A Man of His Appalling Posture
She had almost been too angry to notice the eyes on her as soon as she pushed the big double doors open. Almost but not quiet, Carla was used to drawing attention for as long as she could remember. Most of the time she amused herself with the glares of jealously or lingering stares of lust, or she used it to her advantage.
Only tonight every turned head made her want to punch someone, her every muscle tight and ready for confrontation. She had hoped her whole posture radiated a warning to stay away till she had at least one drink.
If she was in a fairer mood and not so irritated she would have supposed that it was not really their fault for looking. She stood out in the sea of ordinarily dressed London locals and that was before she had even opened her mouth. She was on her second drink before the fire in her belly started to burn itself out and she took a moment to finally asses her surroundings. The edges of her shrapnel like anger dulled to a constant ache.
The pub was a grimy dark place and she would have missed the cosy warmth of the Rovers if this strange place did not feel so fitting to her mood. The floor seemed so dirty that the bottom of her heels stuck to it while she walked. An elderly woman was still glancing at her judgmentally as she drained the dregs of her wine. Even as a couple argued loudly in the corner she was apparently more interesting.
She dug in her sequined clutch bag for more money but she had only been carrying a few notes in her small bag along with a credit card. She had not been planning this kind of night and that might have been foolish of her but it made her sad to be more jaded. There was no way she could walk to a cash machine in a strange and rough part of a strange city. She growled in frustration and slammed her bag against the surface of the bar, twisting the stem of her empty glass between her fingers as she idly watched the couple fight.
They were just an average looking couple having a dramatic slanging match and it all seemed so familiar and yet so different. It made her start to think about her own relationships with her husband but she did not want to do that now, she wanted to be as far away from Paul as she possibly could. After all it was all his fault, again.
Then the jukebox stopped playing suddenly just as the trashy blonde woman shouted about the relationship being over. Carla found herself glancing at the thing but it was apparently magic as no one had touched it. She smiled as she though how Liam would love that; she could just see him putting nothing but Oasis on for hours on end as they shared a bottle of whiskey.
She jumped as a tiny older woman exploded from the other side of the bar. Leaning across it as best she could she ordered the sparing couple out of the pub in a voice that was like nails down a blackboard. The woman's outburst seemed to carry weight and soon the pair headed outside glaring at each other. Carla had to remind herself not to stare at the small woman's huge hair, it had to be a wig. She wished she had someone with her who would appreciate such a thought or was drunk enough to be able to laugh all alone.
The music started up again as soon as the couple left so perhaps the jukebox really was magical or haunted. She was cold and her feet ached. Once tiredness started to seep into her bones she found it difficult to hold onto her anger and then she just felt lost and lonely.
She had not meant to storm off, it was just that she had not been enjoying the pretentious party. It was filled with nothing but lecherous older men gloating and talking business. She could feel half of them mentally undressing her while the other half ignored her entirely. To make it even worse Paul fell into the second category. She had only travelled into London with him out of guilt at how strained their marriage had become. Paul had told her he wanted her there but surrounded by the men he wanted to be his peers she was invisible.
So she had hissed at her husband that she was not some idiot girl just there to look pretty and walked away. She did not even stop to pick up her cashmere cape something she was trying not to regret now. And she had kept walking even if her designer heels threatened to break or as the wind whipped the silvery satin violently against her bare legs. She had simply folded her arms across her chest and willed herself not to cry. The pub had seemed inviting with its lack of pretence or class. For a moment it reminded her of her childhood.
She had not looked over her shoulder the entire walk not wanting to confirm her fears that Paul was not following her. That he would leave her alone in a strange place at night with no real way of getting home.
The sadness was something she was determined not to dwell on; anger was a much more useful emotion. She would make Paul beg.
She would have been aware of the presence next to her even before the figure stood so close their arms brushed, the fabric of the stranger's suit jacket rough against her naked arm.
"You need a refill love?" A voice asked before she had a chance to snap.
She glared up at a man who was far from her usual type and not typically attractive but there was something about him. Something confident and dark and sure and maybe it was similar to what she saw in her husband.
For a moment she almost told the stranger where to go but she really did want another drink. If some idiot was offering then she was not going to refuse just yet.
Carla let her mouth curl into a small smile but kept her eyes cold and hard. "JD straight would be a little more like what I need." She purred watching him closely for any reaction.
The man simply nodded and ordered the drink of the tiny woman behind the bar. His silence was comfortable and easy and she found herself liking him a little more than she thought she would.
She took a moment to notice the expensive cut of his suit, the stubble along his jaw and the sharp intelligence in his pale eyes. She knew instinctively he could be dangerous but maybe not to her. Instantly she knew he was a liar and an opportunist, she could feel it in the way he held himself. Well she was good at that game and there was a small part of her mind that found the situation a thrill, a part that wondered what Paul would do if he walked into the pub looking for her.
The stranger spoke again once she took a sip of her new drink, the amber liquid burning her insides.
"You look way too overdressed for a shit hole like this darling. I'm Max, Max Branning." He titled his head in her direction rather than try to shake her hand. He paid for the drinks and placed his wallet back in his trousers pocket before picking up his own drink with a pace that suggested he had no care in the world.
It irritated her but did not make her want him to leave her alone. She wanted to see how far he was willing to go. Wanted to see if he noticed the wedding ring on her finger or care that she had noticed his. The anger was back now only it was more controlled and brittle and she wanted to hurt someone, probably Paul for taking her for granted.
"Well good for you Max Branning but I am not interested or any of your business. " She traced a finger around the edge of her glass collecting the moisture under a manicured finger tip. Her eyes locked on his refusing to back down.
Max smiled as if he was pleased but not surprised by her reaction. "All that may be true but I think you will tell me anyway."
Carla laughed abruptly enjoying herself in a bizarre way.
"Well if you think you can handle me. I'm Carla, Carla Connor."