I first catch sight of her from across the club and see her staring back at me. Next, I see her in the mirror just above the sink in the small,dirty bsthroom.She's pale under her makeup, her eyes aren't quite focused and she's making a wonderful pretence of having a good time. She's always there, going everywhere with me. She's eyeing up the talent, and knows that by the end of the night she'll have found another somebody.
She's the girl who gets so drunk she can almost forget how lonely she feels and she throws herself into the music because it's the only thing that matters. She is so beautiful, a titan goddess, and she dances like raw poetry in motion. It is only when the UV lights hit her body that you can see hundreds of silver lines crisscrossing her arms and legs, and you notice that her silvery laugh doesn't quite match her deadened eyes.
A man is dancing with her now, and she has never met him before, but that doesn't matter. She'll make his face into the one she wants to see. Pulling him close, she grinds her hips against his and a half-smile caresses her face as the widened eyes are not blue but grey, the grey she loves. She is wanted and she gets some sort of satisfaction out of this. She knows she looks good. She knows she can have anyone, male or female. She wields her beauty like an offensive weapon. Yet she feels so dirty. Her soul is tainted, covered in shadows of past conquests.
Soon, they are on a seat, hot bodies and mouths pressed together in different sorts of desperation. Then, they are stumbling out of the club and as the cold air hits her conscious thought almost takes hold until she pushes it to the back of her mind and they stumble to a taxi and make it back to his place, all the while hands roaming.
They are in the bedroom now, and her clothes are falling off in practiced moves, her hair is all over the place, and all her eyes see is alabaster skin, platinum blonde hair and grey storm cloud eyes that belong to the man she has loved and hated for so many years and who haunts her every waking and sleeping moment.
Now they're in the bed, his hands all over her, and he's pushing into her, sliding in and out, grunting his satisfaction and she reaches her own twisted climax, seeing another mans body pressed against hers in pure animalistic need. It is his name on her lips. A tear threatens to run down her cheek, but she does not allow herself. She stopped doing such things a long time ago.
He rolls off her and makes some pathetic attempt at post-coital closeness, which she ignores. She is lost in her own world, protecting herself from the truth of her life. This is all wrong and she knows it, but the feeling of pain it brings helps her to feel a little more in touch with the world.
As soon as he is asleep, she disentangles herself from the covers and gets in a cab back to her own apartment, stepping straight into the shower to attempt to wash him and the others off her soul.
I'm a little more like myself again when I step out the shower, skin scrubbed clean and the fresh cuts gleaming, weeping in a way I can never allow myself.