Drunken Love

There was something in the air that night. She could feel it.

Alone at a party, drinking herself to death, she stood. Her mascara was smeared all over her face, wet with fear, and she held a pair of rosy red high heels in her right hand. She was wearing her sister's pearl earrings, but she needn't have worried. No boy had been all over her since her father, when she was four.

Surrounded by drunken twenty-year-olds, he stood. His hair was swept to the side covered in half a bottle of his father's moose. He was sprinkled with deodorant and wore tattoos covering his left arm to cover up the scars from the childhood he'd rather keep a secret.

That's when he spotted her; four blue eyes met across the almost empty garage as a large door slammed, distracting them both from each other's presence. He pushed through the crowd of meaningless chatter and alcohol stained breath and approached her, dazzled by the empowering look in her eyes. She wore a crimson shade of lipstick and it reminded him of the blood.

She searched him up and down and gathered he was off his head, like all the others. He pulled at her shirt bringing back memories of torture, but after shaking them away she smile sickly and brought her eyes into focus.

"Let's escape," he whispered, prompting her to follow him into the depths of a nearby guest room.

She strode after him, not seeing any signs of anything else moderately exciting happening all night. Her heart raced faster with every step, but she stubbornly ignored it.

He sat on the bed and stared at her beauty. She perched herself on the very edge and gazed at the quilt, nervous and unsure how she got there. "I'm not going to hurt you," he muttered, moving his head closer to her white face.

She finally slowly looked up at the bushy eyebrows and concerned smile in front of her and forced her lips to turn up at the edges. "Hi."

"Hey... Don't be afraid," he gestured, holding out his arm to her. He forgot; the tattoos were big, but not big enough.

She gasped as she spotted the swelling of his wrist and lurched backwards; unaware of what was the cause, even though she presumed it was self-inflicted.

"Please let me explain," he said strongly, tears swelling into his eyes as she realised it was probably not the first time he'd been through this.

"Don't. Just... be here. With me." She shifted nearer to the shocked shape sitting in front of her and put her head on his sharp shoulder. He sat upright and let her fall into his lap, her eyes firmly shut as he pulled his fingers through her hair.

"Stay with me," she said, sleepily, rising and leering into his eyes, longingly.

He pushed his face closer to hers, and before they both had realised, their lips were touching softly. It was the gentlest of kisses; smooth and raw, with no room for mistakes or apologies. It lasted for as long as either of them needed, therapeutic as it was.

And he stayed.