by Poppet
"No!" Tears spill over to saturate my eyelashes. "Just get lost and leave me alone!"
He drops my hand and watches me as I fumble with my jeans, which were perfectly placed next to the rumpled bed.
I'm shy and scared as he silently observes me. When my clothes are back in place, reinstating dignity, I scowl at him with all of the man hatred I can muster, "Which way out?"
A thumb rubs under my eye, "You take pain for granted. You feel such intense joy and such intense sorrow. You weep."
"Which way out?"
"Through here." And he pushes a hot palm over my heart. Stepping in, he wraps arms around me, "You can't escape, Phoebe. You are a prisoner until you find the key."
I shove at him. Glaring at blue eyes and shocking white hair, "How the hell do you do that?"
He smiles, it holds no emotion. "Phoebe, does fire burn?"
I nod uncomfortably.
"Then explain a fire walker. Explain how cold can burn as much as heat."
"I can't."
"You are a prisoner until you open up your mind and your senses. You are half alive. Half dead. Wake up."
"I WANT OUT!"
"You hold the key."
"Thanks for being such a freak!" I start flouncing around trying to find the door.
"There is no door."
"Then, how did we get here?"
"I willed it."
"So unwill it."
"Meet me again and I'll let you go."
"Do I have a choice?"
"You always have a choice."
I stare at him defiantly. "Fine."
He steps forward and puts a thumb over each of my eyes and whispers, "And the blind shall see."
Instantly I'm rendered blind.
Chapter 3: Medieval
I wake up with my heart pounding, it's like a jackhammer trying to shatter my ribcage.
"Whatever you took last night knocked you out cold. Where did you go?"
My wild eyes scan rapidly to encounter Mr Shithead. I narrow scornful eyes at him, "Don't you wish you knew?"
"So? Are you over your hormones yet?"
I can't still the drumming of my panic. I need space to assimilate what's real, and what isn't. I glare harder at the lazy ass I share my life with.
"Why don't you go play with yourself?"
He thrusts his crotch in my face as he waltzes past the couch I fell asleep on, "You know you want to."
I stare at the zip presented to me and am ill with loathing. Pushing myself off the couch, I stalk to the kitchen, "You are such a prick."
He yells after me, "And you need an attitude adjustment!"
I put the kettle on with renewed rage. The light beyond the window hurts more than a usual hangover. What the hell was in that drink anyway?
I change my mind and dash to the shower instead. Slamming the door closed and locking it. Stripping my clothes off in panic. Abandoning them rapidly to examine my body in the mirror. I stare at the red marks, and my strength deserts me. Instantly weak and trembling, I sink down onto the edge of the bath. My breath catches as I stare at the marks on my inner thigh. I don't remember coming home. I've never suffered from alcohol induced blackouts, and I don't like having gaps in my recollection.
Angry at the uninvited invasion, I stomp to the shower and blast it. Men. They're all trouble. Each and every one of them. Swiftly, I scrub myself down, scouring with Imperial Leather. When what I wish, is that Vanish would invent a human soap that could remove every stain off my soul, mind, lips, spirit, memory. I slap a wet palm bitterly against the cool tiles.
Why? Why do they always find me?
I obviously have victim etched into my irises, and any man who stops to look into my eyes sees 'easy prey'.
Swivelling the tap closed, I clench my jaw in battle rage.
Fine. It's time for me to engage in war. I'm going to make Joan of Arc look like Cinderella. I'm taking names and cutting those bastards down. Starting with the idiot who's too freaking lazy to clean up after himself, but magically has energy for friends, hobbies and shagging.
After towelling dry, I stomp out of the bathroom and wince at the instant pain behind my eyes. Shees, it's bright today. Bloody glare dancing off windows everywhere I look. I stalk into the sitting room, simmering for a confrontation, and am immediately deflated as I spy the post-it-note on the door.
Gone Out. See you later.
Typical.
Dropping the green towel, I wander to the kitchen to make coffee. Absently dialling Ariel's number as I spoon coffee into the bodum.
"Hey babes. I have a question for you ... Your apartment in High Level road, are you still looking for a tenant? ... Delightful. I'll do an EFT today. Can I come over to get the keys? ... Half an hour? Great! Love you! ... bye."
Cradling fresh coffee, I switch on my laptop and do the transfer. Smirking indulgently at the surprise about to happen to Mr Shithead. "See you later." I don't think so.
I piled everything that was legitimately mine into my beat up Polo, and went over to Ari's in Camps Bay to pick up the keys. Lived through ten full minutes of interrogation, bought her extra futon, and procured her man as my muscle for lugging it upstairs.
I love living so high, it's light, bright, and perfect to help me feel safe living alone. On the outside it doesn't look like much, but in here, it already fits me. I'm used to a right-on-the-ocean view, where the fog veils the windows in the early morning, and you fall asleep with waves crashing.
Her place in Camp's Bay is almost as delightful, but has more of a Mediterranean ambiance. Up here on High Level road on the top floor, I have a view of the waterfront, but it's not as intimate. However, at least there's plenty of light to keep me sane.
By four I am finally alone, with tender eyes, a pounding head, and an open bottle of Cape red wine. I'm not anti-social, I just need some space and time to sort my emotions out. I'm angry. I've got issues that involve bad judgement and not enough sanity; too much hormone. I'm a hormone addict. I love the rush. Honestly, I'm not much good at mediocrity. I don't like routine, and I sure as hell don't like having to cook for someone else when I'm not hungry. Independence is a good place to start sorting myself out.
Glowering at the sun scorched wood that contains the window, a deprecating smirk escapes. I'm not fooling myself either. I haven't been able to get him out of my head. Fine, so he's a catalyst for me to sort my shit out and get my life back on track. Twenty-eight and slipping into the downward spiral. But he had a point didn't he? So much of life we take for granted. I take my tears for granted, but they are an expression of emotional intensity. He made me feel alive. It was half adrenalin rush and part hormonal tease. Those people are just intriguing.
Snatching up a tennis ball, I slam it at the bright white wall. Aching to hit something. I want to feel pain, pleasure, fear, joy, adrenalin, panic, relief. I just want to FEEL. Pulling my baseball cap down further over sunglasses, I wander into the kitchen pantry, close my eyes and breathe.
Yuck, it reeks.
I stalk to the bathroom and step into the shower; close my eyes and inhale. Musty. It smells cold and dirty; and mouldy. I open my eyes to stare at the calcified glass of the shower door and chuckle.
Oh yeah, I've got it bad.
Embarrassed, I laugh; feeling like a loser. A loser who needs new clothes if she's going to Pravus again tonight. I require contact lenses, vampire teeth, and black attire. I'm sure Edgars will have something perfect. Wonder if Woolworths will? Maybe check them both out?
So? What's life without a few risks? I'm not dying soon. I have the next thirty-five years of work drudgery ahead of me, plenty of time to pay for my small indulgences. I down the vestiges of wine in my glass, snatch up the keys, and feel a spontaneous laugh bubble erupt as I skip down stairs to my neglected ride.
*
Nervously confident, I choose to walk to Pravus. My eyes are sore from using contact lenses for the first time. It took me an hour of determination to finally get the stupid things in.
Then I had to use eye drops, to get rid of the alcoholic on a binge look which proceeded that adventure. That stung like a mofo, enough to get me hitting the vodka and raspberry juice early.
I'm wearing Pure Poison as my perfume tonight, deliberately. I took the time to blow dry my hair and put eyeliner on to highlight the silver contacts. The vamp teeth are in, and it feels weird. Tonight I should blend into the crowd, instead of stand out in it. I'm wearing a simple tight black spaghetti strapped vest and ink black stretch-jeans tucked into Goth boots. But, still I'm self-conscious, and am drawing attention to myself because I'm wearing sunglasses to shield these silver eyes. Putting my head down, my feet follow the isolated route to Pravus, hiding behind a curtain of obsidian black hair which sheaths me all the way to my waist.
I stroll down the stairs and pause in front of Thor's slave. His smile is venomous. Menacing long teeth expose as his black eyes flicker with a feral amber glow. "Addicted already?"
I smile in return. It's weird there is no cover fee. Thorette lets me past, and I hook my sunglasses into cleavage so my eyes can adjust to the flickering strobe.
That's the thing, isn't it? How will I even find him in here?
He doesn't have a fixed identity. Every blond, brunette, silver / blue / brown eyed man, with his build, is a potential Seithe. After staring into the darkness randomly highlighted, I give up. He'll have to find me. Pushing through throngs of Saturday night addicts, I reach the bar, and face Mr Pretty.
"You're missing your guard tonight, princess."
Gracing him with an insincere smile, I retort, "He's not my guard."
A man hisses breath through teeth as he leers down at me. Just a freakish stranger leaning against the bar, red eyes glowing, "Alone? You are as stupid as you look."
Ignoring him, I address Mr Pretty, "Is it possible to get a Smirnoff here?"
He pulls a bottle out from under the counter and hands it to me, nudging his head for me to follow him to the edge of the bar. I push past the asshole and meet Mr Pretty, who's a lot more intimidating up close, at the edge of the crescent. He leans his black haired head down to me and whispers urgently, "You can't be here without someone to watch your back. You'll never leave alive."
These people just love messing with minds, don't they?
"This is a public place, anyone can be here. Stop trying to get inside my head and feed my fear."
He grips my wrist, almost spilling the vodka, "Without a sponsor, you are dead meat baby girl."
Men totally suck. Bet he has a small one to be on such a screwed up ego trip. I hiss back with despising, "You wish. You wish I needed a man to watch my back. I don't!"
More like to stick a knife into it.
A total creep wraps his arm around me and drawls to Mr Pretty, "I'll sponsor her." His left hand slides inside my shirt and cops a squeeze, then he licks the side of my face, "I promise I'll take real good care of her."
SHOVE! Except the asshole isn't letting go.
What's with the pricks in this place?
I'm beginning to regret coming back here.
Men suck. When will I learn this? How often do I need them to prove it to me?
I place my Smirnoff-Ice on the counter with deliberate calm. Using the newly freed hand, I trace my finger down the fuckhead's chest suggestively, down his torso, and slip my hand inside his latex trousers, where I grab and squeeze with all the energy I can muster. I can't resist a malicious laugh escaping as I stare at the vein in his forehead spontaneously protruding.
"Do that again and I'll castrate you! Now eff off and leave me alone!"
His eyes flare such an alarming shade of red that icy fear wraps tendrils around me.
That's not human. That's really scary.
I am so caught up in those red eyes, mesmerised by them, that when my hand is snatched out of his trousers and I am spun to stare at silver eyes, it takes me a moment to register.
"What the hell are you doing? Stay away from the red eyes."
A veined hand and forearm push my head aside and fingers wrap around Seithe's throat, squeezing so hard I am sure he should already be missing his Adam's apple. "Keep your bitch on a leash, Seithe! If I find her here alone again, she'll pay the price."
I catch Seithe's eyes flaring silver as he rams the heel of his hand into Red Eye's nose, "Touch her and you'll pay the price!"
Mr Pretty arcs a flame from a blowtorch right between them in the close space, almost singeing off my immaculate eyebrows in the process; his veins highlighting blue in an adrenalin surge of anger, "TAKE IT OUTSIDE!"
Instead, Seithe hooks my shoulders with his arm and yanks me away, into the darkness. My heart is pounding. This is like stepping into a parallel universe where everyone is different to your idea of normal. I've been dumped into an environment so alien to my usual, that I have no idea what normal is here, or why the men are all so bloody medieval.
Chapter 4: Smell
I'm relieved. I'm not sure what just happened, but it scared the shit out of me. The testosterone in here is worse than football hooligans after their team just lost.
My breath is forced out of me in an ungraceful oof, as Seithe body slams me into the red wall. My heartbeat starts racing as his hands cup glute cheeks and lift me off the floor; pinning my body hard against the wall as his now blond head hides mine, savagely invading my mouth.
His hot tongue is sliding over mine, licking my lips, sucking me into him. What a turn on. Shoving a knee between my legs, he uses the leg to prop me up and hold me at his height, freeing a hand which assertively grips my jaw, forcing my mouth open wider.
He bites down hard on my lip, drawing an involuntary wince from deep inside my throat. My mouth floods with blood, it's sticky and tastes too rich, nauseating. He's sucking the breath out of me.
Lips hotly nibbling on mine; corner, centre, tongue lashing inside my mouth before catching mine and sucking it into his own with such force, I feel a carnal surge pumping through me. Spreading a quickening heat. I can't breathe.
He bites me again, sucking tightly on my lip, the hand slides down my neck with its racing pulse to hover over my heart which is pounding ferociously in the surge of pain and aggression. It slides off centre and my nipple hardens under the heat of his palm. I succumb to sensation, relishing the cloaking darkness, closing my eyes to indulge in the supple lips trailing my neck. His tongue slipping over my pale skin; my mind leaps to the association of the hand on my breast with the tongue on my neck, and I'm enslaved with longing. He's exciting, unpredictable, and fucking delectable.
I wrap legs around his black clad hips, pulling him tightly against me, encircling arms onto shoulders, cupping his head, feeling the silkiness of his hair. My turn to play! His breath flirts with my nerve endings; teeth nibble my earlobe.
My fingers curl into the skin of his strong neck. Kneading, caressing, I tighten the grip on his hips with slender legs.
"Pain makes you feel alive."
He bites my neck just under the earlobe. Heat wraps itself seductively over the point of pain and his tongue flicks over the pulsating burning. The sensation is effectively wiping my mind blank.
I want you.
I squeeze my arms tightly around his neck, resting my head heavily on his shoulder while he sucks on my throat. I'm going to have such a dark hickey tomorrow, and I don't care. It's cold when he pulls his head away.
I want to surrender and know him in all ways. He's such a turn on. He's tall, lithe, strong, sexy. Rebound love is just what I need.
"Let's get out of here," he says.
He drops me and my legs lock just in time to support my weight. Threading fingers through mine he hauls me after him, disoriented and weak. I stumble with him to the black crescent bar.
He lifts a goblet and downs the purple liquid. Mr Pretty leans over and snatches a handful of my hair, yanking my head to my shoulder, exposing my neck.
"Ow." A feeble objection.
His dark brown eyes flicker with red highlights as he glares
at Seithe. "
Savage," he accuses in a challenging growl.
Seithe laughs and offers me a goblet. I want to know what it is before I drink it. "Tell me what it is."
He grins sensuously, pouting his full lower lip, "The three H's."
"Which are?"
"One at a time. Hormones being one. Drink it, it'll heighten your senses."
Mr Pretty warns me as I drink the spicy liquid down in eager compliance. "Be careful princess. You're flirting with fire. It burns."
"She has free will," Seithe challenges back.
"And she chose you?"
"Yes."
"Does she know what she chose? Did you explain it to her?"
"Fuck off, Darise."
Mr Pretty, whose name I've just learned is Darise, leans over the bar, and leers into Seithe's face, "If you hurt her without her permission, you'll answer to me."
My senses are reeling from the intoxicating fluid from the goblet. It has a unique taste; thick, potently laced with spices, and probably half of it is pure alcohol. My eyes refuse to focus. Leaning heavily against the bar for support, I peruse the throngs of beautiful people.
It strikes me as odd that no one is vaguely average here. Is that why we don't pay to get in? If you have the look, you get free passage?
It's creepy when all you can see are black shadows flitting abstractly in strobed light; every so often one will glance at me, and all I see are red, or red/brown eyes, glowing at me from the darkness. Some are silver, like a waxing moon, glowing brightly with shades of violet.
I love it here. These people are different, and I like their difference. There is something primal about their behaviour, and it's primordially exciting. They cause my soul to sing, my nerve endings on high alert, my awareness to sharpen. Enticing me to join their shadowed lifestyle.
The strobe has the effect of making people seem like they jump as fast as fleas from location to location. Moving at the speed of a blink.
