Santi: The Devil's Pioneer

Chapter 26 - No Man's Land

    We arrive at a bar, but it wasn’t the same one as last night. It was bright and flashy. Like headlights in traffic, the neon sign sparkled above the entrance. It read, ‘LeFou’.

“Where are we?” I ask Emily as she hops off the vehicle.

“We are in no man’s land. Literally,” She grins at me. I turn around to notice that the boys weren’t getting off.

“We’ll pick you back up around 10, are you good?” Peter asks Emily from the car window.

“Good,” She answers and grabs my arm.

We walk side by side towards the entrance. To be honest, the bright lights and big signs were a little intimidating. I could tell from the outside that the inside was already going to be a wreck. There must be tons of people inside. I hate people.

“This is a girls’ only club. No men allowed. A safe space where we can enjoy ourselves.” She exclaims in glee.

We enter the bar, and inside it was a gorgeous array of women. Some wore heels and skimpy dresses. Others simply let their hair down and wear sweats. No one was being judged. Everyone felt comfortable. Oddly, as did I.

The first time we went to a bar, which was last night, a lot of guys frequented staying on our backsides. It was gross and demeaning. Some of them Kiki and Peter could fend off. While others needed a little more push or shove to move away. Emman was too drunk to notice or take part in anything, anyway.

We approach the bar to see a woman serving.

“Two shots of gin and tonic, please.” Emily winks at her. The bartender winks back and fetches our drink.

“So, what do you think?” She asks as she sees me looking around at the entire space.

The place was spacious. There was an actual dance floor where girls could dance.

“I thought you said the bar from last night was the only one that served minors?” I ask after I finish inspecting every corner of the place.

“Well, this is a club, dear. And besides, the boys aren’t allowed here. So, I’ve never really gone here until tonight. With you. I think we just need to let the boys let off steam. And so do we, girlfriend.”

“Here’s your gin and tonic,” The bartender calls.

Loud music was blasting through the speakers. Blue and purple lights flickered on and off. It hurt my eyes. Ladies were hyped and wildly dancing on the dance floor. Emily grabs my hand and takes me to a couch seated by the side of the room.

“The theme is disco, and the night never ends.” She says, drinking her gin and tonic.

I haven’t touched my drink yet. As a matter of fact, I hadn’t fully recovered from my drunken frenzy last night. It left a bitter taste in my mouth.

“This feels refreshing. No predator's eyes. No creepy looks.” I tell her honestly, seeing girls talking pleasantly to each other.

“Yeah, the owner is my aunt actually,” She admits with a small smile. “My father’s sister bought this years ago.”

“How did she ever come up with such a brilliant plan?” I asked enthusiastically.

“She had a rough life in bars. I won’t go into detail but she said she just wanted a space to have a good time without being harassed. Then, she came up with this. That’s also why we get served here.”

“Good for her for standing up for women. We needed this.” I chuckle and drink my gin and tonic.

“It is, now let’s go dance. Give this club a whirl and a twirl.” She grabs my hand and we headed onto the dance floor.

I have never really danced and from the looks of other girls in the club, I don’t think I like dancing. It involved a lot of rotation in the hips and pushing outwards of the buttocks. It looked uncomfortable.

Emily starts to shift her legs around the dance floor, her body moves fluidly, swaying from side to side, joining the beat of the music. Feeling awkward and not belonging, I try to sway my hips to the beat. It didn’t work as I ended up with a robotic flow of rhythm. I try to kick my legs and arms around as the other girls around me did, but it just felt weird halfway through. It was like I was throwing off my arms and legs.

“Wow, you are a terrible dancer,” Emily says, whispering to my ear as the music blasted louder. I could barely hear her. But it was fun. My first shot of alcohol for the night had started to loosen me up.

I laugh at Emily and pretend to dance harder– or better? Honestly, I did not know what I was doing anymore.

Emily comes to rescue as she takes my arms, the ones I was throwing so hard above my head that it began to ache, and places them in front of my chest.

“It’s easy. It goes like this, rock forward on your right foot,” She demonstrates with her foot and I try to keep up with her step and the beat.

“Recover to the left foot. Shuffle in a half turn to your right.” I spin around halfway through as she takes my hand into hers.

“Repeat rock forward and recover,” I accidentally trip on the other foot. Ugh, already I hated dancing.

We go on for a few minutes into our mini-tutorial in the middle of the dance floor but the song finishes and Emily was left disappointed. I hope not because of my horrific dancing.

A sharp whistle echoes the room before the next music could be played. I turn to Emily to see she was the one who whistled.

“DJ, play me ABBA’s Dancing Queen. Don’t disappoint me.” She says with a sneer and turns back to me.

“She knows my aunt and me.” Rolling her eyes at me, she motions for my arms again, and I, unknowingly terrified, hand them over.

“We’re gonna try this again, okay? Follow my lead.”

“Okay,” I say meekly. I wasn’t intimidated by Emily in any way. But the polished and spoiled brat I knew hours ago suddenly vanished, and to be honest, I’m still a little freaked.

She was so serious about teaching me these steps. I was actually afraid to fail. Her face screamed perfection.

The music starts to play and her head bobs along with the beat. I try to do so, as well but failed to coordinate the head bobbing and finger clicking, spectacularly.

Ooh

You can dance

You can jive

Have the time of your life

Ooh, see that girl

Watch that scene

Digging the dancing queen

“1, 2, and rock, recover. Shuffle turn, rock, recover. And coaster cross!” She screams almost as loud as the music.

Friday night and the lights are low

Looking out for a place to go

Where they play the right music

Getting in the swing

You come to look for a king

Anybody could be that guy

The night is young and the music's high

With a bit of rock music

Everything is fine

You're in the mood for a dance

And when you get the chance

“Side rock recover, cross shuffle, hinge and turn, and shuffle forward.” She instructs to the beat.

I look over at her and see that she was perfectly in rhythm with the music. Her body was so coordinated that with every twist and turn she did, it flowed smoothly. She danced so gracefully; I was visibly ashamed of my own movements.

By the time the second section of the song was over, I had gotten significantly better at keeping up with the tune. Emily also started being less tensed and held my hand a little less tight.

“Third section, you’re getting slightly better. But do more,” She says with a grin, seeing me rocking and recovering my feet with less shaking and more confidence and conciseness with each step.

Who wouldn’t be concise with her mouth in my ear, and her hand in my neck?

“This is the chorus. Just as I thought you, side, touch, kickball cross, side rock recover, and sailor turn.”

You are the dancing queen

Young and sweet

Only seventeen

Dancing queen

Feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah

You can dance

You can jive

Have the time of your life

Ooh, see that girl

Watch that scene

Digging the dancing queen

I do as she says and times it with the beat. A step with the right foot to the right, the left foot together. A kick with the left foot. A step on the ball, whatever that is, cause I still haven’t learned the full dance in three minutes. Crossing my right foot over to the left, and making a rocking to the left side, recovering to the right. And lastly, a turn to the left, stepping back on the left foot, and sidestep with the right foot.

“Good job, you didn’t trip or stumble,” She comments, noticing my struggling to coordinate my hands and feet while keeping on to the beat.

The last set of steps were coming on, and I felt gradually relieved. How could one song play over and over for an entire night when it usually lasted three minutes?

My feet were exhausted. The black pumps Emily lent me were closing in on my toes. They felt stingy and itchy.

“Last verse babe, make me proud.” She laughs and twirls over to the side of the dance floor. As the words began to echo through the room, I had no time to exit. Besides, I didn’t spend half my time in this club being taught by those who seemed like professional dancers, only to fail at the last section of the routine.

Yes, Emily taught me all about dance routines in between sections.

You're a teaser, you turn 'em on

Leave 'em burning and then you're gone

Looking out for another

Anyone will do

You're in the mood for a dance

And when you get the chance

You are the dancing queen

Young and sweet

Only seventeen

Dancing queen

Feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah

You can dance

You can jive

Have the time of your life

Ooh, see that girl

Watch that scene

Digging the dancing queen

Digging the dancing queen

“I can reverse rhumba this shirt,” I say to myself, holding each step with confidence.

Side, together, shuffle back, side, together, and shuffle forward.

Cross rock recover, side shuffle, cross rock recover and shuffle turn.

I grin, and look for Emily to see if she saw how great I was doing. I see her in the vast crowd, holding a glass of drink and cheering me on, and clapping as I finish with the music.

Laughing and drowning in adrenaline and sweat, I leave the dance floor. My school uniform was practically dripping in bodily fluids. I walk around to find Emily and immediately spot her brightly colored orange skirt on a secluded corner table. I approach her and plop myself beside the couch seats.

Ugh, my body ached for this. Rest. I immediately take off my pumps, still wondering why on Earth my toes were so itchy. I take off my socks to find a huge blister on the ball of my right foot. It was red and swelling, and just as I see it, I start to feel the pain.

Isn’t it weird how we sometimes don’t feel the pain unless we see the wound? How humans can go from end to end of the sensation spectrum when it comes to hurting? One moment you feel perfectly fine and go about your day normally, not aware your head was bleeding, and when you see and touch the blood from your head, you feel instantaneously in dread.

I was new to being a human, but I felt this in a flash and screamed. Thankfully, the music was still playing loudly and no one took notice of me.

“Why? Honey, what’s wrong?” Emily rushes to my side and sees the huge ass blister forming on my feet. I didn’t even see my left foot yet but I know it had painful blisters, as well. The pain crept up my body, overwhelming my senses.

“Ooh, that’s some gigantic blisters. Do you think you can walk out?” Emily asks. With a trembling face and begging eyes, I turn to her.

“I can’t even touch these to the ground,” I growl. If she had lent me better shoes, I would not have these blisters. If she didn’t purposefully try to enforce her professional dance skills on me, I would not have these forking blisters.

My feet hurt like hell. My brain was wild and heating up. I could not think straight. All I could think about was how furious I was about Emily manipulating the situation that resulted in me having these forking blisters! I felt a fire k****e within me. My pain reliever was violence, but I couldn’t get violent here. Not with Emily, she still has a part to play in my revenge against the angels.

“I texted Kiki already. They’re on their way here. I’ll go ask for some ice and you’ll feel better in a second, okay?”

Thankfully, she left. I swear I could have punched her nose out of her face. The pain was intensifying and never had I felt this much burning– physical burning, in my body. Not emotional burning where I am passionate with my feelings for others, as I imagine human to be. Not psychological burning where something burns so deep within my soul, I could crush them in a flick of the hand, like the grudge I have for the angels. Physical burning where I feel my body horridly being chopped off individually while I am still alive!

Wow, guess I gained an insight into how human souls must have felt when being tortured. What a unique experience.

But on the other hand, “AGHHHH!”

Emily places an ice pack directly to my blistering feet. I feel the sharp cold of the ice touch my skin, almost like a knife cutting me directly.

“Careful,” I whine and she rolls her eyes at me.

“You can throw a punch and take a punch from Kirk the jerk but you can’t handle blisters?” She says, laughing.

“Where are they anyway?” I ask, trying to distract myself from blaming Emily, knowing full well my violence is fueled by my rage.

“They play casino nights under their father’s names sometimes. It’s a five-minute drive casino from here. They’ll be here soon.” She answers.

As the ice slowly numbs the pain of my blisters, my head also starts to cool down. The kindling fire within me dispersed.

“Are you feeling better?” Emily asks as she sees my relieved face. “You killed it out there.”

“Well, you’re a great teacher,” I tell her honestly. Also, she was really scary and mean when I couldn’t get the steps right, so that’s another factor to consider for my ‘killing it.’ “Where’d you learn to dance like that, anyway?”

“I grew up in dancing. Dance seminars, workshops, training programs, even summer camps. It was all about the boogie.”

“Was it fun?”

She does a double-take and pauses, not answering my question. Goes to show that what we dedicate our whole life to does not necessarily translate to what the purpose of our lives is or what will make us happy.

“Santi, Emily,” A low voice shouts from beside our secluded corner table. We turn around to see Emman, Kiki, and Peter in a wheelchair.

What is the actual fork?

Emily waves her hand frantically trying to get their attention and instantly did so. The boys' run up to our table and props up the wheelchair they brought in front of me.

“What’s this?” Emily asks, gesturing to the glaring disability aid, with a laugh.

“Well, you said Santi couldn’t walk,” Emman answers. “So, we got her this.”

“I said she has blisters, you smart-asses. I didn’t say she lost both legs.” A laugh ensues among the group.

“You’re joking, right?” I ask as the laughs subsided.

“Why?” Emman asks.

“Because I’m not riding that thing,” My brows furrow in confusion whether they were serious or not.

“Why not? We stole– we bought this from the hospital.” Peter argues.

“Hospitals don’t sell wheelchairs.” She retorts.

“But we got them for Santi,” Kiki replies, emphasizing my name as if somehow, the fact that they stole me a wheelchair from the hospital, me of all people, was something special or to boast.

“She doesn’t need wheelchairs.”

“You said she did,” Kiki hisses back.

What nonsense.

“I don’t want to use a wheelchair. It makes me feel like a cripple.” It made me feel weak, helpless, and dependent. Never in my life would I want to feel any of those. That would be my biggest nightmare. To have to rely on someone else for your sake. I might as well perish to death than cling unto someone like a parasite.

“How are you going to walk to the car?” Emman asks the first sensible sentence of the night.

“I’d rather wear crutches, thank you,” I tell him with a straight face as I try to stand up. But as my feet meet the cold tiles of the floor, I wince back in pain and Emman catches my arm just in time before I fall on my back.

“Let me help you up,” He says as I try to swat away his hand. It was uncomfortable to be in such proximity with human beings. More so when they’re genuinely trying to help me.

I eventually let Emman put his arm around my waist as he guides me back to the car. I slowly jump on my left foot which had fewer blisters than the other one, taking time to pause as I got tired.

“I could very easily lift you, you know. I wouldn’t even mind it.” He says as we take the fourth pause and still haven’t reached the door of the club. I roll my eyes and start hopping again.

“I don’t want to be carried. I don’t even like people touching me. This is an exemption because I never knew blisters could fork me this hard.” I groan.

With each hop, my body felt heavier. And with every minute standing, my feet felt like they were burning in Hell.

“Well, take your precious time because it’s not like we have somewhere else to be, or if anyone else is waiting for us.” He groans back in response.

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm,” I snarl at him directly.

“Too bad, I also don’t like your independence and stubbornness.” He says with a grin plastered on his face.

Finally, after what seemed like hours but actually was only ten minutes, we reach the front of the establishment where the car and everyone else was waiting for us.

“Climb on in, my lady.” He says with sarcasm dripping from his words, opening the front seat car door for me.

I roll my eyes at him but thank him, nonetheless. He was annoying, and I tend to be over-independent, but I give credit where credit is due. And I’m always grateful for the little things I received. I’ve been feeling so blessed here on Earth, I figure the Creator must’ve to think I was due for some karmic response. Guess these blisters were it.