Chapter Twelve
Sookie's POV
The interior of the building is dim and I pause just inside the doorway to let my eyes adjust. I realize Bill is still holding my arm and wrench it out of his grasp, shooting a glare in his direction. If he wants to ruin this date with his nastiness, I can ruin it with mine, too. After all, this wasn't a date date. Taking a few more steps inside, I stop and look around.
Glasir consists mostly of one large room, broken up into different sections by strategically placed furniture. A large bar with typical bar stools runs across the entirety of the wall to my right. Based on the number of bottles I can see behind the bar, it looks like they have quite the selection of alcohol. The stock is much more opulent than the limited selection we have in Merlotte's, but then again, this is Shreveport and not Bon Temps. The left side of the room is dominated by booths while the focus of the room is the raised platform in front. I assume the purpose of the platform is a stage, though it looks almost too small for the band occupying it now. In front of the stage is an empty space that is currently filled with couples and groups dancing to the loud music and the remainder of the floor space is filled with tall tables and chairs. I can't help but notice that the entire colour scheme seems to consist of gray and dark red. Though not generally a combination I would prefer, it does kind of work for the area.
After a thorough examination of my surroundings, I glance around surreptitiously for Eric. I can't imagine that it would be hard to find someone as tall and blonde as Eric, even in a dark and crowded room, and find myself relaxing slightly when I don't see him. Maybe this was going to turn out okay after all.
Though I can't spot Eric, I find my eye drawn to another blonde head in the crowd. The woman from the door is making her way through across the room behind the bar at top speed. I have scarcely a moment to wonder where she is going in such a hurry before Bill's hand closes on my arm. I feel him pushing me from behind and can tell he's trying to guide me forward into the room. With a glare at no one in particular, I spin around to face him so quickly I almost trip over my own two feet, and wrench myself from his grasp. I have just about had enough of being pushed and pulled around by a grouchy Bill.
"Would you stop it, please?" I ask, trying to sound normal despite my irritation. There is no reason to make a scene. "I know you're not happy to be here but you don't have to be a jerk about it. I knew this wasn't going to work out. I should have never agreed to come out with you." As I watch, Bill's face goes blank and seems to shut down. His eyes almost lose focus and it seems like he's lost somewhere far away with this thoughts. His posture is suddenly very tense and perfectly straight. Despite the crowd, I feel uneasy and can't shake the feeling that I need to diffuse this situation before . . . something? . . . happens.
"Listen," I say, acting on instinct and moving forward slightly. I reach out to brush my fingers along his shirt sleeve. I can't bring myself to touch his hand. "We came out to have a fun night together. We're already here so we might as well stay. How about if we get a couple of drinks and then go from there?" Bill shakes himself back to the here and now nods at me stiffly. With some effort, he lets his face soften and gives me a tight smile. As I turn to lead the way to the bar, I can't help but notice his eyes still hold that vacant and blank look.
I slide up to the bar, ignoring Bill behind me, and give my order to the unremarkable looking bartender. Bill leans from behind me, intentionally pinning me between his body and the bar to place his order. I refuse to comment despite the pain of the counter cutting into my hip and wait quietly for him to move away. After a long moment, he steps back, staying close but releasing me. His drink is ready first and he takes it from the counter. He appears to suddenly lose interest in me and I watch as he slinks off into the crowd. Since Bill's gone to sulk, I pay for both of our drinks before taking my glass to perch at a table in the corner nearby.
I scan the room for Bill but don't see him anywhere. Where could he have possibly gone? He'd just been here a second ago. Surely he wouldn't have just up and leave me here, would he? Somehow, I was starting to get the idea that maybe he would.
A sudden movement near the stage catches my attention and I turn my eyes in that direction. I can see the crowd in the front of the room separating as a tall blonde man walks through a doorway I hadn't noticed before. Oh great, Eric is here after all. I raise my glass to help obscure my face and sink down in my chair. This night is just getting better and better. I watch as he walks through the crowd and folds his tall frame into a booth near the stage. I only realize once his mouth starts moving that he's not alone. Shifting forward, I can see there are two men in suits on the opposite side of the table. Could he be having some sort of meeting?
After a few minutes of watching, I realize Eric is going to stay in the booth and isn't looking for me after all. I guess maybe the blonde woman didn't tell him I was here. I can't help but feel relieved and resume my search for Bill. I gaze around for a couple more minutes but can't seem to spot him anywhere. That's okay. I am determined to have fun tonight and fun will be had, with or without Bill.
Taking my drink, I slide from my seat at the table and install myself in a seat at the bar. No one will notice me at all if I stay hunched over in the booth in the corner. I cross my legs facing the dance floor and start to scan the room. Surely one of these men will want to dance with me? I vaguely wish I had Amelia or another friend along tonight. It was always more fun if I could just dance with a girlfriend and not have to wait until some promising looking guy comes along.
Fortunately, tonight I don't have to wait too long. Unfortunately, my prospective dance partner is Quinn.
"Sookie. Funny running into you here," he says, not looking like he thinks it's funny at all. I must say, I have to agree with him.
"Quinn," I respond politely, "How are you this evening?"
"Great. Just had a meeting with the owner of this establishment and couldn't help but notice you sitting here. Alone. You're looking awfully pretty tonight." He was meeting with Eric? That was kind of strange. What business could a psychology professor have with a club owner? I didn't have as much time as I would like to wonder at the thought as Quinn seems to be getting over the shock of seeing me. I watch as his eyes roam my body freely. I manage to wipe the look of disgust off my face before his gaze returns to meet mine.
"Thanks," I say, almost forgetting he was waiting for a response. I couldn't get my mind off that meeting.
"Would you like to dance?" he asks suddenly, wiping his hands on his suit jacket. I imagine they are sweaty and actually feel my stomach roll a bit at the thought. I open my mouth to decline when I feel an iron grip high on my thigh. Startled by the intimate location of the touch and the force behind the grasp, I jerk my leg to release myself but the hand doesn't loosen. I look up to see a very scary looking Bill.
"She's not interested in a dance with you," he hisses in Quinn's direction. "She is mine." Quinn's eyes open wide and he glances uncertainly between me and Bill. I know that Bill can be a jerk, but this was seriously over the line. We aren't dating. He can't tell me who I can and can't dance with.
"I most certainly I am not yours, Bill," I snap, sliding off the stool and releasing myself from his grasp. "I can dance with whomever I please." I grab the sleeve of Quinn's jacket and walk around him, turning him from Bill and toward me. I can still see Bill's angry expression and quickly reddening face over Quinn's should but refuse to acknowledge it. Instead, I smile sweetly and gaze into Quinn's eyes. "I would love to dance with you,Quinn. Thanks for asking." He looks uncertain for a moment but strips off his suit jacket and loosens his tie as I lead him by the hand out to the dance floor.
I am untalented at many things, but dancing isn't one of them. For his size, Quinn isn't a bad dancer, and I let him lead as I shake my hips and move rhythmically with the music. I manage to get lost in the music and block out all thoughts of Bill as I move, but apparently Quinn doesn't. He stops suddenly in the middle of the floor, hands still at my waist. I look at him in confusion for a moment before spinning around to see Bill storming across the room toward us.
Bill raises his hand and before I can do anything to stop it he punches Quinn square in the mouth. Quinn's head rocks back under the force and I stare at them in horror.
"I told you she is mine," Bill hisses, leaning forward to spit the words directly into Quinn's ear. Apparently the nondescript bartender doubles as a bouncer and I stare with some amazement as he vaults himself over the counter and approaches the three of us. By now, everyone has stopped dancing and all eyes are on our group.
"Hey man," the bartender says amicably, giving Bill a hearty pat on the shoulder, "why don't you just go. We don't want any trouble here." Bill eyes the bartender for a moment before taking a step away from Quinn.
"Fine," he says finally, "We're going." He reaches out to grab for me and I take a step back.
"Oh no we are not," I say with a shake of my head, some of the fear I am feeling inside evident in my voice. "I am not going anywhere with you." Bill looks at me steadily for a moment and I can see malicious intent and venom in his eyes so deeply seeded my heart almost stops. This can't be new. How did I miss this? I can feel my heart start to pound and panic start to seep into me. The realization hits me that this may not end well and I take a tentative step away from Bill.
Quick as lightening, Bill darts forward and grabs my hand, pulling me toward him. I stumble a bit, caught between going forward and stepping back, and feel a sharp pain in my ankle as it twists viciously. I cry out but it doesn't deter Bill who propels me forward unrelentingly. I take a couple more stumbling steps but my sore ankle won't hold and I fall to the ground. Before my knees can even graze the floor, two iron bands circle my torso and stop my descent.
I look up to find I'm in the arms of Eric.
Relief washes through me immediately despite that fact that Eric's face is blank and his eyes look sharp enough to cut diamonds. Bill's hold tightens on my hand to the point of pain. So this is what the rope feels like in tug of war? I banish the thought from my head immediately. This is serious.
"Release her," Eric commands in a low voice, anger and authority evident in his tone.
"She is mine," Bill returns, sounding more like a snake every second.
"Sookie," Eric says calmly, setting me on my good foot but still keeping a tight grip on my waist, "are you his?"
"No," I say succinctly, with a jerk of my head to emphasize my point.
"She says no," Eric says with steel in his voice. "Release her."
Bill increases the pressure of his grip on my hand and I can almost feel the small bones rubbing together before he lets me go.
"You can have the bitch," he snarls, turning from us and taking out his anger by kicking over a chair on his way to the door.
Eric's grip on me relaxes and I immediately slide to the floor at his feet.