I’m back at the cinema in my usual seat after doing everything I usually do. I bought my popcorn and Pepsi and I’m sitting in the middle seat in the middle row. But He is not here, and the black and white lion is roaring on the screen. Nothing. I scan the rows again as my breathing speeds up.
He is not going to show, is he Lee?
Damn the man. Stubborn and stupid, and if he were here I would tell him so. My eyes close briefly as my grip on the paper snack bag tightens. He would not dare disappear forever…. would he? Suddenly, I’m not certain and everything collapses into a void. Is it possible he heard my thoughts earlier? That he was able to experience the mind numbing panic and fear that had overcome me whilst I painted his true likeness. Oh, how that must have burned him. To hear me terrify myself over what he is and what his affection means.
Yes, but think it through, Lee. If he did he would have also heard you condemn your self, your very soul, to be with him.
So … then he is not here for another reason … a selfless one?
For the love of all that is holy, how could he consider doing this! I’ve no doubt if he wants he can disappear for the rest of my life, vanish without a trace, and I will be left crazed with wanting, and loneliness, until the day it all gets too much and I fade away.
My iPhone buzzes against my hip. I crack an eyelid as Marilyn’s platinum curls bounce onto the screen. The phone taps a dance on my hip again. Aha. Maybe he has my number? With a shaking hand, I take out the phone and slide the screen lock with my thumb. The slick screen lights up with my face. A text message from Bethany. It eases the disappointment of it not being … oh, I don’t know, an unknown number that would send me his voice?
Suitably pissed off, I ditch the snacks and leave the cinema, my eyes scanning every row as I go though I know it’s useless. If he’s here I would know it. Wouldn’t I? Well, when he came to my home I felt his presence, so it should make no difference in the world.
Outside it’s all ozone, crowded cobbled walkways, and overfilled pubs with names like Drummonds and O’Neil’s.
I hail a black cab, one of the nice old ones that trundle, and slide in, mumbling the name of the nightclub Bethany instructs me to attend at the penny sized holes in the Plexiglas partition. The brash sounds of London Town are muted as I slide the door closed. It smells like stale coffee and vanilla air freshener. A nod of my cabbie’s purple turban, a click on the payment meter, and we are on our way.
My knees knock together as I fist my hands in my pockets, and stare at my boots, wanting to cry at how miserable I feel.
Wait, what was that Lee?
I turn in the faux leather seat, no hesitation this time to peer out the half moon back window. My breath catches, my heart soars, and suddenly everything is okay again. That figure in the shadows is Him. A smile curves the corner of my mouth when said shadow darts from one corner of the street, passing our cab to wait in the corner at the end of the road. Joyous, I bite back a cry of happiness and settle back in my seat. This continues all the way to the club. He follows me, and I resist jumping out the door to throw myself at him.
We arrive. The cab chugs stationary as I launch myself out the door like a rocket and breathlessly ask, “Receipt for ten, please?” The meter shows four pounds eighty five, but that is how happy I am. I pay the man, all smiles, and good humor now. I bob my head to the small picture of a chubby baby tucked into his sun visor wishing him and his family good health before trotting away.
At this point I’m motivated to ignore the shadow at the end of the road. Not because I want to, but because I’m female, and I have to draw the line. I’m suddenly (and inexplicably) fuming walking from curb to club entrance. Possibly this anger is a delayed reaction from his inconsiderate behavior earlier? Surely, he knew I would panic when he was not in his usual seat.
I take no notice of the line of half dressed sparkly people waiting to get in, and beam at the suited bouncer, all dimples, and windswept hair. Returning my smile with a nod, he unhooks the velvet rope jerking his bald head for me to enter. As I glide past he turns back round, his beefy chest puffing as he barks at those in the line grumbling to pipe down.
Inside, I’m a tad disorientated, and wary. I’ve not been here before and I’m sort of trying to blend into the flow of the crowd but not quite managing it. Bethany and I often hook up like this. She texts me at the height of her boredom, unable to sleep, and since it’s past midnight she’s probably drowning her sorrows. I head to the far left hand side of the monochrome bar that takes up the entire back wall, descending one of the two curved staircases, watching each step with a hawk eye. I have a pedantic ‘thing’ about navigating stairs. I always imagine myself taking an epic tumble down them as I walk up or down a flight. Phew. I’ve reached the bottom of the staircase sans face plant. Cool. This place is something else. It showcases trashy bohemian chic in what I suspect most British people expect the Moulin Rouge would’ve resembled. The walls are dark, (black?) and there is a lot of faux velvet, crimson drapes, and hoary fixtures. A glittery chandelier hangs low from the middle of the coffered ceiling, and at the back a diminutive oval stage. Above, a gilded balcony winds its way around, so the kitschy pantomime chorus of Cancan dancers above can coo to those down below.
Bubblegum pink hair bobbing in time to the off-kilter beat, Bethany spots me, and wiggles her slender fingers in a girly wave. I briefly rub my hand on her arm, sparkling with pixie dust, and settle into an empty stool beside her.
“Hey sweets,” I murmur in hello.
“What in god’s name are you wearing?” she asks.
Though my friend wears a hot pink sequined bob tube and leopard print jeans, I still look down at my plain black camisole and jeans, high-heeled boots, and Mac expecting something bizarre. I’d dressed to impress. I’d a thought earlier when I was getting ready that He would like this get up.
“I went to the cinema,” I offer by way of an explanation.
Groaning, she pauses drink halfway to her pouted lips. “By yourself?”
“Yeah.”
She slams the glass down. “I can’t believe you still do that shit. Do you know how creepy and depressing that is? Going to the movies by yourself?”
I laugh. “Movies? When did you become American?”
“Fuck you.”
I shrug. “You already have.”
She rolls her eyes as her cheeks gain color. “So I have.” Bethany puts her drink down and her voice drops a few octaves, laughingly, “And what fun I had whilst doing it.”
I chuckle uncontrollably, at so small a thing? No. Maybe it’s the fact I’ve realized why other men had held nothing more than a vague interest for me “Oh, Beth!” I mock lament, both in reaction to her silliness and my own thoughts.
She abruptly stops laughing. “I swear to god, I would kill for your voice. Each time you speak it’s like being ear fucked.”
“Ear fucked,” I echo and wince. “No, thank you.”
She pulls a cigarette from her sparkly clutch followed closely by a rhinestone decorated Zippo lighter. I frown disapprovingly. When did she start that again? The barman wraps his knuckles on the bar between us, and points to the No Smoking sign. Beth pouts, but tucks the offending item behind her ear. How not ladylike. How Bethany.
I look out into the crowd and freeze. What the…? Something potentially disturbing has caught my eye.
“I’ll have another,” Bethany orders since she has the barman’s prized attention, and stabs her finger to her empty margarita glass whilst shooting a questioning look at me.
“Gin and tonic,” I answer distractedly, my neck and torso stretching for a better look.
I could have sworn I saw man with a head of thick, dark hair, and a black trench coat push a girl into the bathroom. Am I going crazy? He wouldn’t do that … he would not do that. And there is more than one man in the world with a black trench coat. It could be– Ouch! A sharp pain on my thigh reveals itself as Bethany’s inch long black nails digging in.
She peers at me then snorts, “You are going to fuck the next man who you make eye contact with.”
Breathing in deeply, I take another sip of my G&T, keeping my face expressionless when what I really want to do is piss myself laughing, or burst into tears. Neither is appropriate and the former would only encourage her whilst the latter made her want to hurt somebody. “No, I’m not,” I say eventually.
“Why?” The word is thrown back at me with genuine puzzlement. I shoot her, my self proclaimed pimp a look over the rim of my glass. “Don’t you look at me like that, Lee. I am of the opinion you need a hard cock between your thighs before you turn twenty five next week.” Bethany places a hand on her sparkling décolletage and her engagement ring nearly blinds me as it twinkles under the revolving lights overhead. “Besides, I Feel this. It’s going to happen, get over it.”
I blink slowly. Okay, if Bethany Feels something it happens, but still, her delivery has not improved at all in the years I’ve been getting her to practice. “Do you have any idea how perverse you are? How poisonous your mouth is.”
She’s not listening, but waving her hands in the hair in an erratic fashion I’m sure she sees as persuasive or all knowing. “Your virginity is precious, and looking at it one way, it’s mine, but, looking at it another you still have it, and of the two of us that makes me promiscuous. I kind of resent that.”
I eye her. “Seriously? My god Beth, you were That Girl in high school who believed spunk was, “Good for eyes and skin,” weren’t you?”
“That hasn’t exactly been unproven now has it?” She bristles, and I know like the sky is blue that she really was That Girl, and I find that cute as hell. “It would make sense that something that helps make babies would be….” She trails off, and I have to admit I’m relieved, because nothing good could have come from her next words.
Ah, why is she drooling? Stroke?
I wave my hand in front of her face and that gets a reaction. She gathers herself and quirks an eyebrow. Intrigued as to what made her loose control over the deadliest muscle she possesses, her mouth, I turn to where she stares.
A tall man stands at the top of the stairs, returning my gaze without blinking. Our gazes lock and lightning bolts ricochet between us. The moment is broken when a nondescript woman staggers past, with a dazed expression, rubbing her neck and shooting him an awed look.
My reaction is instant. My breath catches, like I suspect it will every time I see him after any length of time, and my heart thumps. I cross my legs at the pleasurable tingle spreading from the middle of my thighs, down the back of my legs, and calves.
Lee, you mess, look sharp girl.
Flushed, I continue to meet his gaze, and loudly say. “A hot guy who fucks sluts in nightclubs a companion for life does not make.” I know he can hear me, but as soon as I say those words, I look down at my lap, blushing hotter the longer I feel his assessing gaze on me. Yeah, it was childish, and out of character, but I was jealous … just … really teeth grindingly jealous.
Breathing in deep, I look back up, wanting to see him walk over.
He’s nice to look at. So nice it becomes a hardship when he reaches the bottom of the stairs. It’s like looking into the midday sun. He compels me to watch him move closer and demands my attention stay focused. He walks and people move without noticing he fills the space they vacated for no apparent reason. Looking at him objectively – rather than the demented considerations I had bestowed upon him since I had first laid eyes on – I’ve decided he is not attractive in the traditional sense. By today’s standards, he is extraordinarily plain, but there is something sensual he omits.
Ah, yes, like a glowing orb of uranium. It’s intelligent to snuggle up to one of those, isn’t it, Lee?
He stops in front of me, just shy of touching. My mouth opens and air comes out.
Again? Use your big girl words stupid!
No, I’ve got nothing. I turn my face away toward Bethany, because my eyes refuse to leave him, and I’m mildly embarrassed how obviously he’s ensnared me and robbed my ability to vocalize actual, you know, words. Interesting. Bethany stares straight through him. She bobs to the beat of the music, and sips her wine. He can really get into people’s head, can’t he?
I slip off the stool and onto my heels that make a strangely loud clack, clack when they hit the resin floor. I straighten and my chest brushes his. The brief contact is electric and too much too soon. I’m dizzy enough thank you kindly. I lean my elbows on the bar behind me, and shake my hair out, trying to think of something, anything, to ask that won’t scare him away. I don’t bother to yank the flimsy strap of my camisole back up over my shoulder, exposed since my coat hangs leaving it bare. I’m too occupied with him to fuss with my clothes.
Questions, I’ve many, but none more urgent than knowing your name and knowing whom you are. Oh, would you tell me that?
‘My name is Ben.’
My eyes fall from his, and I swallow a squeal at the tail end of the voice that booms in my mind. I nearly choke. Inhaling deeply, I hold that delicious excitement in my chest to calm the tremors of lust and victory coursing through my veins. I know his name, and it’s as simple, and gorgeous as he is. Ben. My Ben. Now I know for sure he can see into my mind and hear my thoughts. Is listening to me like that immoral and rude? I want to think so. Hey! Maybe I did not want to know his name. Maybe I liked the anonymity. Did you think of that big shot?
He moves closer and his thighs press onto mine. His hand slides up my arm leaving a trail of goose bumps. He entwines his fingers in my camisole strap and slips the silk back into place on my shoulder. He follows the move through by sweeping the finger across my collarbone to rest at the base of my neck before sweeping up the middle of my throat and flicking off the end of my chin. This tips my head back and he holds me with those eyes, dark and bottomless.
My god, he could rob me blind with my eyes wide open. He is beautiful.
‘Yes, and yes you did.’ The reply is a whisper and my knees knock together.
I slant a look at him under my lashes, and the corner of my mouth curves. His head lowers a fraction and our lips come closer. Oh my, is he going to… I have a flashback to our kiss in the shower and the walls quake. My mind conjures images of us and a bed. “Show me,” I blurt. “I want to know what you are.”
What the hell is wrong with me? Can’t I enjoy a soul-shattering kiss? I’m frustrated now.
Um, Lee, you need to see what he is, and build trust … remember? You stand at the brink, at a precipice. You have to make a choice soon, and by god, you should make it educated. You should know exactly how damned you are before choosing to embrace it for an eternity. Is the loss of your immortal soul not worth being clear over? Is that not worth postponing a kiss that will shake the foundations of what you know and blow your brain out the side of your skull?
I guess….
Taking back that fraction of distance he’d closed between us, he watches me have this internal argument. Rather than seem perturbed, he looks charmed, and like a man who adores his love enough to see her idiosyncrasies as endearing rather than disturbing. Ben holds out his hand, and I clasp it without hesitation. His palm is cool, smooth. The tips of his fingers curl around mine and apply firm pressure.
He smiles and immediately my eyes seek his fangs. Most often, his mouth is closed, and I’ve yet to hear him speak to possibly catch a glimpse. My heart trips over. There! His pointed canines are flanked on both sides by two smaller teeth. How intriguing. I bring my other hand to clasp the side of his head, cupping his cheek. I guide his head down to meet mine half way, for privacy, and let my fingers stroke his skin. The stubble on his jaw pricks the pads of my fingers. Stubble? His hair can grow?
‘Does it bother you?’ he asks. The question has an undertone of humor. Hmm. Does the man I want to devote myself to flashing fang in the middle of a nightclub bother me? I nod. I do not think it’s safe for him to be so conspicuous. A brief pause from him then more humor, ‘Would you protect me from those who would harm me?”
Ugh. Yes! Again, there is no hesitation on my part when I think this, possibly a hint of impatience. Say whatever persuasion he works on those around us fails, and someone sees him for what he was, there would be pandemonium. I don’t like it when situations get out of control. I like order, for things to go my way, and right now, my way was for the world to continue to ignore us so I can remain in this whimsy bubble where it’s okay for me to be mindlessly attracted to this monster.
My fingertips move from his cheek to slide over his full bottom lip, firm, silken. I remember his mouth pressed to my own, urgently dragging over my skin. I have thought of nothing since. His lips part, eyes grow hungered as I push my finger in. The tip of his tongue strokes the pad of my forefinger as I let it drift up and skate over a fang. Oooh, a shiver races up my spine arching me into him when the point grazes my skin. He shudders too and nips the finger none too gently before I remove it from his mouth and clasp his chin.
Now Lee, remind him now before you forget.
“Show me,” I repeat and do not let my gaze waver from his. I see he accepts. My hand falls from his face to rest at my side, fingers twitching. I look over my shoulder to Bethany and my somber face lightens. “I’ll be back in ten.”
She starts, as if she’d forgotten I was with her, and wiggles her finger at my half empty glass. “The same?”
“Please,” I reply, and manage to hold off the wobble in my voice for a second time.
With that, Ben walks and I follow in his slipstream, my hand in his. The crowd parts, and it’s not obvious; the floor does not divide into two crowds. People simply take a step to the left if they are in our direct path, or step backward when about to cross us, and then move forward again as if someone hit a rewind button.
We stop at the edge of the room by a booth of people, and Ben becomes still, as he so often does. I look over my shoulder to make sure no one pays us particular attention. People dance. Luminous glow sticks wave back and forth, and sweaty hands punch the air. The music pulses; red and electric blue lights flicker and flash in violet streaks across the walls. The Cancan girls above gyrate and preen, blowing kisses to those below. Black lights revolve highlighting spillages of body fluids on the floor and on people’s clothes. A girl walks under one and glares at me. I smirk, clearly she’d been up to no good judging by the florescent smear and spatter marks on her chin. The smoke from the machines coil around the ankles of booted, heeled and sneaker clad feet. Sloshed, an Emo stumbles from the crowd, wife-beater bottle hand, yelling something about defiling the next bitch that crosses his path. He projectile vomits into a bin before being tossed out the front door with his equally pissed mates.
Ben murmurs something and my attention reverts to what he is doing. The people in the booth freeze and put down their drinks. The whole thing is creepy and disturbing to watch, if I’m perfectly honest with myself. Such an immediate and total loss of ones will. They get up, glassy eyed, and leave. One by one, they pass me and melt into the swarm of bodies, effortlessly blending into the dance.
Okay then….
Using his grip on my hand to propel me forward, Ben inclines his head to the now vacant booth. It’s rounded, the sides so close together I have to twist my ample hips to make it through the gap. Inside I’m cocooned by wall to ceiling black velvet. The seats are padded, deep, and a low glass table reaches my shins. The light in here is weak, a candle looks about to extinguish and it does, leaving a coil of wispy smoke.