The music was blaring, the bass reverberating off the walls and through the uncaring mass of sweat, flesh, and breath. He walks through the black curtain and heads straight for the bar at the edge of the dance floor. He came here for the noise, the normal-ness, the….distractions.
"What'll you have?" the juiced-up barkeep asks as he takes a seat on the empty barstool at the edge of the table, facing the crowd.
"Whiskey, neat, three fingers," He responds.
He watches the people, oblivious in their trances of swaying, shaking, grinding. They're so innocent, free, he thinks. Don't have a care in the world, just this moment. Caught and held.
He can still feel the blood on his hands, coating them in a thick layer of rust. But when he looks down, all he notices is callous pink flesh. It's there, he knows, flowing through his veins, contaminating what is left of his soul with darkness.
"That'll be $12 even," the barkeep says as he sets the amber escape down, startling the man back into the present. He pulls a $20 from his pocket and swaps it with the drink.
The cool liquid slides down his throat, heating up the further it glides. A comforting burn hits the pit of his stomach and for a split second, he wishes it would consume him, but the thought is gone as soon as he pulls the glass away from his lips. He turns his blue eyes towards the crowd, scanning the dancers, for… he doesn't know: danger, fun, stupidity, boredom?
A girl, barely out of her teens, is thumping away at a 30-year-old frat boy while his buddy sloppily kisses the ex-teenager's friend. Both couples neglectful of their surroundings, content in their drunken oblivion. Two girls to his left are holding hands and spinning in circles, the beat thumps mismatch to their steps, or opinions. Amber slides down his throat without his eyes ever leaving the scene.
A pretty Latina is sashaying to the bass while her boyfriend, clearly they're a couple, his hand just below the small of her back, guides her. Another couple has abandoned the idea of dancing in favor of passionately kissing each other while the wave of bodies flows around them. As the alcohol works its magic, He lets his eyes roam across the floor, taking in the colors, sounds, smells. They're all typical, yet foreign to him. A snippet of a memory lost among the ever-growing fog settling across his mind.
The ice cubes chime at the bottom of the glass. He turns back to the bar and once he catches the barkeep's eyes, he raises his glass with 3 fingers gripping the front. He swivels in his chair, once more facing the throng of contentment he wishes he could join, but knows he cannot. It's not for him, hasn't been for a very long time.
An off work group of businessmen - their ties loosened, top shirt buttons undone – stand against the far wall ogling a small party of late 20's women who seem to be celebrating a birthday. A bottled blond is wearing multiple feather boas and a silver tiara while her friends clink their martini glasses together and laugh at something the birthday girl says. He's about to divert his attention to more people watching when a familiar feeling pauses his movements. At first he isn't sure what it is that makes him stop and focus. They all look like they belong at the club; clad in mini skirts or short dresses, slinky tank tops, all dolled up and ready to go.
He sits up and focuses. There was something, it was so familiar, yet not oblivious. The girls are all chatting, taking small sips, using their hands to express themselves. He's jumping from woman to woman, studying them for anything that stands out. He knows something attracted his attention, something he would notice because he's him and the rest of the people in this club, hell, probably most of the world, wouldn't have given a second thought.
The two brunettes look like they've had one too many, the straight redhead is giddy while her blond friend looks embarrassed by what the birthday girl just giggled. The curly redhead is laughing at her embarrassed friend while, wait, he feels the familiar twinge. He turns back to the curly redhead and studies her. She pretty in an offhanded way, a mid-length strapless red dress accentuates her curvy waist while modestly covering her breast. She's not overly made up, just a hint of pink lipstick and mascara to accent her fierce green eyes. He's about to move on when he sees it.
She's smiling, her lips turned upwards, revealing a slight snippet of white. One of the brunettes is telling her a story and she's listening with astute friendship. He frowns ever so slightly. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes, but her eyes reach his. Green and blue lock, vibrant colors muted by hidden secrets.
A light tap on his right shoulder breaks the shared knowledge and with it, the connection. "Another $12 sir," the barkeep says when he has his patron's attention. He lays another $20 on the counter, berating himself for being so absorbed with the redhead that he has let his guard down. Yes, it was only the barkeep tapping him on the shoulder, but what if it was, what if… he sees blood. It's coating the floor, dripping down the walls, leaking out of the rapidly cooling body.
He puts the tumbler to his lips and gulps the contents in 2 swallows squeezing his eyes shut against the burn, the memories, the blood. He so desperately wants to forget, forget it all, but the soothing drink isn't the answer. He should know, he's lived through the consequences, but it doesn't hurt to try. Not tonight anyways.
Another tap to his shoulder, this time, ever so lightly. He unclenches his eyes and stares into green. Moving slowly, almost as if he's a frightened deer ready to bolt, she lays her hand on his wrist and pulls backwards. He's not sure why, maybe the five fingers or the randomness of it, but he allows himself to be lead onto the dance floor.
She releases his wrist on her hip and brings his other hand to her free hip. She quickly looks into his eyes, just a fleeting glance really, but one that will leave him forever pondering the meaning, before snaking her arms around his neck. She's a good two inches shorter than him and as she lays her head on his right shoulder, she fits perfectly. He smells lilac and honey.
The loud beat of some young gangster entices the rest of the crowd to bump and grind, but it's like a bubble of still is surrounding them, encasing them in their own moment. She starts a slow circle, leaving him to lead once his legs catch on. Round and round to a beat that isn't there. He's not sure what to think. A minute ago he was drowning his sorrows like every other man he's known and now he's… he's not even sure. But, he thinks, whatever it is, it feels nice….normal.
They both flow round, his arms subconsciously relaxing, two bodies melding into one. Time becomes of the moment, serene and safe.
He doesn't at first realize they've stopped moving. So caught up in emotions he hasn't felt for so long, he's failed to realize that the gangster rap is over and coincidentally, it would seem, their song as well. She lifts her head from his shoulder, he thinks to pull apart, but she turns her lips to his ear and whispers, her voice a velvet melody.
"Sadness deserves company, even if only for a single dance."
Instantly he feels exposed, vulnerable; shocked numbness at being caught so unguarded, so open. He barely feels her soft lips against his cheek or her hands unlocking from behind his head and sliding down his arms to remove them from her hips. Her warmth dissipates with the scent of sweet flowers.
A barely noticeable upward twinge partakes his lips.