Hey. So, this is… well, this is the first thing I’m trying to write. I know, I know, it’s just letting you get to know Genevieve Smith and the setting. It’s short, yeah. It’s mostly just… getting me to write *something*. TikTok’s nova_13191131 if you want to follow me there. Don't expect much.
Anyway. It’s junior year. Sixteen, almost seventeen. And today? Today is Carley’s birthday. Which means… ugh. Today is about Carley.
Carley’s… my best friend. Kind of. She’s the only person I talk to, really. Which is, admittedly, a problem. She’s not *nice* to me all the time. I mean, I get it. I’m the nerd, the laughing stock. Glasses, sweaters, hiding my body. I wouldn’t want to be *my* friend either, honestly.
She invited me to clubbing for her birthday. Which, obviously, means no. Underage. But she threatened to tell the whole school I’m obsessed with Holden if I didn’t go. Holden. The quarterback. Blonde hair, blue eyes… ugh. I’m one of the fifty girls who are secretly (or not so secretly) in love with him.
So here I am. Standing in a club, next to Carley, wearing a plaid black and white skirt and a white sweater. Which, apparently, is wrong. All the other girls are… different. Showing skin. Not hiding. I feel like I’m wearing a costume.
Later, everyone else is drunk. I’m not. Bad enough being *here*. I don’t need to add underage drinking to the list. Community college is bad enough as it is. God, imagine being stuck in community college…
“May I get a water, please?” I ask the bartender, sliding onto a stool. He gives me this weird look, but gets me water.
“Genevieve, come here!” Carley calls, her voice slurring.
I drag myself over. “Drink this,” she says, handing me a glass.
“N-no, I’m good, thanks.”
“Oh, well I guess I’ll just have to tell everyone you like—”
“OKAY! Okay, I’ll drink it.” I give in. Everyone knowing I like Holden would be… awful.
I take a couple of sips. It burns. I cough. I go back to the bar, sit down with my water. After a minute, everything starts spinning.
“Woah there, pretty girl, you must be drunk.” A man’s voice. He picks me up, carries me bridal style. I try to say *no*, but my lips won’t move. Nothing moves.
Then… nothing.
I wake up on a cold cement floor. A room made of cement. Like a cell. My head’s pounding. I look around. Other girls. Scared. Wearing… barely anything.
I look down. I’m wearing the same thing as them.
Oh god. Carley drugged me.
“W-where am I?” I ask the blonde girl to my right. Long, straight hair, blue eyes.
“You’re in the Russian mafia’s whore house.” She says, her voice tight with anger.
I don’t even have time to process that.
He walks in. The face I’ll never forget. The face I’ll see in nightmares.
“And what’s your name, new girl?” He asks, looking straight at me.
I’m too busy thinking about how mad I am at Carley. It’s probably useless to be mad. I probably won’t see her again. Probably won’t get out of here. I forgot to respond.
“Hey, I am speaking to you!” He stares at me with cold, grey eyes.
“E-Eve.” I can’t give my real name. Not yet. I have a feeling I won’t be able to hide much else.