Semblance

The story is part one to several more chapters and involves situations of non-consent. If you do not condone unwanted sexual encounters, please do not read any further.

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It had already been three years since Rooney left her hometown back in Beaufort, South Carolina for the bustling metropolis of New York City. Three years attending an overpriced university, living in an overpriced apartment, and slaving uselessly for a chance to make a name for herself in a screwed over market. She aspired to be a fashion designer and ended up there, formerly dazzled by the prestigious reputation of the university that'd somehow accepted her and convinced by peers and family who had no idea what they were talking about. But as the years had gone by, just making enough for the rent and food was all she aspired for nowadays.

A nobody girl from a nobody town with big dreams and even bigger competition. What a cliche, right?

In the time that she'd spent in the city, she'd been employed in several different jobs, projects, and internships all without results. At the same time, her fashion line carried the same luck; having been passed over, short lived, or outright rejected. Her portfolio was umpteen and her credentials were there, but the fashion industry was a fluctuating ever growing maelstrom of a beast that suddenly, Rooney would find herself without a job and without word. She often receded into the comforts of her shabby but quiet studio apartment and into her boyfriends arms whenever it happened.

Charlie was a nice guy. A shining beacon in all the darkness that surrounded her, so it always felt nice to be with him after a long day of classes and work. She'd met him part-timing at a cafe and for a year they'd been living together. He was a student at some other university, an arts major in his third year. He was tall, a bit lanky to be honest, and his hair was a tousled mess, but he had a boyish charm to him that made his smiles warm and his feathery brown eyes something soothing to drink in, like hot chocolate.

He was great, as far as she knew. What she didn't know about him was that he was heavily involved with drugs.

It was at his advice that Rooney decided to give a questionable job she'd come across a shot. She'd seen it vaguely in the school paper left on her kitchen table, but the details were so unclear and the ad so small, she'd forgotten about it until one morning when he brought it up again over breakfast. She read it carefully:

"Assistant Fashion Designer needed. Salary negotiable. Please call xxx-xxx-xxxx for more details."

Rooney eyed the ad suspiciously and glanced at Charlie, who flashed his usual dimple grin whenever he wanted to persuade her on something. He knew how to get one over on her and persuaded he always achieved. Rooney found herself calling the number and setting a date for an interview. This was better than nothing, she supposed. She'd been coming up empty with jobs for over three months now, so why not take a chance with a wildly risky ad that could get her chopped to pieces and stuffed in a box shipped to the other side of the world? Life was already slowly killing her.

Fortunately, the ad was very real and in three weeks time, Rooney found herself hired on the spot. It was for work in a play production, which was something new for her, as she'd never taken part in any theater work before. More importantly, the reason why the details were so secretive was because the head of the fashion team was being led by none other than the young prodigy who'd taken the fashion world by storm with her daunting presence and formidable genius, Adele Delphine Lapointe.

At only 26 years old, Adele had already established her brand and her style in the industry; her name recognized worldwide. The interesting thing about her, however, was that she liked to involve herself frequently in little productions and dabbled with lesser known clients as a hobby. She was a known indie enthusiast and had garnered a lot of respect for her diverse collection, although with as much fame as the woman had, she continuously preferred to stay out of the limelight. So, it stood without reason, that when Rooney found out she'd gotten the job and realized she was working as the assistant for the diva herself, she was over the moon.

This could be her chance to really hit it off or, knowing better to lower her expectations, get a great experience out of this. With Adele Lapointe's name as a reference, though, Rooney really thought it could be different this time around.

And different it was.

Measuring away in the grand workshop of the theatre, Rooney was preparing a prototype for Adele to evaluate. It had already been a couple of weeks since she started, and the work wasn't any different from what she already knew. She was actually exceeding the requirements asked of her as an assistant.

She was wearing a leather pencil skirt over a pair of sheer stockings and a fitted fine-knit grey turtleneck sweater tucked inside the hem of the skirt. Her deep black hair was tied up in a loose bun; strands of her locks brushing the sides of her delicate face and a simple wristwatch accentuated her dainty wrist.

Rooney was a beautiful girl, that much was true. In contrast to the darkness of her hair, her skin was fair and her almond eyes the coolest of hazel. Her lips and breast fell nothing short of soft and plump, and despite working strenuous hours in the day, she always managed to keep her figure in check.

She eyed the material draped over the mannequin and tried to remember the design associated with the themed era the play was set in. Coming up blank, she decided to head over to the dressing room for some references. Nobody was there when she entered and it was eerily quiet, but that didn't stop her from going about her task. She proceeded to sift through the clothes rack, examining each one, when she heard a rustling behind her.

Turning around, she saw a woman at the makeup area, her back towards her. The woman had on a black long sleeve top and a leather skirt, sharply pronouncing the natural bold color of her red hair styled in a straight bob cut. Rooney looked on for a moment, a bit startled with the sudden appearance of the girl, then returned to the clothes.

"I've never seen you around before. You been here long?" A sultry voice asked.

Rooney glanced ahead in the mirror in front of her to see the slender woman staring right back at her through the mirror on her side.

"No, just a couple of weeks. I'm here as an assistant for Adele Lapointe." Rooney responded.

The mystery girl nodded slightly, fiddling with an eyebrow brush. "I'm Margot, by the way."

Rooney eyed her curiously. "I'm Rooney."

There was a look in Margot's eyes that made her staring intense and tenacious. She had this sort of calm roguish presence to her that Rooney wasn't sure she liked and the slight smile on her lips didn't help either.

"Maybe I'm saying too much, but isn't Adele such a bore? Working like a horse.You must be on your toes with her all the time." Margo quipped.

Rooney watched her in the mirror. She wasn't sure how to answer. Was that a trick question, or was the girl playing her? She couldn't decide and didn't want to say anything that could stir rumors, especially ill ones that could reach her employer's ears.

"I admire Adele for her work and I think she's a great designer. It's a pleasure to be working with her."

Margot chuckled. "Relax, I'm just teasing you. So you're a fashion designer?"

"Yes, although still in the works. I'm still just a student. What about you, are you an actress?"

Another laugh escaped Margot's ruby lips. "No, you flatter me. I'm a makeup artist."

There was a moment of pause between them then - a momentary affliction of awkward silence. Rooney was a bit uncomfortable with the prodding comments. She tried to calm her nerves and continue her search in the rack of clothes. Margot's watchful eyes lingered on the young woman. A great, deep, and knowing feeling flowered in Margot as she gazed at her.

"Not from here I take it?" Margot broke the silence.

"Yea...how did you know?"

"You can always tell when someone's out of place. Like a sore thumb. In your case, your accent gives you away, although you're very good at disguising it. It's a lovely one, so it's a wonder why you are?" Probed Margot.

Rooney blushed. Ever since she'd moved here she'd made certain to get rid of her accent and assimilate to the dialect and slang of New York. She wanted to change herself, depart from the old and give way to the new. Admittedly, she also didn't want anyone to know that she came from what she thought was an embarrassingly small town. No one had noticed before, not even her boyfriend, so being caught right off the bat was like a slap to her face. "I'm not disguising anything. It's just what happens when you live in a place for too long." She tried to cover.

A low chuckle drew Rooney's attention to the mirror again and into the enigmatic gaze of Margot's mint spheres. "Alright, Rooney. I believe you," the redhead bit her lips to hold back her broad grin, "look, some of us are going out for drinks later on. You should come. Ever seen what the world looks like dyed in florescence?"

Rooney arched a brow. "No, I haven't."

An impish smile curled Margot's lips. "Then you'll be in for the night of your life."

That night, Rooney would find out that it wasn't merely going out for drinks that the theatre company had in mind. One of the actors had connections to an underground club exclusive to celebrities and otherwise expensive people, and it was there that Rooney unexpectedly found herself.

The music was so jarring it'd long numbed her ears and the lurching strobe lights and congested occupancy nearly consumed her if not for Margot's presence fortifying her. Margot turned to her with a shot in hand, gesturing for her to take it. Hesitantly, Rooney took it and threw it back. A burning sensation filled her throat and nostrils and she sucked in her teeth to bare it through.

"Good, you can take your poison. Nobody likes a lightweight, we need someone to last the long night with." Margot smiled. She tilted her head back and tipped her drink down her throat, letting it trickle it's way over her tongue until she gulped and shook her head; exclaiming.

"I should probably start heading out. Adele wanted me to show her the prototype by Monday, I need to finish it." Rooney tried to make an excuse, the music getting to her head more so than the drink. This was an entirely new experience to take in. For a small town girl like her who'd spent all her time studying and working, the nightlife was something like an alien planet far from the boundaries of what she knew.

"You're kidding? The night is still young. Forget about Adele or work for that matter, tonight, it's about living," Margot grabbed another shot and thrusted it into Rooney's hands, "down this and come with me."

She couldn't refuse her. Everything was happening so fast and blindly, plus, she didn't know anybody else. The company they'd came with had all gone their way within the club and there was no chance they were going to see them again throughout the night. It'd seemed that Margot had taken her under her wing and being in a place that was unfamiliar and uncomfortable, Rooney didn't want to afford to lose that safe haven. So, she drank the shot and allowed Margo to take her by the hand down onto the dance floor.

They glided through the crowd easily, as if Margot was somehow this invisible force everyone knew to part way for. Or maybe she just knew how to maneuver through, like she'd done this many times before. Swiftly, they were in the middle of the dance floor, swallowed up by the sweaty humid waves from the bodies around them. Margo turned around and started to move her hips to the music.

She grinned at Rooney as she rolled her body and moved her hands through her hair, urging her to dance along. Suddenly, an arm enveloped her waist and an uninvited man creeped up behind her, matching his moves along hers. She lifted an arm over her head and cradled his head on her shoulder anyway, clearly unfazed with the intrusion. Rooney watched with bizarre curiosity as the pair swayed their hips and flared their arms in the interchanging colors of light flashing about in the club. She watched, intently, a little embarrassed but intrigued, and glanced up to see Margot still looking at her.

Then, just as quickly did the man arrive did Margot shove him in the face back into the crowd like a droplet off a faucet, dispersing and disappearing like nothing. She sauntered over to Rooney and gently grasped her wrists, weighing it in her hands and then lifting it above Rooney's head. She snaked her fingers down her smooth arms and began to sway her body side to side when she reached her hips, prompting Rooney to do the same. All of a sudden, she felt like dancing.

Before long, Rooney was bouncing and bumping along with her as Margot watched her every move, guiding her body to the flow of hers. Their bodies were so close together, their navels almost touching. But the distance was kept with Margot's arm laid on Rooney's shoulder, separating them; wanting to give her the freedom to absorb her newfound willingness and embrace it.

Like a possession, the pulsating music and hard liquor seduced her into a trance and she was spinning. Spinning and spinning, enthralled by the riveting high surging through her body like a laser and surprised at herself for how much fun she was having. It almost felt like she was the only one in the world, yet under her skin, in the back of her mind, she could feel a single pair of eyes on her. She couldn't see them clearly and she didn't know to whom they belonged to, but she thought they looked so green and captivating and dangerous.

Ever since that night, it'd felt like some time had gone missing. No, Rooney had remembered everything that happened: the drinking, the dancing, Margo. It was her internal clock that she felt had been robbed, as if something within her had stopped and a gap had been pulled, leaving her ticking on something entirely different. She felt different. In a good way or bad, she couldn't tell, but all of a sudden, she felt she was on top of the world.

Her work with the theatre was remarkable, getting more than just approval from Adele and the producers themselves; she was being offered to work with her sometime again in the future, maybe as a possible partner. At the same time, Rooney was excelling in school and climbing the gpa scale while bursts of ideas for her own clothing line came in rapid succession. Like clockwork, she was producing and creating results more than ever.

It was all thanks to Margot, who she'd since been seeing a lot of lately. Out on the town, between work, Rooney was beginning to regard Margot as a friend, something she hadn't had since coming to New York.

But like the coming of clouds, a storm was always close behind. Particularly at home.

Several months after the play production had started, Rooney was heading back home one night after going over some finalities with Adele. She rounded up the long stairway to her apartment room and stopped in her tracks when she saw what was on her door. An eviction notice. Her heart sank into the pits of her stomach and her arms felt heavy. What was an eviction notice doing on her door, she thought. She'd always been on time with her payments and she knew for a fact that she'd already put in the check for this months rent. She'd always given it to Charlie -

Her head hurt at the realization and she reeled back. There was no way, she thought, no way he would've done that to her. Immediately, she called Charlie, several times, but after one too many tries and a livid voicemail, she slammed her fist into the wall.

She entered her room and saw that all of his things were gone, including her stuff. Everything. Gone. Only her textbooks, her clothes, and the sparse furniture lay untouched. That fucking bastard, she cursed under her breath. She leaned against the front door and slumped down with her head in her hands, trying not to cry.

How long had Charlie been nicking the money, she didn't know. She wondered if he'd ever really been honest about his feelings throughout their entire relationship. Rooney couldn't help but feel so alone and defeated. Where was she to go?

There was only one other person she could think of, but she felt she was asking too much. Although, what choice really did she have? For gods sake, even the mattress and bed spread were gone.

Hesitantly, she phoned Margot.

The conversation was quick, quiet, and understanding. Margot was more than willing to let Rooney stay the night, after everything that had happened, and over and over Rooney thanked her. She insisted she'd meet her at her address - it was the least she could do - but Margot wasn't having it and practically demanded she stay put until she came to pick her up.

20 minutes later, Rooney got a text from her, telling her to come outside. In a slow walk of shame, she trawled down the stairs and out of the complex; trying to slap some life into her face and wipe away her tear stained cheeks.

"Rooney!" Margot called out. Rooney breathed in to get her bearings, trying not to look as pathetic as she was feeling, and glanced up to see Margot leaning against her car with a lit cigarette between her long and slender fingers. She blew out a smooth stream of smoke as she lightly waved; a sweet and small smile brightening her face.

That was all it took for Rooney to momentarily forget her embarrassment. She ran into Margot's arms, surprising her, and hugged her desperately.

"Thank you so much, Margot. Thank you. I mean it." Rooney choked.

A chill went up Margot's spine and a sudden waft of lavender flushed her face as Rooney clutched her tighter. Slowly, she lifted both her arms to enwrap them around Rooney's narrow shoulders and leaned in slightly to smell her hair. She sniffed long and subtly, the aroma intoxicating her. The feeling of the girl against her felt so good she almost couldn't control herself. But she did. With as much will as she could muster, she gently pushed herself away from her.

"Please, don't thank me. It's what friends are for. C'mon, it's getting cold." She cooed, ushering Rooney into her car. In an instant, they were gone, faded away into the city's lights.

It must've been the middle of the night when they finally arrived at Margot's condo. Rooney was sat upright on the queen sized bed in Margot's room with her knees to her chest, watching the glistening streets below from the window. Her hair was still damp from her shower, a couple of wispy strands clung to the back of her neck and a shiver ran through her body due to the slinky thigh-length chemise she had on.

She heard the door open and glanced up to see Margot walk in in her own satin chemise, ringing out her hair with a towel. Catching Rooney's eyes, she shook her head one last time and let her red hair fall into place around her face as she ambled over to the edge of the bed to sit down. Immediately, she noticed Rooney's bruised and cut knuckle.

"You're hurt. Hold on," she got up and went to her drawers and came back with some rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, and band aids, "you're a feisty one, aren't you?" She slipped her hand under Rooney's and caressed her palm and fingers before bringing it to a rest on top of her thigh laid between them. The women sat in silence as Margo applied the treatment.

"Margot, thank you, again. I don't know what I would've done without you." Rooney began. Her eyes focused on her bruised knuckles as she spoke.

"I'm glad you called me. If I could be of any help to you, you know I would. I would do anything for you." Margo reassured.