NOCTURNE
by chocolatejet
...
Part 2: Messed Up
...
Diaval isn't unused to being flirted with. It's part of the job, and a month ago he'd have flirted right back. But these days he's all-too-aware of Maleficent seated at the bar. Tonight, her eyes are on the finger with which she traces the rim of her wine glass, but her head is tilted subtly towards him and the busty blonde, listening.
"When do you get off?" asks the blonde. She flutters her fake eyelashes at him, and he can't help but think how strange they look.
"Not till late," says Diaval, concentrating on an order. "Way past your bedtime."
"I doubt that." She leans her front against the bar, breasts nearly spilling out of her low-cut top.
There was a time when Diaval would have taken her up on her offer. But now? Now…
He casts a surreptitious glance in Maleficent's direction. She's taking a sip of her wine, a faint crease between her brows. As she draws the glass away, her tongue darts out to lick the moisture from her ruby-red lips. He somehow manages to smother a groan, but can't stop what's going on below the belt.
"So?" The blonde's still in front of him, watching him expectantly.
Diaval shakes his head. "Sorry."
She pouts. "Shame. But if you change your mind…" She produces a pen from her purse and scribbles her number on a napkin. As she returns to her friends, he dumps it in the trash.
. . . . . . . . . .
"She was very pretty."
Diaval takes his eyes off the road to look at Maleficent, surprised. "Who?"
"The blonde." Her gaze is fixed to a spot outside the windshield, face expressionless. Yet Diaval senses something lurking beneath that seemingly calm exterior. Precisely what, he has no idea.
He looks ahead once more and shrugs. "Maybe."
"Yet you turned her down. Why?"
Diaval parks a little too sharply in front of Maleficent's apartment block. He half hopes she'll get out without waiting for a reply, but when he turns his head, he finds himself on the receiving end of an intense look.
"Because…" He swallows, hands wringing the steering wheel, then thinks to himself: to hell with it. "Because she wasn't you."
Maleficent doesn't look startled. No. What he sees in those honey-hued eyes of hers is far worse.
Sadness.
"You deserve better than me, Diaval." She laughs then. A short, bitter little sound. "I'm messed up, more than you can imagine."
"I don't care." And he doesn't. Not in the least, because she's beautiful, and shrewd, and – he realises with a start – he wants to help her. Fix her. Protect her like he did that night a whole month ago.
"Oh, darling." Maleficent tilts her head, smiling wistfully as she raises a hand to caress his cheek. "You should." She leans in, and Diaval's breath hitches. He barely registers the softness of her lips or the lingering tang of wine on them before she draws back.
"Goodbye."
Then he's suddenly alone in his truck.
Diaval's mind reels, and by the time he thinks to go after her, she's already slipped into her building out of sight and out of reach. He swears, banging his head against the steering wheel.