Lick the Floor, Get Nothing

I saw my ex-boyfriend at the nightclub where I worked part-time—the same guy who was supposed to be six feet under.

There he was, lounging in a VIP booth with two cocktail waitresses hanging on his every word.

One of his friends spotted me and smirked. "Hey Johnny, isn't that the cheap fling you used to keep around?"

Johnny's eyes narrowed. He waved me over.

"You're pathetic, Neena," he said coldly. "You told me you were working here to pay my medical bills. What's your excuse now?"

My fists clenched. I turned to walk away.

He stopped me, gesturing toward the glittering rows of liquor behind the bar.

"You love money so much? Here's your chance. Drink until I say stop, and I'll give you ten grand."

Humiliation burned in my throat, but I nodded. Bottle after bottle, I drank.

My little sister Lily was counting on me. She needed surgery—and soon.

And me? I had stomach cancer. I wasn't long for this world anyway.

If money could save her, I'd drink myself to death right here.

Two shots of whiskey in, my stomach twisted violently. I dropped the glass, choking, vomiting right there on the floor.

"Ugh, disgusting," muttered Ethan, Johnny's friend. "Just give her a few hundred and let her go, man."

Johnny's expression darkened. He threw a wad of cash at my feet. "Get out of here. Don't come back."

I wiped my mouth, picked up the money, and stuffed it into my pocket. Then I looked him in the eye.

"I can keep going, Mr. Sullivan."

I reached for another row of bottles and forced myself to drink—mechanical, numb.

When I finished the last one, Johnny finally snapped.

He cursed, kicked the bottle out of my hand, and grabbed me by the collar.

"Are you really this desperate, Neena? Is money worth this much?"

I pushed back, forcing a smile. "Are you satisfied now, Mr. Sullivan? That'll be ten thousand."

His jaw tightened. Anger flashed in his eyes.

Then he laughed—a cold, hollow sound. "You want money? Fine."

He nodded toward someone, and a metal cash box appeared.

"Get on your knees. Pick up every bill with your mouth. Do it, and I'll give you fifteen thousand more."

A shower of money fluttered down around me.

I didn't hesitate. I dropped to my knees.

Laughter and taunts echoed around us, but I blocked it all out. My eyes stayed on the bills.

With enough money, Lily would live. Dignity was a luxury I couldn't afford.

I was almost done when Johnny stepped on the last bill.

I tried again and again, but I couldn't get it.

"Mr. Sullivan," I whispered, "please move your foot."

He smirked, lifted his shoe, and then pressed it against my cheek.

I struggled, but he held me down. Tears finally spilled over.

"Lick it clean," he said, his voice low and cruel. "Then the money is yours."

I dug my nails into my palms until I bled, but I felt nothing. I closed my eyes and did what he asked.

When it was over, I picked up the last bill, leaned against the sofa, and held out my hand. "Fifteen thousand."

"You're unbelievable." He looked away in disgust, slammed the cash box shut, and threw it toward me. "Get out of my sight."

Then he was gone.

The crowd lost interest and drifted away.

I coughed violently—a metallic taste filled my mouth. Blood.

Wanda, the manager, rushed over, her eyes red-rimmed. "Neena, why are you doing this? Just tell him the truth! He could help you!"

She was the only one who knew everything—about Johnny, about me.

"Don't," I said, shaking my head. "Please."

She sighed and helped me to the break room. I lay on the couch, my mind drifting.