The Gutter II

By the time the cab rolled to a stop near a graffiti-tagged metal door tucked beneath a crumbling overpass, Cecelia had already transformed in her mind. She wasn't a little princess in distress tonight. Whoever crossed her path breathing the wrong way would take that title. 

The driver looked at her again, reluctant. "You sure you don't want me to wait?"

Cecelia tilted her head, smiling just enough to be unsettling. "You think I'm stupid enough to get in trouble here?"

He laughed nervously. "Right. Just be careful, Miss."

She stepped out without a word, the heels of her shoes striking the uneven pavement like a countdown.

The bouncer barely glanced at her before pulling the door open. Money wasn't required here, though a great plus, just confidence and the willingness to act like you belonged. Cecelia had both in a dangerous supply.

Inside, The Gutter was a lie wrapped in myth. It wasn't some piss-stained wreck of a place like the rumors claimed. It was five floors of curated chaos. Loud music played by an enthusiastic DJ in the middle of all the madness. Lights that pulsed like a heartbeat. Every level had its own flavor. Grunge, luxury, madness. Every floor promised anonymity to those looking to live it up, breaking the boundaries of the strict societal expectations. 

Cecelia made her way through the crowd, taking in the atmosphere. Masks, sweat, glass, and bodies dancing on each other. Her appearance in the club was not something to be overlooked. The people lining the bar stools, both men and women, turned their necks seeking just another glance as she moved away from their line of sight.

Two men approached from opposite ends of the room, almost like predators hunting their next meal. Unfortunately, Cecelia wasn't the prey. Instead, they were the prey falling straight into her palms. 

"You look lost," one of them said, a lazy smile on their face, which they probably assumed would look seductive, but it was just hard to look at. 

She looked him over with all the interest of someone inspecting a dust speck. "You look boring."

He grinned, undeterred. The second one reached for her wrist, but Cecelia was faster, twirling away with a laugh, her coat catching air like wings. "Not tonight, boys. Go fuck on each other instead."

They muttered something crude as she disappeared into the second-level staircase, ignoring them.

The second floor was quieter, darker. Private rooms lined the outer edges, some with glass walls that flickered between opaque and clear depending on how much money you threw at the staff. She paused near one of the narrow hallways, trying to gauge where to start. Who here would be careless enough to be useful? Who—

A door nearby hissed open.

A small group of staff exited one of the private rooms, laughing in hushed tones amongst themselves. The last one forgot to shut the door fully, letting it bounce on its hinge and drift ajar.

Cecelia turned to walk away. Until a name sliced through the bass and smoke.

"…Sebastian."

She froze.

What great luck. First victim of the night, and they were talking about her fiancé.

Her heel pivoted slowly, her eyes narrowing. She edged back toward the door, careful to keep her silhouette within the shadows. Through the narrow opening, she could see the backs of several men seated around a low table, the thump of music muffled by thick walls.

They were laughing. Loudly. Smoke drifted in slow spirals, perfuming the air with something sweet and earthy. 

Ew..weed. 

She could not make out who they were from just the back of their head, but seeing as they got themselves a completely closed-out private room, they must have the money to blow at a place like this. 

"…he said she practically begged him to stay. Poor thing was all dressed up, too. Guess even she didn't find out about it. "

Another bark of laughter.

"Who's next?" someone else asked, tone gleeful. "He said that singer from the ambassador's gala was already texting. What's her name? Lorelei?"

"No, no he's after that diplomat's daughter now. You know, the one who plays violin and acts like she's too holy to open her mouth. Well, soon she will be opening her mouth. Not to talk though!" Following this was a roar of laughter. 

"Man's collecting firsts like medals."

They howled again. One of them made a lewd gesture she didn't need to see, just hear to understand. With trembling hands, she whipped out her phone and began recording. 

Then came the voice that dropped just a little in volume like he wanted to sound mature, reasonable. "Look, I do feel kinda bad for Cecelia. The girl was actually decent. Smart. Way outta his league if we're being honest."

"Yeah," someone else chimed in, "but that illness messed her up bad. I mean, she was gone for what, 12 years? Didn't even look the same when she came back. Ah, I still remember how innocent and cute she looked."

A pause. The kind of pause men do before turning human empathy into an excuse.

Another voice broke it, "Still not Sebastian's fault. What was he supposed to do? Just wait around while she got her strength back? A man has needs, you know?"

"Exactly," the first guy added, with a chuckle. "It's sad, but hey, if your girl can't keep up… that's fate, not betrayal."

"She was probably too tired to even keep him warm at night," someone muttered with a scoff.

"She couldn't satisfy her man," the one closest to the door said flatly, as if stating the weather was looking like snowflakes and winter approaching. "That's not on him but her."

The laughter that followed was quieter now, crueler somehow, passed between people too deluded by worldly pleasures to realize how vile they sounded.

Cecelia's pulse pounded behind her ears.

She didn't breathe. Her breath was caught between exhale and inhale not knowing which to do. 

And then..

CRASH.