15. Ophelia #2
She points to a quiet part of the bar, with a few empty tables, and I nod gratefully.
Once we’re sitting, I feel braver, and I look around me with interest. For a while, I sip at my drink, gradually getting used to the taste, and watch people come and go.
There’s music playing so it’s not that easy to talk, but the alcohol does a good job of relaxing me.
When a man gets on stage, Camile turns to me.
“I think you’ll enjoy this. This is the night where people can come and sing. Like an open mic night for singers. Some of them can be really good.”
The host of the mic night tells a few jokes that go over my head, but I laugh anyway, and the first person comes up.
It’s a girl, and she has a guy with her.
He plays the guitar, and she sings. She’s good.
Her voice is a little weak at times, but she’s got a pretty tone.
She sings a few songs and during one of them, most of the bar joins in, but of course I don’t know it.
I try not to cringe at myself, feeling, once again, like I have a giant sign above my head that says, ‘doesn’t fit in. ’
When she’s done, we all clap, and Camile says she’s getting us another drink. I’m only halfway down the first one, so while she’s at the bar, I drink the rest. Wow, I feel kind of nice. Fizzy and bubbly inside.
She comes back with the second drink, and I take that and start sipping at it, enjoying it more as I get used to it.
Soon, I’ve almost finished that glass too, and I’m feeling a bit giggly.
As if things are suddenly amusing. The bar seems nicer now, warmer, and people look happy.
There’s an excited sensation in my stomach, and I like it.
I’m reading the quotes on the beermats on the table when Camile claps, suddenly excited. “Ooh, you’re in for a treat,” she exclaims.
I look up and my heart jolts. It’s the Preacher. The one with dark hair, and the dark nails, and the intense gaze.
Oh, wow.
He sits on the stool at the front of the small stage area and picks up a guitar. What had Cain said his name was? Malachi, I’m sure.
“He’s really good,” Camile tells me.
He strums a few chords, adjusts the guitar, then starts to play.
When he begins to sing, his lips close to the mic, I almost explode with excitement because I know this song.
It’s by a band from way back that my parents listen to called Simon and Garfunkel.
They both loved them because their parents loved them, and it was a sound I grew up with both at home, and at my grandparents’.
“I know this,” I say to Camile, a smile stretching my face so wide I can feel it.
She giggles. “You’re having a good time.”
I nod. For once in my life, I feel normal. I can’t even hear him —the man from my past. The bar, the music, the magical drink in my glass are all drowning him out.
I start to sing along, and Camile turns to me, her jaw dropping open. Oh, no. Wasn’t I supposed to do that?
She shakes her head. “Don’t stop, Ophelia. Wow, you’re amazing.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Carry on.”
So, with my fizzy, happy stomach, and my voice-free head urging me on, I do.
As I sing, I notice a few heads turn my way, then his does, too.
The Preacher looks at me with intense focus.
He’s still singing, but his voice has gotten softer, and he watches me as we finish the last round of the chorus together.
The bar erupts into applause, and he claps too, lifting his hands in my direction, and the whole time he does, he’s looking at me.
I’ve never felt so special and free in my life. I feel as if I could fly right now.
He sings a couple more songs—though I don’t recognize those ones—and then he’s done. I expect him to leave the bar, but he doesn’t. He rests his guitar in a corner and walks over to our table.
When he reaches us, he bends down, takes my hand, and places a kiss on the back of it.
Camile is watching our interaction with all her usual sunny demeanor gone.
“That was amazing,” I gush. I stand so he can hear me better, pushing my hair back behind my ears. “You’re incredible. I knew that song. The first one you did. Do you sing a lot by them? I’d love to hear you play more.”
I realize I sound crazy with how fast I’m talking, but I want to laugh, and run, and dance. I want to be free, and in this moment, I feel it.
Another singer has gotten onto the stage, and Camile taps my arm. “I’m going to the bar. Just a Coke this time?”
“No, the same, please,” I say.
She hesitates, clearly unsure. “Um, we have to be up tomorrow for class.”
“Just one more,” I cajole. “We’ve hardly had any.”
Two drinks is nothing, right?
She nods at me. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
She shoots Malachi a narrowed-eyed look, then weaves her way through a few people to the bar.
“You were so good,” I tell him again. Then I do something crazy. I do the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done in my entire life, and I don’t know why.
I lean forward and, like that boy did to me all those years ago, I press my lips against Malachi’s, just for a brief moment. “Thank you for making me happy,” I whisper when I pull back.
He’s staring at me, and I worry he hated it, but his face isn’t angry. It’s dark, though, with something I don’t understand.
“Fuck, Ophelia,” he growls and moves in closer.
Before I’ve even comprehended what’s happening, his hand grazes my cheek, and his fingers lace into my hair. Then his mouth is on mine again, but he’s kissing me this time, intense and hungry. His tongue flicks at my lips, and I instinctively part them for him.
The rest of the room has fallen away. This is nothing like the terrible first kiss I’d shared with that boy from my other existence.
It brings to life something inside me that I thought must be broken, a flickering of heat between my thighs, and my nipples tighten against the fabric of the dress.
It’s like I’ve fallen into a whirlpool, but it isn’t frightening.
It’s exhilarating and exciting, and I’ve never had someone make me feel so good before.
My heart is racing, and I’m sure his kisses have stolen my breath.
I don’t even have time to worry if I’m kissing him right; it’s not as though I’ve had any practice.
But from the way his body is pressed up against mine, and his hands hold me just right, I don’t think I’m doing it wrong.
“Ophelia?”
Camile’s voice from beside us brings me back to reality with a crash. I break away from Malachi, both of us breathing heavily, and staring at each other as though we’re unsure what just happened.
I’m flustered and waiting for the voice in my head to tell me I’ll burn in a river of fire forever for my sin, but it remains silent. The alcohol seems to have done a good job of shutting it down—for the moment, at least.
I turn to find Camile isn’t holding the drinks she’d promised. “What happened to the vodka and Cokes?” I ask.
She folds her arms across her chest disapprovingly. “I think you’ve had enough.”
“You can come and have a drink with me,” Malachi says, ignoring Camile. “Maybe we can sing some more. I’ve got this place we use to hang out. I think you’d like it.”
I’m still a little giggly from the booze, plus kissing Malachi has left me lightheaded and breathless.
All I know is I want to keep feeing like this.
I don’t want to wake up tomorrow morning, still an outcast and battling the voice in my head, telling me I’ll never be normal.
I want to live a regular life, and regular people meet boys in bars.
And maybe, if we’re together somewhere, he’ll kiss me again, because right now, that kiss was the sole greatest experience of my life, and I can’t wait to do it again. From the way he’s looking at me—as though he can’t see anyone else in the room—he feels the same way.
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
Camile grabs my arm and angles her body slightly to block out Malachi. He’s still well within hearing distance, though.
“Is that a good idea?” Camile says, keeping her voice low. “The Preachers can be kind of freaky.” She shoots Malachi a look.
Cain is one of the Preachers, I reason to myself. And Cain is my friend, which means Malachi is Cain’s friend. So really, it’s like I already know Malachi.
I try not to think about the other one, the tall, brooding blond who warned me away from Cain. His energy was so scary, and he seemed determined to stop me being around his friend. My fizzy, bubbly, happy mind doesn’t want to think about that.
I flash Camile a slightly drunken grin. “But I’m kind of freaky,” I declare happily.
“Don’t worry, Camile,” Malachi says, clearly having overheard her. “I’ll take care of her.”
Camile rolls her eyes and mutters something along the lines of, ‘why do I always end up feeling like everyone’s mom?’ Then she turns to me and says, “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I’ll be fine.” I smile back over at Malachi. “He’s gonna take care of me.”
“You’re a grown up,” Camile relents. “Do whatever you want.”
She spots someone she knows over my shoulder and lifts her hand. Then she leans in and air kisses me, but hisses, “Be safe,” in my ear. “Call me if you need me. Make sure to keep your phone on you, and anytime you want out of there, just use it.”
Then she’s gone, leaving me alone with a man dressed fully in black, with tousled dark hair, and a voice that could surely lead me down to hell all by itself.