Exotic

~ mutually assured destruction ~

My heart dropped into my stomach. I replayed my words in my head and wanted to bite my tongue off. My prior confidence abandoned me, running off down my body and slipping down the drain as anxiety rose in my chest. With it went all my control of the situation. I was just Miles Stewart again, a seventeen-year-old student in a wig and school-inappropriate shoes.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The lie was lacklustre - not even Reece would have believed it. Caleb's eyes were wide, and petrified, and so fucking blue. He studied me for a split second, a confirmatory second before he buried his head in his hands.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..." he was muttering, and his eyes snapped back to me, full of unfair accusations. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Sephora!" Zsa Zsa yelled from the stage, searching the crowd. "That was your cue! Get off the bar, you freeloader!"

The crowd yelled and hollered, eager for my second set. I felt like my brain was short-circuiting. Too much going on.

I turned my back on Caleb and darted towards the door. I shoved and shouldered my way through the crowd as Zsa Zsa continued to ramble into the microphone. I wished I'd worn some more conventional shoes. I finally got to the doors, where Emanuel was waiting, eyebrows furrowed in concern. I ran right by him without so much as an excuse thrown over my shoulder, out into the darkened streets. It was spitting rain, and speeding cars flashed past me on the roads. I rubbed my naked arms and started forwards, only to hear the glass doors swing open behind me with a bang.

Warm fingers wrapped around my upper arm, stopping me in my tracks. I swung around with my hands up to defend myself.

It was Caleb who had followed me outside, Caleb that had grabbed my arm. Caleb, who looked like he was on the verge of having a mental and physical breakdown at the same time.

"Miles..." he started, but I cut him off.

"It's raining," I stated the obvious, shouldering him off and walking away. I got about five metres, under the awning of a dark shop, when Caleb caught up to me, jogging around me in an arch and cutting me off. We were still close enough that the neon Crescendo threw colour across his face, highlighting the angles in his face.

"Listen," Caleb's breathing was shallow, and his blue eyes were wide and panicky, his hair whipping in the wind. "You can't tell... anyone. I thought you were a chick. That's the only reason..."

I laughed shortly, despite myself. "You were in Crescendo, a bar universally known as the penultimate spot for gay hook-ups, and you expect me to still believe you're straight? They announced me as a drag performer. Good try, but I'm not an idiot."

Caleb was buttoning up his shirt furiously. "Why would you do that?"

"What? Kiss an attractive guy in a gay club?" I felt a little bit of Sephora Utah's poise seeping back, now he was the one stammering. "Come on, it's not that deep."

"You know what I..."

"Yeah, yeah," I waved him off. "I freaked. I tried to make myself sparse, but you were... persistent. And I've had a few."

I'd had exactly one drink, but I felt like I needed more of an excuse than I've had a schoolgirl crush on you since I laid eyes on you. I sensed it would not have been received well.

"I'm not gay," he said shakily.

"Mmhmm," I crossed my arms, hugging my goose-bumped skin. Caleb flustered and collapsed against the shop window with his hand clenched over his face. He dragged them down his cheeks, eyes wide and terrified. I almost felt bad for him. And then he went and opened his mouth.