Red Red Rosie

Chapter One

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

That's what they say.

But so many beholders seem to be in agreement with each other. When you look inside a magazine, on the television or indeed on many websites and applications that so many use these days you see very similar ideas of what beauty is. Beauty is youth - fresh smooth skin, long healthy hair, eyes twinkling with a lack of experience and lips full of colour and plump with life. It is unheard of that wrinkles around the dulling eyes, the greying and thinning of the hair and lips cracking with age would get the same reception as the picture of youth. Such afflictions cause an individual to become invisible, unwanted. Seeing these signs upon my aging face always fills my heart with dread. I have learned ways to disguise my years with various products but none ever do me justice.

I know how I'm supposed to look.

I glance into the full-length mirror that is waiting patiently upon my lobby wall for me to quickly analyse my outfit and give my reflection a quick nod of approval. What is standing before me will have to do. I am not looking my best by all means but I know that that won't be a problem for much longer. I straighten out my small, black dress, check out my favourite scarlet heels and look over my made-up face. My hair, streaked with silver, frames my visage in waves that I manipulated it into with my curling tongs only moments ago.

Yes, this'll have to do.

I see my reflection's mouth curve into a small smirk, grab my handbag, and ignoring the looming shadow in the corner of my eye, I head out into the night.

I hail a cab and ask the very friendly, almost overly friendly, driver to take me to the club. A drink is what I need, a drink and a dance to forget all of my worries, and maybe I will find myself a dancing partner, you never know.

Well, if I am to be completely honest, I do know.

Oh, yes, indeed, I know.

I hand over my money and get out of the car. My heels clip clop onto the pavement and I close the door behind me with a deep thud; my eyes fixed upon the lit up entrance to the club. The driver says something to me, but I don't quite catch it, nor do I turn around. He hovers there for a while, then eventually I hear the cab's engine hum and pull away.

I make my way to the double doors where I am greeted by a wide smile stretching a stubbled face upon a tall, bald man. Built like a brick house, he is wearing a shirt that only just manages to hold itself together around his bulging chest and biceps.

"Eight pounds for entry, please," the man says in a low drawl, looking at me with intense eyes. I meet his gaze and his face changes.

I fish my purse out my bag and hold out a tenner for him, but he doesn't move, his gaze is lost in my eyes.

"Aren't you going to take it?" I ask.

"What? Oh! No. No charge. I insist," he says in a trance, his eyes still not leaving mine. I smile. "Can I just say?" he whispers with a sigh. "Your eyes, they're beautiful..." He hasn't blinked, nor has his dazed smile begin to falter.

"Thank you, you're so kind."

I touch him on his huge shoulder and he immediately steps aside, his gaze not leaving me. As I make my way through the door, which he is holding open for me, a tingle dances up and down my spine. You'd think I'd be used to this by now. This behaviour has been following me for years. As I round a corner so that I am out of the bouncer's sight, I sneak a hidden glance at him, and just as I expect, there he is looking bewildered and rubbing his bare head with a confused scowl. He then straightens up and holds his strong stance to greet any one else who may grace the club's entrance.

I chuckle to myself, and shake my head, then make my way to the bar.

I take a seat, and I sit there for barely a minute before a voice sounds from behind me.

"Hello."

I turn around and a handsome, young man is standing at my shoulder. Our eyes lock and his polite smile suddenly changes, just as the bouncer's did - a fire of deep desire colours his irises and he bites his bottom lip. He then moves around me, closer to the bar; his eyes not leaving my gaze.

"May I buy you a drink?" His voice acquires a deeper, velvety tone. It is as if he is trying to sound more mature - more desirable.

Adorable, really.

"Of course you may, I'll have a gin and tonic," I answer with a smile. I am old enough to be his mother or maybe his mother's mother - I dread to think. Not that I'll ever let him know that! We spend the night together and it is clear that he doesn't notice my age at all. He makes me feel so young. Dancing with him makes me almost forget that I have lines creeping their way around my eyes and that I have grey highlights in my hair. However, that never fully leaves my mind.

Not on a night like this.

However, I keep the smile on my face and the cheeky wink in my eye. He keeps buying me more drinks and I reward him with a flirt and allow his hands to wander as we move together under the colourful, flashing lights.

"Hey," he whispers in my ear. "Want to get out of here?"

"Sure."

He leads me off the dancefloor, out of the double doors, past the beefy bouncer, and pulls me around the side of the building out of sight. We stand in the lonely, orange glow of a nearby street lamp, which allows me to see his hungry face.

"Oh, I want to kiss you so bad," he says whilst caressing his hands down my bare neck and over my shoulders, his staring eyes lost in my gaze.

I need no words, I smile up at him and allow him to plant his lips on mine. I then hug my arms around his neck and with a deep, guttural growl he lifts me up off the floor and holds me against the wall, hungrily squeezing my thighs which are now wrapped around his middle. A heat then spikes at my eyes and I feel the darkness begin to creep from deep within.

There is no going back now.

I kiss the beautiful lad back, which makes him suddenly freeze. I get down clumsily and watch him begin to wheeze with laboured breath. His eyes widen in pain-filled shock, the colour in his face drains to an ashy white and lines spread rapidly across his features.

As I watch the boy change I can feel a gentle fire course through my veins with a familiar warmth.

A sensation I have come to love.

A sensation of hope.

He grows weaker with each rattling breath as life itself is leaking out of his pores. His dark, brown hair turns white and his hazel eyes grow pale. I hear his skin cracking as it dries and loses all elasticity. He then stumbles forward into my arms and crumbles into a heavy pile of dust on top of my scarlet heels.

I suck in air through my gritted teeth at the mess.

"When will I ever learn!" I mutter to myself as I bend down to wipe them off. I then retrieve the lad's empty clothes, and I throw them into the handy bin that is standing only a yard away from where I am.

Dusting the rest of him off my arms and dress, I feel that warmth spread throughout my whole body. Once that heat finishes its course, I lift my hand to feel my cheek. There beneath my fingers I find new, smooth skin. I let out a content sigh, adjust my much softer hair, secure my bag over my shoulder and make my way back home. The clip-clop of my scarlet heels leave an echo behind each stride I take.

When I get home I do not hesitate for one second. I close the front door, switch on the light and go straight to the mirror hanging in the lobby. There staring back at me is exactly what I want to see. A beautiful young woman that doesn't look a day over twenty-one. Her eyes glistening with a blue that is mimicking the ocean's depths and her shoulder-length hair shines like gold under the dim light that hangs on the ceiling above me. The girl's skin is smooth and pale with a hint of English-rose pink colouring her rounded cheeks. I never tire of seeing such a face reflecting back at me. The face of my past. A face I can revisit whenever I please, for I have been given the key to time itself.

A key that cost me dear.

It cost me my very soul.