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"Wait a minute, THIS ISN'T THE KARAOKE PLACE!" Wesley, an old friend from California, slurred as he stumbled out of the car.

"Whaaa? You already said you didn't want to go to one. What kind of a friend would I be if I did something you said not to do?!"

I'm a horrible friend. We were totally outside a of strip club.

There were twelve of us standing in the parking lot, some drunk, some not, and some incredibly drunk. We had just migrated from our annual Christmas party, where all the old high school friends got back together to celebrate with copious amounts of food and alcohol. We had already killed a bottle of whiskey, scotch, multiple bottles of wine, and an unholy amount of beer. Whatever was left over before we departed was devoured by the people who opted out of the strip club trip.

As we walked through the door, Wesley groaned at all the naked women, cuing everyone else to erupt in laughter. We combined two tables and set-up camp on the main floor.

This trip reminded me of why I started going stag to the strip clubs. When you round up a big group of guys and inject them into an environment like this, each and every one of them turns into a rowdy asshole. While I didn't make any obscene remarks or gestures, I laughed along at some of the shenanigans.

Riley, a blonde-haired bombshell, had to stop mid-dance to ask us if we were laughing at her. My group had been cackling at Wesley's deliberately animated face of grotesque as he was getting a dance. Even though the other guys shook their heads, I could sense her uneasiness. I got up and reassured her it wasn't at her expense, but the damage had already been done. She resumed the dance, but her uneasiness stayed intact.

As I sat back down and looked around the room, I spotted Alanna. She was sitting with her regular, the married late-thirties guy who looked like a cross between Brad Pitt and Michael Bay. I called our waitress over and requested another drink as well as getting Alanna's attention. At no point during the next few minutes did I even fathom she'd leave Mr. Pitt-Bay's side. A man with an established career and deep pockets who resembled a movie star or a kid in his mid-twenties who didn't even own a house - who would you pick? On top of that, Mr. Pitt-Bay was her fuck budy. But hey, might as well give it a shot, right? A drink or two later, I felt someone lean against me.

"Hey, Jack."

I turned around and was greeted by Alanna's warm smile. Not wanting to surround ourselves with a pack of frat boys overloading on testosterone, we moved to a nearby table. I thought Alanna and I shared a five-minute conversation, but according to my cohorts, we were chatting for a little over an hour. While my memory came and went, what transpired in the V.I.P. would forever be ingrained in my brain.

It started off like any other trip, casual conversation and playful flirtation. I had neglected to ask her for the price on that particular night (granted, it was the same every time, but in an odd way, asking just felt like good manners).

"So how much for thirty-minutes?" I smirked.

Alanna gingerly smiled and kissed me. "However much you want."

I handed over two crisp hundred dollar bills, pleasantly surprised by the response. She pushed me down on the seat and jumped on top of me with another kiss.

"I see you're with your friends today. What's the special occasion?"

"We had a Christmas party. One of my friends hasn't been back to Atlanta in eight years, so we're using him as an excuse to drink for nine days straight."

Alanna giggled at the absurdity of the statement, but I was dead serious. Later, on the seventh day, my body would turn on me. But at that moment, I was good as gold.

"One of them is asthmatic, though. He could potentially die at the end of the nine days."

Again, she giggled, but Wesley did have a little scare on New Year's Eve. He drank too much and misplaced his inhaler. For about thirty-minutes he was horrified about possibly suffocating to death.

"So what'd you do on Christmas?"

"Nothing." Alanna mumbled.

"Yea right."

"I'm serious. I did nothing."

"Presents. Everybody does presents!"

"No one got me anything."

At that moment, my suspicion, fueled by alcohol, was telling me to approach with caution. Was I about to get a fabricated story about how she received no gifts so she could sucker me out of more cash?

"What? I don't believe that for a second. Family? Friends? Regulars?"

"No."

Oh, totally. She was lying. You can't get anything pass my finely-tuned bullshit detector. I'm not going to fall for this one.

"Phfbt! That's fucking ridiculous, but okay. So what'd you end up doing then?"

Alanna paused. Her flowery demeanor had wilted.

"Honesly?" she said with a weak discourse.

"Yea."

"I went and had lunch at Waffle House by myself."

It was my turn to giggle at the absurdity of her comment. I was convinced she was messing with me.

"Really? Fuckin' Waffle House? Oh, right, Christmas Day. Only place that's open besides Chinese food." I half wise-cracked.

Alanna went silent. Something was off.

"I went to Waffle House. On Christmas. By myself." she repeated.

Half of me was staying strong, shielding myself from her money-grubbing deception. The other half was starting to get concerned.

"There's... nothing wrong with that. Waffle House has some... good food." I tried to be as comforting as possible.

Alanna hung her head low. Her shoulder-length hair covered her face.

And then I heard a sniff.

"Amazing." I thought in my alcohol beat-up mind, "She's conjuring up tears to cajole me into throwing away more money! Nay! I shan't be that easy, you minstrel!"

"Are you seriously crying?" I asked.

She slowly raised her head and looked me in the eyes. The dark room was spinning, l couldn't tell. I raised my hand and softly rubbed the skin beneath her left eye with my thumb.

Tears were flowing down her flushed cheeks.

I froze for a brief second as I was being smashed into sobriety.

"Hey... hey..." I said as I put my hands on her shoulders.

She broke from eye contact, embarrased, and reached down. I wasn't sure what she was doing. Was she actually trying to continue on with the show by stripping? After fumbling around, she brought her hands back up and pushed it against my chest set her gaze upon me.

"Here." she choked through her tears.

I looked down. Two crisp one hundred dollar bills.

I opened my mouth but my brain couldn't find the words.

"I want you to take the money back."

"I'm not going to."

The grip of her hand weakened and her head drooped down once again. I took the two hundred dollars and set it aside. I hook my right index finger and placed it under her chin, directing her face to look back up.

"Listen. It'll be okay. You'll be okay."

I used my right thumb to rub away some more tears. She slid her arms around my waist and firmly latched onto me. I wrapped mine around her shoulders and leaned in against her ear.

"You'll be okay." I whispered.

I kissed her on the forehead before she laid it on my shoulder. For the next hour, I held Krystal in my arms as she softly sobbed.

After the floor manager's third warning that our time was up, Alanna slowly raised her head and sniffled one last time.

"I'm sorry, Jack."

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

She took a quick minute to collect herself, but her melancholy was still clouding over her.

"Listen, Krystal. Take care of yourself. I mean it."

She gave me a weak and unconvincing smile.

"I will."

I sulked back to my cohorts, all of whom were hooting and hollering. I felt out of my element. The barrage of questions started to pour in, but I couldn't even be bothered to discern which asshole was asking which question.

"Oh damn, look who's back! You were in there FOREVER!"

"Just thirty minutes." I moped.

"Nah, more like over an hour! Did she suck your dick?"

"Did you finger the pink or the stink?"

"Wait, did you guys fuck?"

The rambunctious cackles subsided as I remained silent.

"Well, what happened? Did you at least touch her boobs?"

"Nothing happened. She cried and just gave me my money back."

This prompted another round of laughter as they all guffawed at my stoic demeanor.

"That's awesome, dude!"

"Yea! Why are you so bummed? Is it because of that stripper crying?"

"Yea." I muttered.

"Oh my god, fuck that bitch. SHE'S A STRIPPER. Are you listening to yourself?!" Aaron scalded, "Who gives a shit. They're strippers! She was probably crying because she doesn't have enough drugs for tonight or some shit!"

I had crashed. My body had always fought against alcohol's label as a depressant, but the textbook effects had washed over me. As the night wore on, I sunk into a shameful despair. I continued to drink while I waited for one of my friends to try and score Riley's number. About thirty or so minutes after our V.I.P. session, Alanna emerged from the dressing room and started to work the floor again. She seemed collected. Her mask was back on.

The thing about Alanna that made her so appealing to me was her raw confidence. Unlike some of the other girls, she seemed to always be in control. Prior to that night, she had always been bubbly and optimistic.

In truth, she was the most broken girl I had ever met. The lies she would tell, going to school for a bio-medical engineering degree, all the grand vacations she had planned, her intact sense of self-respect that forbade her to sell off her own body... they weren't lies trying to fool me. They were lies to fool herself, to convince her that she was the person she wanted to be - the confident, self-reliant, and always in charge femme fatale. But that night, the illusions all came crashing down. The first domino had fallen and it wouldn't be long before the rest of the pieces toppled over.