Chapter 5 Austen
That was, hands down, one of the strangest interactions I have ever experienced. I’m not sure what the fuck happened. I know Mischa’s gay, saw me again, and now he’s a little smitten. I’m pretty sure that is all it was.
I just can’t believe he walked out without a word, and it wasn't exactly charming the way his friends—or whatever they were—were staring me down like they wanted to rip me apart.
His boyfriend looks like a pit bull that has spent a few years in the pound terrifying all the other dogs. I got out of there fast.
And yet I keep thinking about him…
“Stop,” I say, out loud.
“Stop what?” William asks.
“Nothing,” I say, snapping out of my daydream.
The bar is having a tribute night to beer, and the eighties, so I’m dressed like Slash, with a wig of long curly black hair and top hat, and my brother is dressed as Axl with the long red hair and bandanna, but he’s not performing tonight.
I persuaded him to get in the spirit of it.
I love disguises. I feel a lot more outgoing when you can’t tell who I am.
William is adding another portrait to his sketchbook.
He’s finishing a drawing of me while I look ridiculous.
“Do anything today?” he asks.
“No,” I shake my head.
“You alright Baby?” he asks, concerned. “You’re in your head?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry about it,” I tell him. “Let’s have fun.”
I’m a few minutes from showtime and I see Mischa for the second time today. That’s probably not a coincidence.
This could be awkward, but it doesn’t look like he’s staying. He walks in and scans the room with those big eyes. It looks like he’s come here to collect someone, but he’s probably looking for me.
He’s a very handsome guy, I guess. I’m not sure if it’s right to call a guy pretty, but he’s the type of profound beauty that looks like it’s made from ivory and rose-leaves.
He could be a model easily. Maybe he is.
He has this piercing, smoky gaze. His luscious, curly black hair shines like dragonfly wings in the light.
Pretty majestic all round really... I suppose I should be flattered that he asked me out.
I decide to dip backstage before he sees me.
I peek from behind the curtain. He’s about as big as me, so he’s an absolute Sasquatch.
He’s taller than the rest of the crowd starting to form for the show.
They are all milling about, drinking and chatting, but he’s stony, like a statue.
We’re about to start, and I remember I’m in a costume. He might not even recognize me.
My cover band is called Empty V and I’m on drums. The lead guitarist, Jade, is a very attractive girl who wears almost nothing and posts a lot of sexy pictures of herself.
She’s probably the reason why our audience is getting bigger.
She breaks into the first notes of Welcome to the Jungle and the crowd is pumped, and I know it’s going to be a great night.
I spin my drumstick in the air and catch it and get into the beat of the music.
Halfway through our set, the wig is trapping a lot of heat, adding to the stage lights, and my head is starting to boil.
I hesitate before getting the hairdo off me, because Mischa is here and I don’t know if I want him to see me.
Maybe I’m not the reason, and if I am it doesn’t matter; he doesn’t realize how many walls he would have to jump over to get to me.
I guess when he figures that out, he’ll give up.
I rip off the wig and my sweat-drenched head instantly starts to cool.
I look over and Mischa’s demeanor has changed.
I have his complete attention, and he has found what he’s looking for.
I’m wiping the sweat off my brow backstage when one of the bar staff brings us drinks.
A great advantage of being in the band is you don’t buy drinks, so you don’t get carded.
I’m parched and grab a cold stein. We were up there for an hour and played our hearts out, and I look like I could win a wet t-shirt competition.
I’m allowed thirty minutes back here, and one beer, but Mischa interrupts what precious little normal time I have.
I can see his silhouette in shadow from the door of the green room.
I know he’s looking at me, and for a moment it feels like we are the only two people in the world.
When the light catches his eyes, I don’t say that stupid “Oh wow,” that popped out the first time I saw him, but I think of it and cringe internally that I ever said it at all.
It probably gave him the wrong impression.
It’s time to stop this before it starts.
Everyone is talking excitedly and don’t see me slip out the door.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Mischa asks.
“I’m good, thanks.” I hold up my beer. “Why are you here?”
“To see the show,” Mischa says.
“You’re coming on a little strong, Mischa.”
“I know, I’m sorry, but there’s something between us; a fucking amazing thing. Love strikes like lightning; it’s amazing! Do you feel it? It feels really nice.”
Mischa seems more and more like a bad idea. More like a liability. Total loose cannon. This was not my intention. I have to let him down easy.
It’s too late anyway.
“I am so sorry, but you’ve got the wrong idea. It’s my fault, it seems I have accidentally misled you.”
“We’re meant to be. We are! I’m on fire; it’s all warm in my chest. Meant to be. We are. Meant to be.”
This guy is wired. Not mentally sound. Possibly on drugs. And way too late.
I hesitate. “You don’t even know me.”
“I feel like I do. I feel like I’ve found you, finally.”
Crazy people can be a lot of fun. And he is ridiculously good-looking.
But too late.
“It seems like you are determined to force something to happen, but it won’t,” I sigh. “It won’t end well. You need to forget about whatever you think this is.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t, it’s an unstoppable force.”
Why not though? At this point, what do I have to lose?
No. Too late. It would be cruel to do that to him.
“It isn’t,” I say, “but I am an immovable object. I already told you I’m straight, and um... taken, and I promise you I-I-I am not interested in experimenting.”
What was THAT? God, did that sound as fucking fake and shaky as I think it did? What the fuck am I doing?
Mischa won’t stop staring.
“What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?” he asks. “They’re two incompatible premises—that there are such things as unstoppable forces, and immovable objects.”
“Okay,” I shrug. “So, you are brainy.”
“Not really. My father was a scientist, so I learnt a couple of things.”
“You can’t science your way out of a firm rejection.”
“Assuming both are real,” Mischa continues, “the answer would be an impossible event.”
He moves so close to me that I can feel his heat warming my damp, cold body.
My breath is stressed and shallow. “The fact that I won’t budge won’t change just because you want me to.”
But god, what would it be like if... No. It would be evil for me to do that. It’s too late.
“I understand that. The immovable object and the unstoppable force are indestructible. But it’s also assumed that they are two different entities. I don’t think we are. I think we’re supposed to be one thing.”
His mouth is so close to my mouth. My breath stutters in my chest. Some long dormant part of me is pulling the rest of me in a direction I can’t go.
“You think we’re one?” my voice is pitched unnaturally high.
“We’re one,” he says. “I feel it.”
Too fucking late.
“It was nice to meet you, but I’m not interested, and I’m literally leaving the country in a few days.”
That seems to break him out of the trance. “What?”
“I’m going to Australia.”
“On that study program thing?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “And I’m meeting my girlfriend of five years there, and we’re going to New Zealand at the end. I’m not coming back here after that.”
Mischa looks crestfallen. He slumps into the barstool by the door. Whatever he’s feeling is obviously very real for him.
“We’ve never even touched before,” he says, looking at me.
We have. I could feel his fingers touching mine all bloody week.
“We have,” I glower at him. “We don’t need to do it again.”
He takes my hand in both of his and gently pulls me towards him. I feel strangely drawn in, maybe from curiosity, maybe surprise, and I go with it as he brings my arm up to his face and looks at the skin on my inner elbow.
“How the fuck are you doing that?” I ask, watching him.
“You feel it too?” he says.
“No.”
“I want you.”
“This isn’t about me.”
“I do.”
“I don’t care.”
“I love you.”
“No.”
“So much.”
Our eyes lock and I am speechless. He strokes his cheek into my hand, before kissing me on the wrist, and I can feel all the tiny translucent hair stand up. He kisses a little further up my arm, wet with sweat, where an old scar is. A scar I don’t like.
“What was that from?” he whispers.
I recoil from him and pull my sleeve down.
“I’m really sweaty; sorry,” I say. “I don’t want to inflict my soaking wet body on you.”
He gets up and leans into the wall I’m against, standing entirely too close to me. I’m trapped by his arms. He smells really good. He has this comforting scent that I want to roll myself in. It’s warm and sweet like amber or caramel, but not sickly and more spicy and woody, almost like cinnamon.
Get it together. Straight. Fiancé. Normal. No weak points. No vulnerabilities. United front. My life is already over. I’ve written the letters, I’ve booked the holiday. It’s not fair or rational, but I just don’t want to do this anymore. It’s too fucking late for this bullshit.
The reasons why we can’t roll to the tip of my brain, but why try to invoke them, when they feel as flimsy as my self-control?
“Don’t apologize,” Mischa says. “Your body is exactly what I want you to inflict on me. Preferably soaking wet.” He licks my sweat from his lips. “I like how you taste.”
His knee touches my leg as he gets even closer.
By this point I am terrified. I gulp and it hurts from the lump in my throat.
I’m frozen to the spot and there’s nowhere to go anyway.
I could shrink down the wall and crawl out but that would be as pathetic as I feel.
Luckily, I don’t need to, because Kane, my bodyguard, clears his throat from behind us and breaks whatever weird spell I have momentarily fallen under.
Kane and Hayden are young, and blend in with college students. Both also get attention from college girls, because they are ex-army and well built.
Hayden was my bodyguard until Kane asked to switch a week ago. Kane said he needed the swap because he couldn’t “deal with Will anymore.”
Fair enough, neither can I, but I had managed to work Hayden into a position of keeping away from me most of the time. Kane is a little too proactive for my liking, but that’s suddenly a good thing, because I can escape from this madman.
“Is everything okay back here?” Kane asks.
“Yeah,” I say, and chug the last of my drink, “we’re leaving.” I turn to Mischa as I get behind Kane, and extend my hand around him to offer another handshake. “Have a nice life,” I tell Mischa.
“You’re funny,” he says. “I’ll see you soon.”