Leaving the bathroom, I headed out front to have another cig before getting the next bottle of wine. I’m sure the others were wondering where I was, at this point, but I didn’t really care. I could always blame it on the bar being busy. It was a lovely summer’s eve after all. The pub garden was crying out to be filled and the alcohol was crying out to be imbibed, blurry memories crying out to be made.
The front of the pub was fairly quiet and I found myself a peaceful spot on a bench to sit down. The cherry of my cig flared up bright red and I leant back, watching people. People watching was always enjoyable but I just hadn’t realised I was also a spectator to my own life. I loved seeing the happy groups dancing around, embracing, chatting. It inflated my chest with warmth and happiness at the conviviality happening around me. Breathing in deeply before exhaling, I watched the plume of smoke flair out and felt instantly calmer. More relaxed. I could do this. The new Xanthe Meylor was a strong, independent, and beautiful woman.
As I was repeating my new life mantra, my eyes were drawn to a boisterous group, laughing and joking, approaching the entrance to the pub. I glanced around and realised that I was not the only one looking at them. They were magnetic. Intrigue rolled off them in powerful waves. It demanded people to trail off their conversations and look at them, to see them. Their visibility took my breath away. I wondered who they were and what had taken them to an unremarkable south London pub. The setting felt somewhat mundane for their presence, not dissimilar to gods walking among mere mortals.
Of course, it helped that they had the appearance of gods. They walked with an easy swagger, confident in their looks and their assuredness. There were four of them, fanned out behind the leader; the closest one to him was a dark-skinned guy who was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his gaze scanning the garden in excitement. He appeared to be the happiest out of the group as the others were shrouded in sombre seriousness, their lethal danger pulsating out like a neon warning sign. The guy behind the excitable one was at least smiling and I found myself drawn to his rugged good-looks, the dark auburn hair and emerald green eyes that occasionally sparkled in mischief. This mischief was completely absent from the last of their group, skulking a few paces behind and bringing up the rear. My gaze landed on him briefly, catching his fathomless gaze and I shivered at the dark, soulless depths. I quickly broke contact and took one last deep pull on my cig, letting the nicotine settle my errant thoughts, the flashpoint of fear that blazed briefly deep within me.
Stubbing out my cig, I tried to divert my attention to the other people in the garden before heading to the garden at the back to find my girls but, like they were magnets, I found it settled once more on the enigmatic foursome that were drawing near to the entrance of the pub. It was their sheer presence; it dominated the garden and demanded attention. Attention was something that was alien to me. It was always simpler to hide in Xander’s shadow, to let him guide me through life. Sure, he had granted me a modicum of freedom on the understanding that his little doll would always dance to his tune and I had taken that as freedom. Now that I had broken free of his doll’s house, it was becoming all too clear how my perception of freedom was distorted, illusionary. This transgression surpassed every other; every worry that I had partied too hard or I hadn’t let him know what I was doing paled into insignificance of my break-up with him today. In all honesty, I had never felt such terror in all my twenty-three years.
I refocused on my surroundings, pulling myself together from the shadowy embrace of my memories and found that my gaze had lingered on the leader of the group. The one who advanced with sheer confidence and disdain for his surroundings, moving with such astounding ease and surety of himself. He was clearly toned but not overly built, his dark shirt hugging a defined torso and I felt a spark of desire as my gaze dipped lower, to his legs as they ate up the distance to the pub. I tore my eyes up, looking at his stony expression, the navy blue eyes constantly scanning his surroundings. Out of all them, maybe with exception of the guy bringing up the rear of their crew, he was the one who exhibited the most darkness, the most secrets, the most danger. It didn’t scare me. If anything, it only attracted me more. I felt myself tingling and pressed my legs together, to alleviate some of the tension igniting hot and needy in my core.
His roaming eyes swung around and connected with mine, I gasped, feeling a connection rip like wildfire through my body. A connection I hadn’t felt since Xander and I fell in love all those years ago…
* * *
We were at the birthday party of a family friend, Isadora. I didn’t particularly like her but she had come back from her boarding school to celebrate and my parents insisted that Xander and I go. He had seemed particularly excited to go and I had rolled my eyes at his waggy dog tail enthusiasm. He had always liked Isadora, blind to her bitchiness.
It was insidious, but she had always closed ranks with her friends whenever I went round to hers. She usually had her posse of school friends and then some other friends who were children of friends of her parents, Marcus and Marina. They weren’t familiar with me and Isadora made sure that I never got too close to them, so I usually waited these parties out until I could go home. They were particularly torturous now that my parents expected me to participate and socialise like a good little girl.
Case in point the party that night: it was Isadora’s fifteenth birthday and her parents had left for the weekend, leaving us their sprawling Wandsworth home. Upon arrival, I wished Isadora a happy birthday and she greeted me in return with the coolness I had learnt was to be expected of her. I remembered that Xander, on the other hand, had received an effusive hug and kiss before she led him away, exclaiming about how he must meet everyone. He had looked at me sheepishly but I had waved him off, assuring him I was fine.
It wasn’t fine. I had always hated that Isadora had sunk her claws into Xander; he was my best friend, not hers. I didn’t care if that was childish. It was the truth. He wouldn’t even know Isadora had it not been for mine and Xander’s friendship.
Anyway, after I was left awkwardly in the hallway, I had trailed after Xander and Isadora before I ducked into the kitchen to fix myself a large glass of wine, grateful for the limitless flow of alcohol. It would lubricate the evening, make it go quicker. I was going to chat to a trio of girls standing by the table who I knew but they glared at me, stopping their conversation. Whatever. I had received the message and just wandered outside instead.
The Watson’s garden was expansive and the patio ran along the back of the house, past the kitchen from where I had exited and along the sitting room. I leant against the wall by the sitting room, ignoring the thumping music and flashing lights and waited impatiently for Xander to come join me. He would be such a traitor to abandon me for the whole night, I thought sulkily.
I caught sight of him dancing close to Isadora, her head was tipped back laughing, and his hands gripped her waist tightly. Too tightly. Too fucking close. I felt an unfamiliar sensation rush through me. It was not dissimilar to the feeling of someone getting a better present than I did. I now recognised it as my jealousy and territorial instincts coming to the fore. I had always disliked the friendship Xander had with Isadora, but I assumed it was born from her bitchy ways and feeling threatened about losing my day-one best friend. Now I was raging because Xander had forced me to go to this party purely to ditch me for Isadora.
Tears pricked my eyes as I walked up and down the patio trying to get a grip on myself and I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun around to see Xander smiling down at me with concern shining in his steel-grey eyes.
“Everything okay, Xan?” he asked.
I smiled, trying to mask my distress. “Of course, Xan. You know how I hate these things.”
He sighed. “Isadora isn’t that bad…”
“Of course you would think that!” I snapped, startling him. “I could see you dancing, all close with her. Are you even friends with me? Or are you just using me to get closer to her?”
He had looked
at me in confusion before smug amusement bloomed across his face. He took a step closer, sliding a hand around my waist and I gazed up at him. An unfamiliar heat bloomed in my chest, my breath quickened at being so close to him. We often shared beds, and Xander always made sure I was cuddled up close to him, but this felt different. New. Like an electric current was zapping along my skin.
He smirked at my rising blush and ran a hand through his artfully dishevelled dark blonde hair. “Is this how it is, Xan?”
I remembered answering with confusion, my voice weak with uncertainty. “What are you doing, Xan?”
“Always so sweet and innocent, little doll.” My brows pulled together at that endearment. He had often called me that before, usually when he wanted something, but this time was different. It was deeper, more sensual. I shivered. “I think someone was a little jealous just then, hm?” I hadn’t responded but he just crowded me further against the wall, his breath soft against the side of my face as he had murmured, “Trust me, little doll?”
“Always.”
I tilted my head up to his and he pressed his lips ever so softly against mine, sparks rippling through my spine. It felt like I was finally coming home and I leaned into him, savouring the sensation. He wrapped both arms around my waist, as if he wanted to fuse my body with his, deepening the kiss.
That day was an awakening. It would always be special, but I looked back on it with sadness. The memories ruined with the passing years, like ancient structures slowly descending back to the earth.
* * *
All thoughts of the past flew out of my brain as the beautiful, feral leader held my gaze. I was no longer the naïve fourteen-year-old girl navigating a shift in relationship with my best friend, but now a woman jaded by the years. The frisson of electricity was familiar, exciting. It was written across the stranger’s face, he had felt it too. Sensation for sensation.
Blaise
What we were doing in this Brixton pub was beyond me. Great place usually for a quick drink but not when we had a heavy night lined up in Paris. I knew that Bastien had the plane ready for us at ten so we should, emphasis on should, get there by one at the latest. Not that anyone could trust Bastien Delacourt. His volatility was masked by a jokester façade that was only aggravated by the fatal combination of booze, bags, and babes.
Somehow, he had convinced us that, since he was supplying the transport, he should be in charge of the evening. Our rendezvous later tonight was, apparently, of no significance. The others were uncaring of wider repercussions, although they had done enough tasks to recognise the gravity of the situation. The importance that we finish this final task exactly as The Elders demanded.
Delacourt had charmed our friends, Damien and Ludo, over because he had seen a certain blonde with big, brown eyes over the past couple months in this pub. This is why he was an idiot. He was willing to take chances, fritter away his life for a random, meaningless girl. Fuckwit.
He still felt the excitement of life, of possibilities, of happenstance. All I felt was ennui. Life was so fucking tiresome sometimes.
Scanning the garden, I could see that it was filled with groups of chattering people, all leading the same boring, predictable lives. I supposed they were happy. It was probably simpler than what had been handed to us under the guise of privilege. There was no sight of the blonde-haired siren. Quel surprise.
As we were about to enter the pub, my eyes fell on a girl smoking on a bench just outside. She was clearly people watching which in itself was unusual enough to capture my attention as most solo smokers were whipped by their phones, scrolling their lives away. It was enough to be of vague interest but she looked disaffected, as if it was all beneath her. A kindred soul, I thought sardonically. Dark hair fell sharply to her shoulders, framing her face, and she exuded an air of mystery; there was a certain something to this girl that I felt an acute need to find out. A secret or the key to her raison d’etre… it sang a siren song loud enough to hold my interest for longer than I could ever remember holding an interest for a mere girl. They were merely a distraction from my quest for achieving freedom. To me, their sole purpose was to satisfy base desire, to spark brief pleasure from a life of weighty expectations.
At that moment, her eyes lifted up and held mine with unwavering confidence. Fuck me, she’s stunning. I sighed. I was turning into such a pathetic sap, just like Delacourt. Pining over some random girl with big, soulful eyes the most remarkable shade of forget-me-nots, the colour as deep and rich as a summer’s day. Despite this being the worst fucking idea ever, I felt like I was electrocuted and from the rapidly rising chest of the girl I could see that she liked what she saw as well.
My gaze zeroed in on her generous chest, barely constrained by her velvet, corset-style black top. I felt myself growing hard at the thought of her delicious-looking body, trapped and writhing in pleasure below me. I closed my eyes briefly and breathed in. Control yourself, de Vere, I mentally commanded. Giving into my basest desires was not part of the plan. If anything, that’s what could tip us over the knife-edge and force us into a freefall of chaos.
As if she could read my depraved thoughts, the girl, still holding my gaze, tilted her head up in defiance. Her whole manner screamed a challenge, a dare pulsating in sharp relief across her features. Fuck me, I thought despairingly. Defiance was an incongruous look on her submissive, doll-like features.
I stumbled as Ludo pushed me from behind. He laughed, part mocking, part incredulous at the out-of-character stumble. “You okay, de Vere? What’s the hold-up?”
Delacourt sing-songs to my left, “Bastard Blaise is in lo-o-o-ve…” The guys laughed at the ridiculousness. They knew I didn’t do girls, or distractions for that matter.
“Fuck off, you idiot,” I barked, harshly, his wit grating on my last nerve.
“Did anyone tell you that you’re a moody prick?” he continued conversationally. I responded with a sharp jab and he dramatically bent over, gasping. “Uncalled for, you bastard!”
“Children behave.” Damien drawled behind us, tired of our antics. “We’re here to indulge Bastien’s insatiable appetite and then head to Paris.”
“Like the original plan was,” I added.
Bastien threw an arm around my shoulder, “Now, now. No need to get your knickers in a twist because you’re all hung up about that dark-haired beauty by the entrance of the pub.”
“Oh is that why you slowed down?” Ludo asked, merriment dancing along his words.
Bastien was busy preparing whatever inane witticism he had about the situation but my attention was diverted because the aforementioned dark-haired beauty had entered. Speak of the devil and she shall appear. Internally, I sighed. I guess the universe had different ideas to mine, different but altogether inferior. I wouldn’t allow something as paltry as the universe to distract me.
My attention was drawn back to the guys by Bastien clicking his fingers, I swatted at them in irritation. Ludo was bent double at the bar in hysterics. Idiot. Damien just looked bored. “Finally back with us,” he declared.
I scowled and kicked at the braying idiot at the bar. He pulled himself together only minutely to cackle out, “Thought the day would never come when this bastard would act like a normal guy. Thought I saw you drooling back there.” I hit him over the head. “Fuck off, I’m just joking!”
Bastien joined in the laughter and said, “No way? Really? And here I thought I was the only one out of us sad fucks who believed in the higher pursuit of love…”
I tuned them out to focus on the bartender. I needed a drink. Now. I breathed in to calm myself and smelled the rich, but not cloying, scent of vanilla. Following the scent, I saw the girl standing next to me, ordering in a sweet soprano.
“A bottle of rose…no glasses…yes, thank you.” She smiled. Fuck me. She was radiant. Perfection wrapped up in an adorable package. A tantalising temptation that the reckless fool in me could not deny.
The bartender was about to initiate the transaction but I cu
t him off, “A pint as well, please.”
The girl swung around in fury but when she met my gaze the protest died on her lips. Her mouth hung open slightly, I smiled at the expression mirroring mine only a few short seconds ago. I felt the frisson of tension once again when our gazes met. The girl refused to back down, holding my gaze in a challenge. That turned me on more than it should. She possessed a fire I would most certainly care to see blaze free. I mentally chastised myself once more. What the fuck was I thinking?
“Uh guys…” The bartender’s uncertain interruption jolted us out of whatever the fuck just happened. He looked nervously between us. “Will that be all?” I nodded my head in sharp assent. “Well then that’ll be £25.00 for everything. Are we paying…”
Before he could finish his sentence I tapped my card down on the payment card reader, took my beer, and saluted the girl before following the others who were heading to the garden at the back. They probably assumed that I would stay with the girl but that was not my modus operandi. I had control and I could quash the lovestruck fool who was so enamoured by a random girl. I would not let anything derail our final task. We were so fucking close.
Xanthe
I felt like I had been in a car-crash. Whiplashed. Traumatised. My breathing struggled to act normally; it was laborious. Whistling in and out. My mind was reeling. What the fuck just happened? Who the hell was that guy? What did he want with me?
Little Doll: Queens of Chaos 1 Page 3
