place, their eyes wide with shock, their faces pale with fear. It was as if a spell had been cast, transforming the raucous, bustling bar into a scene from a nightmare.
The security guards, usually burly and intimidating, were now scrambling around like frightened mice, their bravado replaced by a palpable sense of unease. They barked orders, their voices trembling, but their words seemed to fall flat in the heavy silence.
Carla, my usually unflappable coworker, was a mess of nerves. Her face was ashen, her body shaking uncontrollably. She clung to the counter, her knuckles white, her eyes darting around the room as if expecting the mysterious stranger to reappear at any moment.
Martha, the bar's ruthless manager, was a broken woman. She cowered in a corner, her face buried in her hands, her body wracked with sobs. The power she usually wielded with such arrogance had been stripped away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.
And me?
I was still standing there, in the middle of the chaos, holding the tray of beer bottles that had somehow remained miraculously intact. My mind was racing, my thoughts colliding, my emotions in turmoil.
Who was this man? Where did he come from? What did he want? And why did he kiss me?
The questions swirled around in my head, unanswered and unanswerable. I felt like I had been caught in a whirlwind, swept away by a force I couldn't comprehend.
I looked down at the tray in my hands, the cold glass a stark contrast to the heat that still lingered on my lips. The beer bottles seemed to mock me, their labels glinting under the dim lights, reminding me of the mundane reality of my life.
I was just a waitress, struggling to make ends meet, sacrificing my dreams for the sake of my sister. I had no place in this world of power and mystery, no connection to this enigmatic stranger who had suddenly appeared in my life.
And yet, he had kissed me. He had touched me. He had looked at me with eyes that seemed to see something beyond the surface, something that I didn't even know existed.
The thought sent a shiver down my spine, a mixture of fear and excitement.
I took a deep breath, trying to regain control of my racing heart. I had to focus, had to get back to reality. I had a job to do, a sister to support. I couldn't afford to get caught up in fantasies and illusions.
But as I looked around the bar, at the stunned faces and the lingering sense of unease, I knew that things had changed. Something had shifted, something had been awakened.
And I had a feeling that my life would never be the same again.
I glanced down at my trembling hands, the tray of beer bottles suddenly feeling incredibly heavy. The weight of my responsibilities pressed down on me, a stark reminder of the reality I couldn't escape.
But beneath the weight, beneath the fear, beneath the uncertainty, there was a spark of something new. A spark of curiosity, a spark of hope, a spark of defiance.
And I knew, with a certainty that surprised even myself, that I wouldn't rest until I found out the answer to the question that echoed in my mind:
Who are you?