Come on, love
Sign my name
Like I do yours
--The Offer, Cruel Black Dove
(Find Part 1, Love Story by Cruel Black Dove, HERE.)
Bar noise boiled like white water.
She listened. Detached. Part of it, and not part of it. Reveling in both.
"Hey. Could I buy you a refill there?" a man said from behind her.
She twirled the ice in her glass. Faraway and quiet. Not flirty at all.
The world flowed in the same delicious stream as that motion. Caressed by the alcohol. Almost as if the present held onto the passing seconds and mixed with a taste of the future. Wonderful and disorienting.
The cubes stopped.
"Yes," she said, facing him. "I'd love another drink."
"Great!" He motioned for the bartender, pointed down, and the man nodded. "So, um, do you...do you work in the city?" he said.
She edged aside his discomfort. Mined deeper. Stalked through the numbness of her drink. "Actually, I do."
She felt herself tightening, coiling around his presence.
His eyes were grey. Almost clear. Like having no color at all.
"Do I what?" she said.
His shoulders settled. Broadened. The discomfort drained. "I was going to ask if you come here often."
"It's just a stupid line."
She swam in her bathwater senses. Anchored by him. Why wasn't she nervous and scurrying away?
"Ridiculous really," he said.
He watched her. Something emerging. Becoming different.
"Can I tell you something?" he said.
"I think I know you," he said.
"Yes," he said.
"That's not what I meant."
Her lips parted. Just a fraction.
Curious. So curious. He seemed to be standing closer.
"Maybe you do," she said. "And maybe you don't."
He smiled. "I guess it doesn't really matter."
No. Not at all.
"Are you okay?" he said.
Excitement so primal. It shivered in her deep. Impaling on his scent. Peeling her wide.
"I don't want to be me tonight," she whispered.
In the darkness.
Her inferno screams.
"Can you do that for me?" she said.
And he smiled with his own darkness.