Chapter 9 #2
A curved purple sofa is nestled into a corner where I sit and scan the large room, spotting Rylan behind the bar.
The sofa shifts when an older gentleman sits on the opposite side.
A woman with long blonde hair stands to his side.
My eyes slowly trail her body up and down.
She’s dressed in a checkered mesh outfit that leaves very little to the imagination.
My eyes roam over the details of her face where white paint smooths over her skin with tiny black diamonds painted above her eyebrows.
A deep red curve is painted to stretch beyond the natural corners of her lips.
And a lone teardrop is drawn to look as if it’s falling from her eye.
She tilts her head, obviously noticing me staring, and her eyes meet mine.
She perches herself on his lap, causing him to let out a gasp that turns into a laugh.
Then she smiles at me as she leans into him, whispering something in his ear.
He looks at me and grins. His voice is loud—it has to be to cut through the music.
“We have a suite reserved in the back, she’d like for you to join. "
"No thank you.” I give them both a friendly nod and smile before rising from my seat to make my way to the bar, quickly finding an empty stool and sinking into it.
I have to remind myself to relax. Rylan looks in my direction and our eyes meet briefly. I raise my hand signaling to him and watch him talk to a few of the other customers as I study the details of his mask whenever the lights hit his face just right.
Molten gold stretches over the surface, and it looks like it’s alive. Red streaks turn upward from the jawline curling around the cheekbones in jagged, flame-like tendrils. The eyes are edged with black that make them look like smoldering sockets.
I turn back to the place I was sitting and see the couple still sitting there, my mind drifting to Catarina.
I wonder what she would look like in mesh anything?
Better yet, what does she look like underneath it all?
I think back to having her pressed against the wall, her warm tongue tickling my palm.
Pressure begins to build against my zipper just as my thoughts are interrupted, remembering what took place the night I left.
I shouldn’t have enjoyed any of it, and while I was sorry for it, I still can’t deny it.
When the slap landed and she flinched, I held my breath.
I wanted to see her cry for me, but not out of hurt or humiliation.
I wanted to see her come undone in front of me, but only in front of me.
Her green eyes held back the tears until they couldn’t.
When she blinked, they trickled down her pretty little cheeks causing something to stir in my twisted mind.
I wanted her to cry for me. There are plenty of other ways to make her feel pain and pleasure, though.
Ways that don’t include a public display.
The shame settles in. I haven’t felt close to someone like that in so long. Her pain mirrored my own and, in that moment, when Catarina was at her lowest and hurting, I couldn’t help but feel like I could reach her.
“What’ll it be?” Rylan’s voice startles me.
“Club soda?” I answer, though it comes out more like a question than a statement.
“Sure.” He nods, turning to the counter behind him.
A moment later, he’s back, sliding a glass toward me.
Bubbles rise and pop in the clear liquid, fizzing softly.
Truth is, I have no idea what the fuck a club soda actually is.
I just spotted it on the menu and blurted it out. “Starting a tab?” he asks.
“No, I’ve got cash.”
I’m not sure if his voice is muffled from the mask or if the music is making it this hard to hear him. “Okay, it’ll be seven fifty.”
I pull a ten dollar bill from my wallet and raise my voice to a borderline yell. “No change.” He gives me a simple nod of his head before turning to help someone sitting beside me.
What the hell am I supposed to take from this?
What’s their angle with him, and what exactly do they expect me to report back?
He seems to be a regular guy. Maybe with a job that’s a little outside the lines, or maybe it’s not.
How would I know? He keeps to himself and doesn’t stand out.
He has friends, or at least a friend, and possibly a girlfriend?
I know he lives alone, although I did overhear him mentioning someone to the other security guard while I stood in line. Charlotte, I think. She sounded like his boss. But also a lover—could she be both?
There’s nothing that paints him as anything more than what he seems to be. He’s free. Free to live life on his own terms, to move through the world without invisible chains dragging behind him. He’s ordinary in a way I’ll never be, and I envy that.
I take a sip of my drink, and my face scrunches up when the bitterness hits my tongue.
The sudden sip of TV static has me deciding it’s time for me to head back to the hotel.
Tomorrow, I go home, and while I should be focused on my father and the conversation I know will be waiting for me the second I get back, he’s not my priority. She is.
I don’t know what I’ll say to her even though I’ve spent the past few days trying to figure it out.
I hated leaving her behind, but I at least made sure she wouldn’t be alone.
Melinda promised to keep an eye on her, which is the best I could do from a distance.
I can’t stop thinking about her or wondering if this was his plan all along.
Introduce us right before sending me away.
But was it in his plan to make her defy him?
Could he have planned that? I wouldn’t think so, but I’ve learned not to underestimate him.
She’s mine to protect, regardless of if she forgives me. I did what I had to, and yes, I’m basically a stranger to her, one that embarrassed her. Hit her. But I don’t plan on us staying strangers for long. Plus, I’m the only one who can keep her safe. Whether she likes that or not isn’t my problem.
I’ll try to give her time and my patience, but these feelings I have when I think about her? No one and nothing, not even her own resistance, will be enough to put it out.