Don't Look Back

Chapter 1 - Ian

March 2007
Boston, MA, USA

Allow me to let you in on a secret, one I wouldn't dare tell anyone else.

Despite my neutral expression, despite my scientific mind, and despite all my cynicism, I'm an eternal optimist. Sure, I'd rather be alone in my dorm room. Not gonna lie. But this night doesn't have to be all bad, right? It can't possibly be as horrendous as--

No, no! I take it all back.

Horror is in the eye of the beholder. And this is fucking terrible.

As soon as I enter the nightclub beside my best friend Helena, it reeks. A potent miasma of sweat, perfume, alcohol, and pure lust. The raw bass hurts my eardrums and the strobe light has triggered my flicker vertigo to the point it's making me seasick. But I grit my teeth and bear it.

For her.

Cliques of people huddle like lost lambs, bleating for more alcohol and sex. It's all the disgusting aspects of humanity wrapped inside one convenient yet expensive little package called Soulless Knight.

Man, the name makes the club sound so much cooler than it is.

Maybe that's what I should call my comic book...

Dressed to kill in a skin-tight red dress that ends mid-thigh, Helena has accepted the crook of my arm. Here we stand just inside the entrance of the exclusive venue. You know the kind? One with semicircular nooks complete with ornate tables and beautifully upholstered booths?

It's so fancy I've had to don my gray suit and Oxfords. Hope to hell no one barfs or spills a drink on me because it's the only fancy attire I own. If it gets ruined, no way can I afford a replacement. And I don't need Helena taking pity on me.

Again...

"This means a lot to me, Ace," Helena whispers. "Thank you."

A polite smile tugs at my lips. "Thank you for inviting me."

She's the only one for whom I'd enter such a place, I swear.

And she damn well knows it.

I hate parties. And I really fucking hate clubs. But I do love Helena, and I want to make sure she and her friends stay safe. So here I am. Contrary to all logic, reason, and moral fiber.

Guess there's one saving grace: I do love to dance. After years of practice and training with Helena, I'm not half-bad at it.

"Hey, Hellz!" exclaims a crass, familiar voice over the music.

There's Ariana, waving as she approaches, a veritable Greek goddess. Onyx waves, gorgeous curves, and the darkest, most soulful eyes you've ever seen. She's also got an expressive face. It's like she lays her heart and soul on a silver platter for all the world to see. Endearing and a bit disarming. Bouncing around like there's coffee in her veins instead of blood, she's a tiny little bundle of unfettered energy.

When Ariana hugs Helena, it's like a fluffy unicorn meets a Terminator robot. They're partners in crime. Even though they're complete opposites in almost every way.

Ariana turns to me. "Bring it in, Ian!"

When she extends her arms, I bend down and wrap her in a warm embrace. Caught in her vice-like grip, part of me could imagine myself with a girl like her. Short, cute, smart. Except for one problem: I could never keep up with all that extraversion. Four hours with her tops up my sociometer for an entire week.

"I brought someone for you to meet," says Ariana in a singsong.

Oh, damn it! Not again!

Why do people always do this? You say you're happy being single, but they can't accept no for an answer. They set you up. Invariably it goes wrong, ruining the entire night, when you could have enjoyed some fun with your friends instead.