Episode 87
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Elijah spoke. His voice was low, steady, and laced with steel. “She wouldn’t dare.” After a whirlwind of drinks that teetered between revelry and chaos, Elizabeth abruptly tossed the incomplete playing cards across the table as if they had insulted her and leaped to her feet.
“This is an utter disaster!” she exclaimed, her voice tinged with panic. “My brother knows I’m back! He’s coming to haul me out of here! I’ve got to escape! Sandra, stay put—I’ll arrange a car to fetch you.”
Before Sandra could unravel her jumbled thoughts to reply, Elizabeth had grabbed her bag from the table and vanished like a shadow in the night.
Sandra, left in a haze of dizziness and unease, sank deeper into her chair. Her head spun like a runaway carousel, and her stomach churned with the ferocity of a stormy sea.
Stranded in a room filled with unfamiliar men, the irritation she had previously stifled now surged anew.
Perhaps emboldened by her isolation, one of the young men strutted over. He exuded the cocky demeanor of a bargain-basement version of Elijah, all swagger with no substance. Leaning in uncomfortably close, he murmured in her ear, “Miss, I could give you a ride home later.”
His breath, reeking of alcohol, brushed against her ear, making her skin crawl. Sandra wanted to recoil, but the alcohol had drained her strength, leaving her rooted in her seat, trapped in a foggy stupor.
Mistaking her silence for encouragement, the young man became bolder. His hand, unwelcome and intrusive, crept onto her thigh, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her pants with a false gentleness.
The establishment catered mainly to older women and clients with unconventional tastes. A young, attractive woman like Sandra was a rarity. The man’s intentions were evident: if he could establish a connection with her, perhaps it would lead to a more promising future.
His advances sent shivers down Sandra’s spine, briefly cutting through her drunken haze. Instinctively, she shoved him away. Stumbling to her feet, she staggered backward, accidentally knocking over a row of bottles that shattered loudly against the floor.
A sudden hush fell over the room. The previously rowdy young men now looked at her with the chastened expressions of children caught misbehaving.
Suppressing the nausea threatening to overtake her, Sandra issued a sharp, icy command: “Leave.”
Several of the young men, sensing the brewing storm, hurriedly rose and made their way to the exit without a word.
