Chapter 15 #2
“Nooo,” he protests. “I like you little. You’re so cute.”
“I’m not cute. I’m a demon.”
“Not to me.” He’s smiling. “You’re my sweet little baby angel. Who may or may not have rabies.”
“I definitely have rabies,” I agree, uncapping my eyeliner.
It’s nice that I don’t have to make him sit just so I can smear shadow around his eyes, though.
We can do it standing here just like this and there’s a certain intimacy when you’re right at eye level with someone.
I lay a kiss on his lips that he threatens to make more until we both have to pull away, and then we’re off to meet Killian and Max downstairs in their rental car.
Max is in the driver’s seat looking every inch of a leather daddy bear.
Straps criss-cross his hairy chest and a service cap perches upon his head, and I think he’s wearing leather chaps, too.
He rumbles a greeting to us through his auburn beard as we slide into the backseat of the SUV, and Killian, who is wearing a matching getup minus the hat, begins exclaiming over my outfit.
“Ooh, bitch,” he gushes. “You look fantastic. Oh my god, let me see those boots.” I stick my leg through the seats, resting it on the center console, and he fawns. “You’re so fucking lucky you fit into Shakers. I’m gagged.”
I decide I might like Killian after all. I’m a simple guy and flattery will get you absolutely everywhere with me. “How big are your feet?” I ask, withdrawing my foot.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Luca’s hand slides over my knee, fingertips tickling the inside of it. “For the first time in your life, you’ve escaped the manlet zone.”
I scowl at him. “Ten minutes ago you were pouting because I wasn’t your petite little prince anymore.”
“Oh, you’re definitely still that.”
“No foreplay in the rental car,” Max announces in his deep, growly voice, and I don’t think anyone on the planet quite exudes bear like this man does.
There must be a picture of him in the fucking dictionary under the definition.
The gay definition, anyway, but maybe also the regular animal one too.
Killian glances at Luca and gives him a brief once-over. “You look okay too, Lulu. I guess.”
“Don’t damn me with faint praise,” he says dryly.
“It’s just that you’ve worn basically the same thing every time we’ve gone out.”
They dissolve into a playful back-and-forth and I set my head on Luca’s shoulder, staring out the window.
There’s not much to see in the fading light beyond the sides of brick buildings and the bumper-to-bumper traffic, and Killian tells us, between issuing instructions to his partner that don’t seem quite necessary, that we’ll be there in a few minutes.
“It’s not far. The weekend traffic’s just terrible.” He leans forward to rummage around in his bag. “Max, love, I’m going to get a head start. When do you want yours?”
“Not while I’m driving. Just wait until we park.”
I see Killian’s profile backlit by the dash lights as he turns to look at Luca. “What about you? You gonna take me up on my offer yet?”
I’m not sure what they’re referring to and I don’t get to see because Luca leans forward suddenly, knocking me aside and blocking my view with his broad shoulders.
He’s muttering something to his friend in a low, furious voice that I can’t quite make out between the music on the radio and the road noise.
“Oh—” Killian splutters, and then he’s apologizing. “I wasn’t thinking, Luca. I actually totally forgot all about that—”
“Are you serious?” Luca raises his voice incredulously.
“What?” I say, craning my neck around Killian’s seat to see what everyone’s suddenly so desperate to hide and sort of resenting that, like I’m a fucking child. “What’s wrong?”
I cram my face between his seat back and the door, and Killian can’t put away what’s in his hands fast enough.
He’s screwing the cap back on a plastic bottle full of clear liquid.
I know exactly what it is the moment I lay eyes on it.
For a moment I’m confused why no one wants me to know that he’s about to swig a capful of GHB, and then the first icy fingers of anxiety wrap themselves around my stomach and squeeze.
I sit back and say, “Oh.”
Luca leans down. “You okay, Noel?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m fine. Of course I’m fine. I don’t care if you guys G up.” I mean, I don’t really. I shouldn’t. Why would I? There’s no reason at all why it should bother me.
Nothing. Happened. I have to keep reminding myself of that every time I start feeling bad. Eventually I’m gonna believe it’s true.
Killian and Max doing it has nothing to do with what happened to me, and anyway, I don’t particularly want them knowing about all that.
Which Luca should know, and I don’t understand his lack of subtlety.
I stare at him and he watches me back, giving nothing away.
Mostly he just looks worried, little furrows between his eyebrows and his mouth drawn up tight.
“I’m fine,” I say again. “I don’t care.”
By the time we get there it’s mostly true.
The brief spike of panic has subsided to a vague nausea.
Yeah, Killian’s lit, goofy and handsier than ever, waxing poetic about my appearance again as he fondles my harness, and I guess Max will be too soon enough.
I catch sight of him taking a sip from the bottle cap before he exits the car.
It’s all going to be fine. I’ve got Luca, who has my hand in his, and his grip is firm and reassuring without being too tight.
From the outside the brick building looks little more than any other bar, and its name—Body More—is proclaimed in loud red neon over the door.
There’s a sizable line to get in, but Killian walks right up to the bouncer.
All four of us are allowed in after we pay the cover.
There’s muttering behind us but mostly I’m amazed that Killian actually has that kind of sway around here.
I catch Luca’s equally impressed glance as we’re ushered into the club proper.
There’s a bar and crowded, noisy dance floor inside.
It reminds me a lot of Anathema, actually.
Minus the spooky church vibes; this place seems to be capitalizing more on a homicidal sort of vibe.
There’s red paint spattering the walls, which are adorned with various wanted posters and paraphernalia that could be used either in the bedroom or for murder.
On this floor there’s not many men (or women, there’s a few of them) in fetwear; it’s a lot of street clothes.
I can smell food, which only compounds the vaguely sick feeling I’ve had since getting out of the car.
Killian marches us past all that and toward the stairway, which is guarded by yet another bouncer and his fancy velvet rope.
Whatever magic words Killian utters allows us to bypass this, too, and like the bouncer before him this guy seems to know him, all smiles and good to see you again, man before we’re all allowed up.
“What the hell,” I mutter to Luca, and he shrugs at me.
It’s quieter upstairs. There’s a smaller bar, the lighting is lower, and there’s plenty of people all dressed for the occasion the way I’d expect them to be in a leather bar.
I realize that the dress code must only be enforced in this area.
There are discreet booths, tables and couches tucked all around the room, and I catch sight of skin and tongue as we pass by, hear breath hitching and muted sighs.
Distracted, I nearly step on the hand of a man who scurries up on all fours in a pup hood. He barks at me and I start. I have no fucking clue how to react otherwise.
“Sorry!” His apparent owner, an attractive Black man with dreadlocks cascading down his bare back, appears before us.
He leans down and snaps a leash onto the pup’s collar.
“I lost track of him. Jax, sit.” The pup-man obediently squats on his haunches, cocking his head.
I hear him whine. “This is why I can’t let you off-leash. ”
Killian comes to my rescue, thank fuck, and he seemingly possesses more awareness and social grace while high than I do in my everyday fucking life. “That’s alright. Can we pet him?”
“Sure!”
And so we all take turns petting him. I tentatively pat the top of his head, right between the hood’s ears, because I’ve got no clue how I’m supposed to do it.
He seems happy enough with the attention, turning what I take to be happy circles before he sits beside the man holding his leash.
Luca’s got my hand in a death grip and I don’t dare to look at his face because I know one of us is gonna lose it if we do. This is surreal.
It’s fun, actually. There’s a smile tugging at my lips and it has nothing to do with laughter at anyone’s expense.
It’s the community being themselves without shame or judgment, and that includes me.
I’m amongst people I think I can feel safe with, in a place where I feel I can slip into this part of myself.
It’s not like Strapped; no one here is going to call me an it.
I am a few hundred miles away from anyone who would do that, I think.
I should be enjoying myself. I should feel at ease here. It’s just that I keep seeing a ghost flittering around the edges of my periphery, and it’s Jordan-shaped.
I don’t know if it’s because I saw the drugs—which is stupid—or everyone’s reaction to me seeing the drugs—which is suspicious.
There’s no reason for Killian to think I have an aversion to party drugs.
Does that mean he knows something? Which would in turn mean Luca told him something, and that’s an idea that makes me very unhappy.
Or maybe it’s the fact that this place sort of reminds me of Anathema, dialed up a few notches and more authentic, but still reminiscent enough to give me the same vibes.