Too Late for Love

The VIP room in the noisy KTV was dim.

I knelt on the floor, gathering shards of broken glass, spilled alcohol soaking into the carpet.

Shallow cuts crisscrossed my fingers, each sting a reminder of the great humiliation..

Dignity was a luxury I couldn't afford in this line of work.

Blood welled from a deeper gash, staining my sleeve crimson. The pain was sharp.

“You’re making all these excuses just to avoid having a drink? Is this the service your place offers?”

I kept my head down, my apology automatic. “I'm sorry, sir.”

“Sorry doesn't cut it. That bottle cost more than your life. How do you plan to pay?”

“I can have it deducted from my wages. I'll repay every cent.”

“Your wages? What are those worth? It'd take you forever...”

“Enough.”

A colder voice cut through the sneer. “Stop bickering. Fetch the manager. Someone this clumsy is useless.”

My body froze. The apologies kept tumbling out, words I barely registered. I just mechanically stated some compensation plans.

I couldn't lose this job.

Selling drinks in a KTV wasn't respectable, but the pay was the best I could find.

A college dropout without a degree, survival in this city was hard enough without deliberate cruelty.

The man from the main seat finally stood. Polished leather shoes stopped inches from me.

Before I could look up, a foot ground down hard on my injured hand.

Agony shot up my arm, sweat beading on my forehead as I trembled.

“Sir, please,” I gasped, grabbing the hem of his trousers without daring to push. “Chuck... these hands... they were meant for piano.”

“Piano? You?” Chuck bent down, his fingers digging into my jaw as he yanked me upright. “Six years since you touched a keyboard, right? You've probably forgotten what a piano even sounds like. Still dreaming of playing on a concert stage?”

The words were a physical blow to my chest.

Six years. I’d heard about him – the benevolent entrepreneur, a world away from my reality.

No one knew his ruthlessness was the reason I’d dropped out.

Walking into that private room, I’d known escape was unlikely. I’d gone in anyway, delivering drinks, bracing for the taunts.

Without Chuck’s silent permission, none of this would be happening.

Since being forced out of the Conservatory six years ago, I’d scraped by on odd jobs. My parents had cast me aside; only my frail grandmother remained. Her worsening health demanded expensive medication.

For her sake, I couldn’t fight Chuck.

“I deeply apologize for breaking your bottle,” I said, forcing a smile, meeting his gaze with a playful look. ”As long as you don't have me fired, I'll make it up to you. Any way you want.”

I let my voice drop slightly. “Sleeping with you included. You remember how good I was, Chuck. Six years ago.”

Crack!

My head snapped sideways, skin stinging.

Amy's newly adorned nails, studded with sharp gems, had raked my cheek.

“Beth Scott! Trying to seduce my fiancé?” she shrieked.

“Didn't you say any compensation?” Amy said. “Then get on your knees and kowtow. Apologize properly. That expensive liquor? A treat for you. Lick it all up. Not a drop wasted.”

I kept my eyes locked on Chuck, waiting for his command.

He slid an arm around Amy, his gaze icy. “You heard her. Kowtow.”

“Yes, Mr. Carter.” I sank back to the floor, forehead hitting the carpet. Thud. Once. Thud. Twice.

Pain flared initially, then blurred into numbness as blood trickled into my eyes.

The apologies became a robotic chant with each impact.

Since leaving school, I'd learned a brutal truth: dignity without money is a weight that only drags you down when you're fighting to keep someone alive.