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Inner Demons

This is the story of the angel,
Who played poker with the devil,
In the Garden of Eden,
Before it all went pear shaped.
They said:
"I'll see your heart,
And I'll raise you mine."
- Bell X1

"This place smells even worse than usual. I don't understand how you can tolerate this every night." Never has Center City, Philadelphia smelled particularly pleasant, but Aubrey is hyperaware as the stench of discarded sauerkraut and sewer gas assaults her nostrils after weeks of refusing Beca's invitations to go out. It's a drastic difference from the variety of candles placed strategically throughout her suburban home and the late night BBQs held weekly by the neighbors across the street. "I think I'd die," she decides, "By my own hand."

Beca exhales a breathy laugh from beside her as they walk down the streets side by side, past food vendors packing up for the evening and people who shoot them looks when they have to step around them to get by. "It doesn't smell inside the club."

"No, it does." It definitely does. "It just doesn't smell like this."

"Are you insinuating it doesn't smell like the air freshener you force me to keep in my booth either?" Beca asks in mock surprise.

"I prefer the term 'insist'. 'Force' sounds a little too…"

"Forceful?" Beca supplies with the redundant word that she had purposely been trying to avoid.

"You can't disagree about your booth smelling better now, Beca."

"I can," Beca says, "And I do. What does it smell like without cheap apples covering it up?"

"Excuse me? That was not cheap." Aubrey grunts as a man sporting way too much hair gel and an even more overwhelming amount of dollar store cologne collides with her shoulder. What's cheap is the suit he's wearing. "It smells like that guy," she mutters, and she can't say she prefers the smell of desperation all that much more than garbage and sewer water.

Overhearing her words, he spins around and winks at her. 'Desperation status' confirmed. "You wanna go for a walk with me, Baby?" he asks in a thick Italian accent that reminds her of an old mobster movie she once watched, "I'll take you somewhere real nice."

Aubrey turns up her nose and looks past him, shaking her head. "I'd rather fall through a sidewalk grate."

"I'll stand down there and catch you," he offers.

The choking cough of Beca clearing her throat is even more annoying than the laugh she's trying to cover up. "She's taken, Dude," she says and wraps her arm around Aubrey's waist, pulling her in, "And we're not interested in adding a pervert to the mix."

"Okay, okay, my bad." He raises his hands up in the air. "But if you ever change your mind about being a dyke-"

"Turn around before they find your body in an alley tomorrow morning," Aubrey warns with a hard glare.

"Alright." He does as told, uttering 'bitch' under his breath before disappearing into the crowd.

"You attract some winners." Beca drops her arm back down to her side.

"Shut up." Aubrey wraps her arm around her stomach, resting her fingers on her side where Beca's were moments before, as though that will stop her body from feeling the after-effects of her touch. Her skin feels cold without Beca's hand there to warm it, and every alarm in her head tells her how wrong that is.

"You good for tonight?" Beca asks.

Aubrey rolls her eyes and drops her arm back down. "I'm fine – aside from this smell. For serious, Beca, are we almost there? This is not the usual route."

"You are the one who wanted to walk!"

"Yeah, because I don't want you trying to drive home drunk again."

"Oh my god, I was not too drunk to drive last time we stayed out. You were just too sober to understand that, and I'm still mad we left my car here to get vandalized overnight when you could have accepted we were both sober enough to drive."

"Your car didn't get vandalized."

"But it could have been." Beca pushes open the door to Club Providence. "Hey, Mike." She gives a nod to the security guard. "Who's on the main bar tonight?"

"New girl," Mike answers, "How's it going, Aubrey? Been awhile since you've been here."

"I've been busy." Aubrey brushes some invisible dust from the front of black jumpsuit that she keeps hoping is hot but not hot enough to attract the attention of men. Maybe it was the wrong choice, because when she looks back up, his eyes are on her cleavage. "Don't you have a wife?" she asks, causing him to divert his gaze toward the direction of the bar.

"Okay," Beca steps in, "Well, make sure she gets Aubrey drunk for me, would you? I want her tipsy enough to dance with me by the time I get off work – but not so drunk that I can't get her home."

Aubrey folds her arms, her gaze flicking upward.

Mike releases a deep, hearty laugh. "Will do, Bec. We'll get her good and wasted."

That was never going to happen. Not in a million years.

"You wanna come to the booth while I set up?" Beca asks. She flips a light switch near the door that turns the lights off rather than on – leaving only colorful beams coming from the ceiling and the fluorescents above the bar.

"No thanks. I think I'll get a head start on becoming the alcoholic you seem to want me to be."

"Don't have too much fun without me." Beca stops herself after taking half a step in the direction of the DJ booth. "On second thought, do have too much fun. You need it. I'm the designated driver, or, well Taxi-hailer, tonight."

"Go do your job." Aubrey strips off her leather jacket as she makes her way toward the bar. She barely has time to drape it over the back of a chair when a drink is slid in her direction. Did they all have hidden mics and ear pieces or something that they were using to communicate solely about getting her drunk? They might have planned ahead, but she doubts it. This is Beca after all.

Well, one thing is for certain, and it's that Beca was right about the club not smelling like the usual stench of sweat and shame. It smells sweet and…earthy. Weird.

"Rosé Peach Sangria," the bartender says when she doesn't respond.

"No thank you. I'll take water for now." Aubrey looks up from the glass to the woman who served it to her. The eyes staring back at her are so blue they have almost an eerie glow under the light, causing goosebumps to form on her arms and the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. She is strikingly beautiful with those eyes and red hair that tumbles perfectly down over her shoulders. Quite confidently, Aubrey can confirm she's the most beautiful woman she's ever laid eyes on – aside from Beca. Stop it.

Nearly thirty seconds pass before the bartender speaks up and Aubrey realizes she's blatantly staring. "Don't tell me this isn't your taste."

"I-I'm sorry?" Aubrey stammers.

"I'm pretty good at knowing what drinks people like."

Oh. Aubrey swallows the excess saliva in her mouth and focuses in on the glass. "I actually don't think I've ever had this before."

"You'll like it. It might even be your new favorite." She winks then walks toward a man at the other end of the bar and asks him what he'd like.

There's something about the way the club walls feel like they're stretching outward and everything seems far away as Aubrey sits down on the chair that makes her regret not following Beca to the DJ booth. It's too late now. She might not become an alcoholic overnight, but now that she's at the bar, she can commiserate with the addicts. Something about that woman has made it impossible to turn away. She tilts the glass to her lips and already has it in mind to ask for another.

xxxxx

The bartender doesn't speak much – to Aubrey, that is. She strikes up conversation with others as they approach the bar until it becomes too busy to do much else aside from pour people their drinks. Those hypnotizing eyes keep finding Aubrey, however, and she stares right back at her while shaking cocktails and scooping ice. It doesn't matter how many times Aubrey forces herself to look away; she always ends up right back where she started – and maybe, just maybe, she orders a few more of those drinks to keep her coming back.

It's after three, possibly four sangrias that she gathers up the courage to introduce herself and leans forward across the counter. She raises a hand to wave her down when someone crashes into her chair. "Watch it!" She snatches her jacket up off the floor and tries to brush off the filth.

"Sorry, Baby." It's the asshole from earlier. "You sure you don't wanna hang out? We got off to a bad start outside."

Aubrey holds up her left hand and flashes her wedding ring. "My husband will kick your ass."

"So you're not a dyke. You lied. Alright. What's this husband of yours got that I don't?"

"Class." Aubrey turns around just enough that she can still keep an eye on him without paying him direct attention.

"I got class." He squeezes between her chair and the wall and leans with his elbow on the bar. "Does your husband know you're at the bar ogling women?"

"Does your parole officer know you're at the bar harassing them?" The bartender appears in front of them. She folds her arms across the bar, giving clear view of a beaded bracelet on her wrist that appears to have been made by a child. It says Chloe.

"I ain't on parole."

"Yet," Chloe replies, "Move along."

His hand brushes across Aubrey's back as he walks off, and Chloe grabs her by the arm before she can turn around and break it. "He'll get what's coming to him," she says, "Sooner or later, he'll regret how he talks to women." She moves her hand from where it's lingering near Aubrey's wrist.

Aubrey covers her wrist with her palm. "Thank you – Chloe?" she confirms and looks at the bracelet again.

"That's me. Now, who are you?"

"Aubrey." She watches the douchebag pull up a chair on the other side of the bar. "I could have handled him."

"I'm sure you could have ripped his limbs off." Chloe leans forward on her elbows. "You know, instead of ogling me, you could just ask me out. I'm not afraid of an affair."

God, she had heard all that. Panic sucks the air out of her lungs, and all the moisture in her throat evaporates. "That was not my intention." It takes all of her will-power not look up into those eyes. That hadn't been her intention. "I'm sorry if you got the wrong impression."

"What was your intention? Because it looked clear to me your interest wasn't purely platonic."

"Excuse me." Aubrey downs the rest of her current drink in just a few gulps then gathers up her jacket in her arms. "It was nice to meet you."

"You too. Maybe I'll see you around." Chloe presses her lips together as she pushes herself away from the bar. A few seconds later when someone motions her over for a drink order, her shoulders hitch back up and her cheery smile reappears – and Aubrey is long forgotten.

Had she wanted Aubrey to ask her out? Aubrey wobbles, mumbling a soft 'whoa' while gripping the back of the chair. She had been staring rather aggressively; but even now, mortified by it, there's still a force pulling her back in that direction. Something isn't right about Chloe; she's a black hole personified. Clutching her jacket in both hands, she weaves around clusters of people dancing on her way toward Beca's booth.

"Aubs!" Beca grabs her by the arm, halfway there, headed in the other direction. "I'm going to get a drink; I'll be right back. Do you want something?"

"No." Aubrey reaches for her arm a few seconds too late, and Beca disappears into the crowd. It's fine. By the time she reaches the bar, she'll have approximately three minutes before she has to be back to the booth. That or Aubrey is going to need to figure out how to be a DJ, and fast. She apologizes as she bumps into someone then steps up into the booth to wait. It's just high enough that she can see over people's heads and to the bar where something Chloe says causes Beca to laugh. There's a burning in her gut that comes from seeing the two of them interact. These are the kinds of feelings that she has no business thinking about. She's married, to a man, for god's sake. For all she knows, they're laughing about her. She ducks back into the crowd when Beca turns to come back.

Even though she's been here several times, the colorful flashing lights distort her sense of direction. There are people blocking her every which way and the bass thumping in her ears is loud enough to be disorienting. She hugs her jacket closer to her chest and hunches her shoulders forward to get by. The sign for the bathroom elicits a sigh of relief from her and she bursts through the door into an empty room.

Three sinks line the side wall and above them is a mirror that gives her a reflection of what she looks like right now – rosy cheeks, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. She slings the jacket over her shoulder, then rolls up her sleeves and dips her hands under cool water from the far left faucet to ground herself. This is why she hates when Beca takes her out and tries to get her to loosen up; her thoughts begin to feel out of her control and years of fake happiness give way to longing for things she can't have.

Stop.

The door swings open, and Aubrey instinctively looks up. It's Chloe. The water swirling down the sink drain is suddenly more interesting than anything else in the room, and Aubrey looks back down and pretends to study it as she turns the faucet off. It only occurs to her when her hand is lingering underneath the automatic paper towel dispenser that a yellowing bruise near her elbow is in plain view. Torn between subtlety and an internal frenzy, she rolls her sleeve down slowly with a hand that's still dripping water.

"I can fix that for you," Chloe offers.

Aubrey falters momentarily, puzzled by her words. It doesn't matter what she's inferring. She swallows back her curiosity, or maybe it's just nausea, and composes herself. "I don't know what you're talking about. Did you follow me in here?"

Chloe's gaze is still on Aubrey's arm as she nods, completely unabashed. "I can fix a lot of things."

"That's great. I'm happy for you," Aubrey replies, unsure of how to respond to that. The bathroom tilts and Chloe catches her by the wrist again as she nearly tilts with it. Up close, she smells distinctly like Dragon's Blood incense, and dizzyingly so. It's not the club that smells different. It's her. "I need to get back to my friend."

"You have a very strong will. I like that in a person." Chloe releases her, but Aubrey's feet are rooted to the ground. Literally. She can't move. She also can't tear her eyes away from Chloe's.

"Did you drug me?" Aubrey asks in a breathy whisper.

Chloe doesn't appear at all concerned by the accusation. She shakes her head. "I just have that affect on some people."

"What do you want?" If she says sex, the answer is a firm no. Aubrey is not that kind of person. Sometimes, she just wishes she was…just to try it. Not to attempt an affair. Just to – stop it, Aubrey. The door opens again, drawing her gaze in that direction, but no one steps inside the bathroom this time. People have moved away to the other side of the club, giving her a clear view of the bar and those sitting around it – specifically the man from earlier. He looks up at them and lowers his drink down to the bar.

"I can tell you what I don't want. It's for him to spill that drink somewhere I have to clean it up. Fortunately, someone else can clean him up." Chloe snaps her fingers.

His predatory demeanor turns fearful as he clutches his chest and stumbles to the side, his chair falling to the ground along with him. Everyone who sees him collapse crowds around him - everyone except for Aubrey. She still can't move her feet.

She turns to face Chloe again and the rest of her body freezes solid as Chloe looks back. With a single blink, that deep shade of blue engulfs her pupils and the whites around her eyes, and it's like staring into two marbles made of ocean glass.

Chloe blinks her eyes back to normal not more than a second later, and then she cringes in an exaggerated manner. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go pretend to look shocked someone just died." She leans in until their lips are only centimeters apart, and a chill spreads through Aubrey's entire being as she whispers, "You're welcome."