Superficial

One

Hephaestion wandered through the infectious nightlife of Sherydale like a ghost within a memory. She had no recollection of ever being here prior to waking up. Her hair was charcoal black now and clumsily cut, her body riddled with tiny slashes, bruises, dried blood and dirt. And what was even stranger was her attire, a withered wedding dress as torn up as she was. Heph entered a bar to escape the cold, looking to clean herself up somewhere.
     Just as she suspected, there was a lost and found box she could dig through. It was an obscure little box filled with random junk given up by drunkards. She found an old 'Harvard' sweater large enough to wear as well a pair of shorts from Hooters (they had a large tear on the side). Hephaestion snuck to the bathroom and caught herself in the mirror; It was worse than she thought. It was a process but she fixed herself up as much as she could: She cleaned her own wounds with cold water and toilet paper; She used a glass shard to even out the cuts in her hair; She threw away her dress and put on her 'new' clothes.
     When Hephaestion left the bathroom she felt more or less like herself. The young woman sat at the bar, conjuring up a plan in her mind. Heph hoped to earn a free drink from a sympathetic stranger, if not, she needed to find a place to sleep for the night besides here. Her head slammed onto the bar counter once, then twice, and then a third time. "What did you do Hephaestion? What did you do?" Hephaestion mumbled to herself.
     Patrick had been sitting at the bar counter, a delicate glass of ice and scotch in his hand. He rested his elbow on the counter, keeping the cold glass suspended in the air between the grip of his fingers. His blue wool suit had been traded for a slim fitting, black and white pinstripe, hand sown business suit. It rarely wrinkled, only at the creases he was angled to sit. His black pinstripe tie matched and was aligned in the center of his chest, the first button undone to reveal more of the white dress shirt lain underneath.
     His hair was combed forward and then spiked slightly, his crystalline blue eyes presently looking around for interesting new topics. This entire city was new, he was only adjusting his routine schedule. He found nothing at the moment, swirling the scotch and the ice in the drink before taking a small sip. He set it down, letting his hands fold together on the bar counter in front of it. He took great care of his hands, being one of the only exposed parts of his body, and therefore a representation of himself.
     Hephaestion entered, giving him something to judge. His entire being was disgusted by her superficial appearance, the dirt and torn clothes giving him a rage inside his heart. He thought it might have made a beautiful dress before, not anymore. She left for the bathroom, letting his attention return to the scotch if only for a moment. His superficial focused self wouldn’t have stood for such dress being ruined so terribly.
     He swirled the slowly eroding ice and thin brown scotch in the prism glass again, taking a much larger drink. He set it down when she came out in her new outfit. She sat a few stools away, taking his attention from his blurry reflection in the glass to her. He glanced, now, not wanting to appear rude and stare. He looked back into his reflection, jolting to stare at her now as her skull was thrown into the counter three times.
     Surprise completely overtook him, allowing him to physically recoil his head back to process what just happened and how to react. He stood up, leaving his glass on the counter in front of his stool. He turned and slowly walked over, resting a warm hand on her shoulder. At physical contact, it was realised his hands were incredibly soft, but a strength in his arms was present. "Are you alright, Miss?"
     His voice was loud over her shoulder, an appropriate volume for the loud bar, but much louder than one might have spoken. It was evident that he had a beautiful voice, surprisingly matching his flawlessly taken care of superficial appearance. His volume brought attention to himself. He was intent on being the center of the universe.
     Hephaestion felt the tears well up in her eyes.The stinging heat prevented her from lifting her head up from the grimy counter. Her lips threatened to spill out sobs but her pride didn’t allow it. Her mind ran through every insult her mother threw at her, every mean look, every plea to never exist in this wicked world. A tear fell from her eye without warning, causing a storm to brew within her.
     His hand felt like static against her skin. Hephaestion felt the rising tide of her shoulders fall back down from their defensive stance. She, in her sly manner, wiped the tears from her eyes in a single, harsh sweep of her arm. Heph lifted her pretty little head from the counter and replied with a curt “No.”  It didn’t come out as authoritative as she wanted, a sniffle interrupted her facade.
     Hephaestion turned in her stool, swatting his warm hand off her cold shoulder. Her viridescent eyes wandered to the stranger without that curtain of modesty, analyzing him from head to toe. It almost made her crack a smile, seeing such a facile man on display. Even his  tie was aligned–  “I’m not a hooker, by the way, if you’re looking sniff for someone.” Hephaestion chuckled, fussing with her own hair. It was more of a pixie cut now, what a shame, it was no longer the long mane she took pride in.
     She sighed in a fit of disappointment, turning herself back around in her stool. It wasn’t like she was expecting much out of Mr. Vice President besides some snarky remarks or the finger. He was as stiff as the breeze and she never cared for windy weather. Her fingers nipped at the Hooters shorts, wondering if she could thread the gap on the side of her thigh. It was quite bothersome to dress this way but it was something to wear.
     The wedding dress creeped her out and she didn’t feel comfortable wearing it. Under any other circumstances, she would look rather divine, but this clearly wasn’t one of those times. She gave up on looking presentable altogether, her mind racing with what to do next. Maybe find a hotel, or a motel, she wasn’t picky, and rest there. If she was real lucky there’d be a homeless shelter or a home for wayward girls. She hunched her back over the counter, scratching at her freshly cut hair. What to do, what to do, what to do…
     His penetrating eyes glared through her with a friendly look, empty on the inside. She seemed upset even before she peeked her head from the counter. He was confused about why she was acting this way in public, he wouldn't be caught dead doing this. As she brought her small hand to swat his away, he lowered it instinctively, only staring at the action, the result, and then into her face. His eyes had deepened with concern, brows furrowing.
     "Well, why don't you tell me what's wrong? I didn't think you were a hooker, I don't associate with those dirty-" He stopped himself, apologizing and clearing his throat loudly. He had noted her pixie cut, also noting that it was one of his favorite hairstyles on a woman. He watched her turn back around, planting her attention and eyes elsewhere. He found this very him of her, to turn away from someone in the middle of the conversation.
     He scoffed, lifting his tie to realign it after his shiver of uneasiness. He leaned to the side, against the bar rail, looking to her and placing the attention on himself and his suit. His left side was mostly illuminated, the other side darkened by the absence of a proper light source. He smiled politely, an offer of generosity. "How may I be of assistance? You seem distressed."
     This dialogue painted him as a savior to the damsel in distress, putting his ego on a pedestal. He already seemed narcissistic, all of his new actions only enforcing that idea. Hephaestion’s eyes lazily wandered back to him. To the naked eye, there was nothing wrong with this man. His smile was polite, his tone calm, and every tedious move he made was slight of hand.
     A thought lurked in her mind, that little ‘but’ echoed too greatly to be ignored by his clean-cut presence. The man was certainly full of himself, had his head so far up his butt that he couldn’t tell (or chose not to tell) that she didn’t need/want his help. Hephaestion turned her heart shaped face at a small tilt, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. “I want a million dollars.” Heph shamelessly declared, “And a villa in France where I can stay far, far away from you.” A mocking smile curled at her lips, an impolite squint in the corners of her eye. He was so carbon copy that it hurt to stare at him. What was a guy in a pinstripe suit doing in a place like this anyways?
     Hephaestion simply shook her head, letting her gaze fall anywhere else. “Look, maybe somewhere in that file cabinet of a soul, there is a sliver of decency or humanity– but I have no reason to like you. At all.” Her apology turned into a not-so-apologetic statement instead. Hephaestion chuckled, rubbing at her temple, “If you were real, like an actual human being, you’d do something sleazy and buy me a drink… Not fix your tie and figure out which tone of voice will calm my hostility.” It was the best she could do in the foul mood she was in. She wished she’d never lifted her head from the counter.
     He watched as she carelessly lifted her gaze to his face, waiting for a response of charm or wit. He saw her facial expression change to match her thoughts, his own smile drooping even before she spread her lips to speak. He stopped leaning against the counter just as the first word was thrown out of her mouth. He crossed his arms, looking down upon her and listening. This showed he felt dominant to the female, a simple touch.
     Her last few words of her sentence touched his heart, though he had everything better to do than care, in his mind. His piercing blues staring at the smile cracking at the corners of her mouth. He took in her features one last time before he really stopped listening. He turned to walk away before she continued. His eyes closed, and he turned back to open them with a hint of rudeness and sass.
      He noted her eyes elsewhere, his sole intention to be the center of all eyes. He realised his goal, his own thoughts going to his business card while she continued rambling. He had heard her demand, his appearance and reputation at stake. He had tried so hard to fit in, to be human, and this was all it took? A drink? He couldn't believe it, nor would he. He had spent too much time caring about nothing that mattered too thin himself human for buying a girl in a sweater and ripped hooters shorts a drink.
     He reached inside his jacket pocket without and word, taking out his wallet, unfolding it, and opening the leather. He placed his fingers on a single twenty, sliding it from the plain brown material and placing it back where it belonged. He set the Jackson on the counter in front of her, sliding it forward and toward the bartender. He had done his good deed, and wanted to go back to his drink. He wouldn't let this ruin his night, he was going to have fun.
     He turned to his stool, sitting at it and picking the glass up from its perspired nest on the bar rail. He pressed the scotch to his lips, taking one final swig and setting it down. Hephaestion was pleasantly surprised. She plucked the twenty from the counter and slipped it in the waistband of her pants. An actual smile presented itself on her face and her gloom was temporarily disbanded from her mind. She walked over to the 20-something year old man with temptation on her tongue. Her sadness clashed with something a bit more malicious: fun. Heph tapped the man on the shoulder, having to lift herself up on the tips of her toes to reach his back.
     “You seem distressed~” Hephaestion spoke playfully, throwing his words back at him, “C’mon, how can I be of assistance?” She chuckled, a bit more mockingly this time. Heph usually didn’t poke at someone this much, she knew when to leave someone alone… Right? The young woman had an emerald gleam in her eyes, he’d be her distraction. He did cheer her up in his own unintentional way and she would return the favor to him.
    “What are you going to do besides drown in watered down scotch?” Hephaestion asked, poking her head around to catch a glimpse of his facade. He was intimidating in a way that bees were intimidating. She wasn’t crapping her pants but she knew that it’d be in her best interest not to bother him too much. Something caught her eye about him but it wasn’t the suit, his chiseled face, or the twenty he gave– It was the little kinks in his persona.
     To anyone else they’d go unnoticed but she appreciated them. It was the only thing keeping her in this bar and him in her interest. He glanced her way when she moved. He knew where she was going, he had been waiting. He prided himself in moments like these. He had been fighting an uphill battle, and now was defending the top. He turned his head to face her when she tapped his shoulder.