+.Present Day. Present Time.+
Breathe.
One breath at a time, count by seconds.
That's how I've been surving. Just keep going, Val.
Colored lights dance on the floor in dizzing patterns and people wear sparkling jewelery and clothes so damn tight you can *see* every detailof their form. Most of the girls have their hair dyed in repuslve shades of crimson and the guys are all in white t-shirts with sweat stains on them. The air-its smell so distinct I can pratically *taste* people's thoughts-recks of Channel perfume, desireand cigarette smoke. Sometimes I get a good whif of lemonade, mostly becauase the bartender's been mixing vodka and Country Time together. I don't think I've ever tasted anything as disgusting as that shit, but I gulp down another glass of it, eagar to be emotionlessly numb.
Around my wrist layers of gold and plastic are melded and I'm pretty sure my finger nails are painted "bright rose". A turcoise shirtwith extended sleves hands around my skinny-as-hell body, buttons only halfway done up so that the twenty or more necklaces I have wrapped around my neck flashes in the artifical ligthing. I press my lips together and feel moca lipstick painted onto them.
I must look like *such* a fucking fag.
But I'm not embarrassed-there are much stranger and more replusive things happening in the club. I glance over to see some big guy and a short girl trying to make out, except they keep missing each other's faces and their tongues have covered every inch of their faces with salvia.
Now *that's* disgusting.
Annoyed, I blow a strand of too-fucking-long aqua hair out of my face and settle my eyes on the TV next to me on the bar counter. Some blond pasty face bitch news lady is blabbing on about the fact that China mightfire a nuke at D.C. "President Bush has made it clear that if China resort to such drastic measures the United States will retalate." Who *cares* if we blow up Bejing if half the U.S.A. is dead?!! The TV switches to a balding man scuffling his papers.
"We interup this broadcast of WB 2 News to bring you this tragic news. The Chinese have dropped an unknown type of bomb of Tokyo. It is estimated that most or all of the downtown Crossroads area has been destroyed-"
An Asian girl lets out an eardrum shattering shriek and collaspes into a puddle of pink silk on the floor. Hlaf the club rushes up to the crying girl and shouts out things that they believe will me comforting. But the Japanese collage student continues to wail, the thick blots of mascera around her eyes now streaming down her cheeks in black rivers.
Sucks to be her.
I look alway and take another sip of vodka-lemonade while the montone buzz of people shouting and the TV broadcaster hums in the background. I catch some of the news. Seems another sucide took place at the University of Colorado in Boulder, room 227. I mentally place that dorm room and-hey! That's only a hall away from *my* dorm. I would try to figure out who bit the dust if I weren't so pissed. Not only have I had one too many drinks, but I'm pretty sure someone threw cocaineinto the mixture.
The brightly colored lights are starting to mold together and oh look. The big guy and the tiny chick are joined together. I order another drink.The bartender doesn't ask for I.D. and he knows I'm "under age" (try over 700, buddy). But who cares about that shit when the fucking human race is dancing on death's doorstep.
"You look slightly tipsy Val-chan."
I want to throw a fit the moment I hear that sarcastic, mocking voice. The voice that sounds like wet violet satin and fruit being squashed, it's juices flowing freely from it's pours. It's so fucking *farmilar*.
It's memories. That's what the voice and it's keeper actually are. For a split second I remember every single moment of time I've ever lived, then I'm back in Boulder fucking Colorado and tacy Christmas lights are splattering on my face. "What do *you* want Xellos?" I manage to hiss, trying to put as much hatred in my own voice as possible, turning to face him.
If I didn't hate him he might be beauiful, with a purple silk shirt and midnight slacks. He has a suit jacket tossed over one shoulder and a light hearted smile on his face, and he's not piss ass drunk like I am. There's something else I smell, but I don't wanna think about that. "Why nothing Val. I was merly pointing out that liquor can damage your body." Xellos chuckles, and he's smug. Smug because when the Chinese drop nukes on dear ole' America, I only have a fifty-fifty chance of living.
I glare at him and take another drink, as if I'm trying to prove him and his fucking sly grin wrong. "Go away.""You don't realy want to me to leave do you?" he blinks, crying to be cute and showing bits of ameyest glass instead.
"Yeah, I do." I mutter into my cup. Xellos shrugs, crumbling into the stool next to me. "This is a free country, so i'll be staying."
I feel a winge of relieft for the company, then quickly shake it away. "Don't expect me ta talk ta you." I say. I hate the polite mask he wears to get people where he wants 'em.
"Oh I know *that*. One lemonade, please." he gesters towards the bartender.
"They spike that stuff." I point out. He grins.
"I know." I groan, rubbing my temples.
"Why the hell are you here?! Why do you wanna bug me?!!" he opens his mouth to retort. "And give gimme any of that 'sore wa himitsu desu' crap and I'll break this cup over yer head."
"I thought you'd be amsuing, I suppose. Your emotions-even in this sorry state-are quiet...delisios. YOu and the rest of the world is wearing fear." one marroon eyes naps open and I feel it dancing all over me, carressing *very* inch of skin. I shudder. I can't enjoy this, no matter what. Xellos is too fucking dangerous to be friends or even aquatiences with.
So we sit. We talk about the weather and I order more vodka-ade. The room is starting to spin and the dancing people bleind with the Christmas lights. Everything looks so fucking beautiful when you can't tell top from bottom.
Xellos (God, if he wasn't him...) babbles about politics and a book he read, making exagerated hand motions and doing all the right voice tones for the characters. I pretend I don't care about politics and that I'd like to read the book.
This whole thing is pure fucking deja vu. Every time his hands twirl and his smile brightens I remember another snippet of time. Another momento I will never really understand. I just get snapshots from a shitty desposable camera.
I lost count of how many drinks I've downed. The world is misty. I wonder what time it is... "...Don't you think?" Xellos says. I look up-or down. I can't tell and nobd sickly. My stomach is doing flips and I taste bitter, acidic puke in my mouth. "Are you okay Val?" Why do you care? You're fucking getting off on this. I'm just fucking fondling him ain't I? Damnit damnit. I want to slump into his arms, and let him tell me everything I don't remember. Then I'm gagging, throwing up what just has to be blood and memories.
Xellos doesn't say anything, just runs his damned fingers through my hair and breathes into my ear. This sensation makes even more of the three things I eat all day come up. The music is pounding itself into my skull. "Fuck..." I mutter. It's times like these when I wanna jump into the fucking Boulder Creek. That reminds me, finals are in a few days...
"I'll take him home." Xellos's voice cuts through the mist, ripping it into threads. I don't know who he's talking to and I don't care. One thin arm loops around my shoulders and another one finds its hold around my wais. A few fingers brush across my visable ribs. Not eating is suicide, and that's why I don't eat. Yes, I refuse to just put a pistol to my head or a knife to my wrist. Maybe I'm scared or maybe I just don't feel like it. After a while (a while being 700 years, give or take a decade) you just stop baring which way the coin falls.
Wow. Usually when I'm this drunk I can't think straight. Xellos is dragging me to my dornm. I can tell because of the shitty carpet and the stairs. There are far too many fucking stairs in this building. He looks down and meets my eyes. Which dorm is yours?" he asks. I learn a little closer into hsi chest. he's warm. I pick up a tangerine smell. Hmm, perfume maybe?
"314." I'm hoping my roomate is home or else I'm gonna have a hell of night. Oh fuck, of course my roomate isn't gonna be home-he got called to do his duty fer God and the Land of the Free. I never understood why Gary the Geeky Roomate got drafted. Without his glasses he was blind and he was about as athletic as a slug. The only ting he was good at was computers. I kinda hope he got put in as an intelligence guy. He was an okay human being.
Groaning, I hand him the key. I would tell him that if he so much as touched me...no wait, he *is* touching me. It's not sexual-no that's wrong. Everything with him is sexual. Every touch, every move, every word is sending the same message. The door clicks open. I fall onto the half made bed. Oh. Shit.
Xellos crawls up up to me, smirking. He stradles me, letting his goddamned hands wander. How the *fuck* does he know where
"AH!" I yell. I bite down on my lip. I refuse to give any whimpering, pathetic begging.
"You're quiet tonight Val-chan." Xellos purrs in my ear, both eyes open-seductive cat slits waiting to punce. His gloved hand traces my face, jumping over old scares and soothing me into an almost relaxed state. "That's better." he murmers, pawing my chest and I start to whimpter. How am I letting his happen?!!
"Why the fuck are you doing this *again*?!!" There was a first time? Since when? Damnit, I'm so fucking confused. Fuck fuck fuck...
He removies his hands. "You know, I don't really have a reason. Except the fact that you taste oh-so-wonderful." Xellos winks.
"You sneaky little sonofabitch!" I shout, kicking him off me. With a thump he hits the floor, hair tosled and shirt in that half-on-half-off state. he snersks, then goes into a full scale attack of laugher. It's all cruel mockery. I HATE HIM!! And yet
"Yes, I suppose you're right. Taking advantage of someone who's drunk is slightly below my standards. Very well. I'll be seeing you soon Val-chan."
I want to kill him.
tbc