The Perfect Enemy

1.) Desolate

<2086 Words>

The wind lashed at the windows, like it was just as angry as I was that she was gone. Only a little farther. The bar door flew open, nearly slamming into me as I reached it. An angry man stumbled out, cursing under his breath as he stumbled down the steps. The bouncer, an old friend, took one look at me then pulled me in.

"What are you doing here? You know you can't be seen now. It's not safe-"

"No where is safe. Isn't that the point? I can't sit in my apartment all day, waiting for someone to come back. I'm not waiting to be disappointed by them." The bouncer pursed his lips, lifting his head to scan the room. Then, shaking his head slowly, he caved, his grip easing on my arm.

I stepped away from him, pulling the collar up on my jacket. Making my way across the scuffed up wood floor, I caught the eye of a dark haired woman with sharp green eyes. She tilted her head, watching me on my way to the bar. The bartender, a middle aged woman reeking of poor decisions and cigarette smoke, barely glanced at me.

"What can I get for ya?" She spoke in a gravelly monotone, not turning away from the glass she was polishing.

"Gin and tonic please."

"Yeah, sure." The bartender turns away to make my drink. I turn, fingers drumming on the scratchy counter as I scan the room again. A couple of old timers in the back corner, complete with beards and glasses. Down the bar, three or four people were sitting alone nursing their drinks in quiet self-loathing. A pair of men in heavy trench coats, probably concealing a gun or two, sitting in a booth and conspicuously doing underground business. In the opposite corner, three teenagers smoking and drinking. Ah yes, he lets them in for their drug trade and weed, but he gives Me a hard time.

In the middle of it all, the green eyed woman sitting alone. She looked like the kind of person you approach when you get drunk; out of your league, probably has a knife strapped to her thigh. She's the kind of person you stare at, but don't get close to. Sharp eyes stripped me down, picking me apart and putting me together carefully. The bartender came back from my drink, breaking the moment. Pulling my eyes from the woman, I turned back around.

"That'll be eight dollars. You want to start a tab?"

"No thank you." I pull the loose change from my pocket, adding up to some eight dollars and fifty-four cents. The bartender gives me a disgusted look, then takes the money in a scarred hand and stomps off. I sip my drink, glancing back at the woman. She caught my eye, beckoning me over with her head.

I walked over, feeling unusually bold. She leaned over, pushing out a chair and catching me with a disarming, entrancing smile. "Well, helloooo gorgeous."

A blush started creeping up my neck, making my face hot. I took a sip of my gin and tonic, trying to hide the mad blushing. I sat down, readjusting myself and crossing my legs. The woman perched her chin on her hand, smiling as she looked at me.

"Hello." I decided against mentioning the staring. Past dating experience suggested that people didn't like being called out five seconds into meeting them. It wasn't necessarily a red flag, yet.

She smiled, lips the color of blood. I wondered what shade of lipstick she used. She nodded to my drink, carefully manicured nails drumming against the glass she held. "Sooo, you're a gin and tonic kind of girl?"

The way she kept drawing out her vowels sent a shiver down my spine. Her voice was finer than silk, softer than velvet. If you could fall in love with a voice, hers was it. "I'm unoriginal."

"I'd beg to differ, darling." Long, dark eyelashes fluttered at me. Underneath them, green eyes sparkled pleasantly. Slender fingers wrapped around her glass, lifting it to perfectly done lips. My heartrate spiked watching one corner of her mouth lift for a second.