Luck Always Runs Out

Mila’s POV

As it turns out, I misread my schedule. It turns out that my classes don’t start until tomorrow, but I was supposed to start my new job right after my last class.

It would be a waste of time for me to take the bus home just to leave again, so I text Isabella to see if she can pick me up. She had an appointment with her councilor today, so she should still be on campus.

It only takes her a few seconds to answer.

Izzy: I’ll be done in ten minutes! Are you okay waiting for a bit?

Me: Of course. No hurries.

Izzy: Thanks babe! I’ll see you in a little while. (Kissy face emoji)

I smile down at her text.

She’s always so upbeat and ready to go for anything, which still makes me wonder why she picked me as a friend. I’m a lot more quiet and standoffish than her, but what do they say? Behind every extravert is an introvert. Well, that is definitely true for the two of us.

I find an empty table near the school coffee kiosk and sit down to wait. A few whispers float my way, but I ignore them. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.

Speaking of that, my phone goes off again. This time it’s from a number I don’t recognize. The message hits me like an arrow to the chest. Every word is vile and mean. Even after all the things I’ve been called, it doesn’t hurt any less.

My eyes burn, but I fight back the tears. No way am I going to cry in public. Another message comes in from the same number, and a sound of shock escapes me before I can stifle it.

This one is a lot worse.

This one is a lot darker than any I’ve gotten so far.

It isn’t from my ex since he wouldn’t bother hiding it was him, which is why he still texts me from his personal number. This is someone else and they aren’t holding back. The messages sound almost too personal.

“Mila!” My head snaps up at the sound of my name and I see Isabella waving at me from her too cute pink VW bug.

They stopped making those cars ages ago, but she won’t let it go even after her father offered to buy her a new one. Honestly, the thing is basically her in car form, so I’m not surprised.

I pocket my phone and head her way, but I keep my eyes facing forward.

The whispers have gotten louder and I don’t want to draw any more attention to myself than necessary. If I could have gone to a different college so that I could escape my past, I would have, but I can’t. Isabella is the only one that makes going here bearable.

I settle into her car, the comfort of the seat easing the tension that had gripped me just moments ago. She leans over, arms enveloping me in a warm embrace. Her hug serves as a remedy, gradually dispelling the heaviness that clung to me earlier. A smile tugs at my lips – a genuine response to her comforting gesture. There's something about her embraces that has a magical way of lifting my spirits.

Her grip loosens, and I'm left with a lingering sense of connection, a residue of her care. But then, before I can fully relish the moment, she plants a smacking kiss on my cheek. The unexpected contact makes me scrunch my face in mock horror, my hand instinctively wiping it away. My reaction becomes the catalyst for her unrestrained laughter, a sound that's both infectious and endearing.

“Don’t wipe away my love Mila!” She sing songs.

I roll my eyes, feigning annoyance to match her theatrics. “Stop being gross, Isabella!”

Her laughter fills the car, a symphony of joy that envelops us as she navigates the car out of the parking lot. “So you have no class today and don’t want to go home. What should we do to pass the time?”

“No.” I say as soon as she smirks at me. “Isabella please no.”

She continues to smirk, and I drop my head back with a groan. How did I let myself get into this situation again?

My unspoken pleas for a miracle remain unanswered as we pull into the local mall, the wheels crunching on the asphalt. A mere fifteen minutes have passed since her initial question.

Isabella derives an odd sense of satisfaction from subjecting me to shopping expeditions. It's a torture that has become a recurring event, and today is no exception. It always ends with her buying me clothes I would never wear because my stepmom would wonder where I got it, and then take them.

Isabella doesn’t know about my life outside of school though, so she doesn’t know that all the nice things she’s ever bought me are hidden in the back of my closet. She’s always too distracted to notice I’ve never worn any of them and I’m glad. It would break my heart to explain the situation to her, mostly because she would immediately try to help me, but that would only make things worse.

Money is all my stepmom wants, so if she finds out that I have a rich friend, she will work her way into our friendship and ruin it. She’ll find a way to get money from Isabella, and I won’t let that happen.

As we leave the car, I resign myself to the inevitable. The mall's entrance beckons, and Isabella's triumphant grin assures me that there's no escape.

Isabella grabs my hand and drags me inside to the giant building, not minding one bit that I’m dragging my feet. I pulled on a hoodie from my duffle bag and pulled the hood on, hoping it will conceal me enough from anyone who might recognize me.

Yep, even in a huge place like this, I’m bound to run into someone who hates me.

So far I’ve been lucky, but luck always runs out, eventually.

“You should buy something for your new job! Or is it one of those places with a dress code?” Isabella asks when we stop at the first store.

I follow her as she browses the racks and my eye lands on a shiny blue dress. It looks like something I see a lot of girls wear at clubs, and it’s beautiful.

I’ve never worn anything that flashy or form fitting, but the urge to try it on is strong and Isabella must see it because she walks over and grabs it.

“Come on!” She chirps before grabbing my hand again and dragging me to the fitting room. “Try it on.”

I do as she says and step into the small room.

First, I look at my reflection.

I don’t wear any makeup or nice clothes, so most of the time I look really plain. It’s a side effect of trying to be completely invisible in this town. When I’m sick of looking at myself, I turn my back to the mirror and strip my clothes off. If I turned back around, I would see the many scars on my body.

This dress isn’t leaving this store with me as its owner because of it, but it will be fun to see what I would look like in it. So I slide the smooth fabric up my body and run my hands over the fabric. It’s so pretty. I take a deep breath and turn around to see how it looks on me, and I gasp.

There hasn’t been a time when I thought of myself as beautiful but in this dress…I can see how I could look and it’s nothing like the girl whose life is a complete mess.

No, this girl has a nice life with tons of great friends who take her out every weekend for a fun time at the club. This girl has a real life.

The reminder of my harsh reality quickly deflates the fleeting moment of happiness this dress has brought me. Carefully, I slip off the dress, ensuring not to damage it, and return it to its hanger.

The weight of my own clothes feels heavy compared to the ethereal dress, yet there's a strange sense of comfort in wearing them again.

Emerging from the fitting room, I notice Isabella engaged in a heated exchange with a couple of unfamiliar girls. Their backs are turned towards me, preventing me from recognizing who they are, but Isabella's expression is seething with anger.

"How dare you spread rumors like that! You think you can just ruin someone's reputation and walk away?"

"Oh, please! We heard it from a reliable source. It's not our fault if she can't handle the truth."

Isabella's fury intensifies as she responds.

"You call gossiping about someone's personal life 'the truth'? It's nothing but malicious lies! You should be ashamed of yourselves!"

Another girl added, "Whatever. We don't need your drama."

The girls’ faces flushed with annoyance. I approach Isabella, concerned about what just transpired.

"Isabella, what was that all about? Are you okay?"

Isabella waves me off dismissively, trying to regain her composure.

"Don't worry about it. They were spreading false rumors about someone. Let's just focus on our shopping, okay?"

"Rumors? Come on. Hey, see, it is our poor Mila." A familiar voice sounded behind me.

My skin prickles.

It is him. The evil Scott. My ex boyfriend.

"Hey there, Mila. Still dressing like you're invisible, huh? Oh, not today... I got it! You want to be a clown now, right? How pathetic," Scott sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. The memory of his cutting words during our breakup floods back, stinging as sharply as it did back then. His girlfriend giggles, a sound that pierces through me like an arrow.

Scott's voice cuts through the air, slicing through my newfound sense of confidence like a knife. His arrogant tone and the presence of his cheerleader girlfriend remind me of everything I'd rather forget. I feel a surge of discomfort, my pulse quickening involuntarily. I cast my gaze downward, focusing on my feet, desperately trying to tune out his words. No matter how many times I see him again, I can't face the damn memory. I was like a worm in front of him.

"You..." Isabella stepped in front of me.

"Hey, Scott," a deep voice cut through the tension. "The team's out looking for you. The game's about to start."

“Oh, hey, Julian! Right, I almost missed it because of this roadblock. ”

As if the universe had some twisted plan to heighten my humiliation, Julian, the guy I met at the bus stop appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He had that athletic build, which I didn’t notice this morning, that fit right into Scott's social circle – the kind of guy I always imagined Levi surrounded himself with.

They are friends, good, just as I thought.

"By the way, Scott," Julian continued, his tone casual, "you're boring. Seriously, I can't think of anyone more boring in the whole world."

Scott's mouth opened and closed, and finally he managed to force a stiff smile.. With a frustrated huff, he shot a quick glare at me before turning to leave with his girlfriend. He grabbed Julian, put his arm around him and walked out. It was an unexpected turn of events, leaving me standing there in confusion.

Is he doing me a favor? But why? Maybe he didn't recognize me.

Anyway, that was the end of a farce that I couldn't solve. Despite all that, a part of me couldn't shake off the feeling of being judged, just like I always felt when Scott was around. Julian, anyways, is just the same brush as Scott, as someone who saw me as inferior.

Isabella grabs my hand and pulls me along to the next store, repeating this pattern until I find myself laden with a bag full of new clothes while Isabella triumphantly claims seven bags for herself.

I promised her to wear one of my new outfits today and agreed when I saw what it was. It’s pretty and hides all my secrets perfectly.

We leave the mall and head to my new job. There are tons of people standing in line when we arrive, and it’s only three in the afternoon. Isabella walks with me to the entrance where I give the two scary men out front my name. They wave me inside and even not let Isabella come, much to everyone’s dismay.

“I’ll hang out here for a while. You go do your thing.” She isn’t looking at me when she says this.

Tracing her gaze, I catch sight of an attractive bartender, his lips curled into a knowing smirk aimed at her. She responds with a feeble wave in my direction before gracefully maneuvering through the crowd, her destination unmistakably him.

I shake my head and ask one of the other bartenders where the employee locker room is. He points down a long hallway.

Following the well-placed signs, I find myself stepping into a lounge area adorned with lockers neatly aligned against the walls.

A smile breaks across my face as my eyes settle on a locker adorned with my name—a personalized space for me.

The lounge exudes an air of lavish grandeur. The opulence is palpable in every detail—the intricately woven carpet underfoot, the soft glow of carefully placed lighting, the plush velvet seating inviting passersby to rest awhile. Elegant artwork graces the walls, hinting at tales yet to be told, while the glimmering crystals of a chandelier cast ethereal patterns on the floor.

This place is fancy as hell, which fits its name perfectly.

The air is infused with a subtle blend of rich scents—perhaps a mix of expensive perfumes and aged spirits. Patrons in sophisticated attire engage in hushed conversations, their laughter punctuating the ambient murmur of voices.

It's a fusion of luxury and a touch of the forbidden, a place where indulgence mingles with secrecy.

The Hell Club.