Chapter Nine
Millie
S o far tonight, I've learned three things.
The first is that having a good time is nowhere near as important as looking as if you're having a good time. There's a way of sitting, an arch to the back and a thrust to the lips that looks uncomfortable close-up but from afar looks dramatic and sexual. Or at least, that's what I'm guessing they want their audience to think. An audience of envious girls vying for the most attractive and desirable boys, like vultures clashing over a rotting carcass. Marnie, Samira, and Chloe eye each girl nearby as potential enemies and each dress or flick of eyeliner is a fierce weapon. Everything is a game, small battles conducted between a heavy dance beat and migraine-inducing dancefloor lights.
The rest of the time is spent performing for the camera and making sure anyone not in this club knows how beautiful they look and what fun they're having. I used to be that person, sat in a faded armchair, in flannel pyjamas next to Mum, watching late-night movies, looking hungrily at the posts of Chloe's night's out. Of glamourous dresses, handsome boys and laughter. So much laughter. In the flesh, the laughter is more a series of practised smiles and teeth flashing in time to a photo click.
And the second?
It's that I have no idea how to talk to boys. My body only speaks the language of awkwardness, and I can't flirt. I don't know how to convert the small spark of interest in their eyes into something more. The moment passes when I don't giggle at their unfunny jokes or ask them for even more details about a subject they've already discussed in painful detail. Eventually, their eyes glaze over; they smile politely, but I can see their minds have really already left the table, searching the dancefloor for another girl to try their luck with. They find a reason to go, and a few moments later, I see them laughing or touching someone new, mesmerised by her body language and the honey spilling easily from her lips.
The latest one, Matt, leaves the table after he's talked solidly about himself for ten minutes before we slide into painful silence. He pats the shoulder of his friend Ryan to let him know he's going. They look over at me, and I see a knowing glance pass between them, and I know I'll be a joke they'll laugh over later. Marnie, who's sitting next to Ryan, her whole body tilted towards him and sipping a blood-red cocktail through a straw, glares at me as if my failure somehow reflects on her.
And the third thing I've learnt is that I don't care about it one bit. Because all I can think about is him.
Jax. They'd called him Jax. And with each passing moment, he remains, echoing in my mind. His touch was a tattoo on my skin. The obsidian darkness of his slicked-back hair revealing the strong features of a masculine face. Those eyes, like liquid mercury. His smile, warm but hiding something darker, something feral, was imprinted across my eyelids. The way my name danced across his lips.
He didn't look like anyone else here or carry himself like anyone else. His all-dark clothes were entirely at odds with the light-coloured looks that were clearly in fashion. In a room full of people desperately trying to be someone else, he looked entirely himself. He'd left us, the warmth of his touch gone, leaving me cold and empty as he and his friends headed towards the top of the building.
I turn back to my glass, trying to focus through the haze of rattling music, twinkling lights, and chatter around me on something simple, like taking a sip of my drink. But the alcohol that had been soothing my nerves at first was doing something else to me now, like my body was severing from my mind. My brain slowed as the world around me sped up.
I turn back to Chloe and Samira, who are happily flirting with a couple of guys, both wearing the same pastel-hued shirts, their blondish-brown hair cut and styled the same way. Everything from the way they move to the way they lean back against the leather booth seems choreographed, rehearsed. I'm bored with this game. I down the remaining dregs of my drink and stand up. My limbs feel more liquid than I was expecting. Unlike the other girls, I've never drank before, and my body was letting me know it. I stumble out of the circular booth and onto the glossy wooden floor, my clacking heels barely audible above the throbbing base and laughter.
I'm going to find him. I'm going to find the one moment of realness I've had since I entered this place.
This floor is the largest and the busiest, but I know I won't find him here. I need to get higher. I slip my body past the laughing cliques and packed bar queues to find an elegant, winding staircase that leads up to the second floor. A circular space that runs along the outer walls gives the perfect view of the floor below. My heels slow me down and slap loudly on the marble slats. When I reach the top, I glance around the space. It's quieter here, just a long balcony overlooking the dancefloor, with spacious leather booths lining the walls. The rising heat is thicker, and the smell of sickly sweet perfumes and cocktails war with the queasy sensation in my stomach. I walk over to the edge, my fingers gripping the black bannister and peer down.
The place truly is amazing, all gilded in gold and black, somehow combining modern elegance with vintage touches. It's hot, though, too many bodies packed unnaturally into a small space. On the dancefloor, people are swaying their bodies to the music, groups are laughing, and couples are grinding against each other. I wish I felt a part of it, but like Uni, like at Roisin's—I am only a spectator. I'm still watching from the sidelines, waiting for my life to start. But that moment, that tiny shock of electricity hit me deep when he looked at me and offered me his hand. That had been real. And whatever it was, I needed more of it.
I turn away from the crowd, looking for that one face, that one person I'm seeking. I scan the floor, and then I see him on the opposite side of the floor, sitting by the small bar. White marble and golden lights make it stand out from the rest of the dark floor.
Jax is talking to the barman. His smile, that dark and light grin he wore as easily as his clothes, lights up his face, making those metallic eyes of his sparkle. The heavy coat is gone. Now he just wore a black shirt, pushed up to the elbows, his broad shoulders carrying the weight of that silky fabric. I swallow. Now he's there, right in front of me. My courage fails. The cocktails have left a bitter, artificial taste in my mouth. The heat is making my cheeks uncomfortably hot. My hair, a weighty curtain around my shoulders.
“Go talk to him, I dare you.”
I spin, and Marnie giggles. She is standing next to me, leaning back on the bannister as she stares at Jackson across the space. The shimmering chandelier that dangles from the high-arching ceiling sends glittery sparks across the darkness. Below us, the bass continues to boom, warring with my heartbeat.
Marnie looks unaffected by all of it—the heat, the spectacle. As they pass, boys glance her way; she arches back dramatically, not letting the performance drop even for a moment.
“He's one of the owners, Jackson Mort. There are three of them, but he is by far the yummiest. He's usually surrounded by people, by girls. But there he is, all on his lonesome …”
I don't need to turn and look at her to see the smirk. I can hear it in her voice. My temper flares. Frankly, this night had been a disaster, and Marnie was one of the main reasons why.
“If he's so yummy, why are you wasting your time talking to me?”
She chuckles, wrapping her red lips around the straw of her cocktail, and sips deeply, making me wait for a response.
“You're new to this, so let me explain. He noticed you. When we came in, he noticed you. And as much as that hurts my ego, I'm a big girl. A patient girl. A girl who's been waiting for her chance with that guy for a long time.”
“And? I assume eventually you're going to make a point?”
My skin heats when she snickers, eyes still fixed on Jackson like an apex predator stalking her prey.
“Jeez, you're not only clueless, but you don't even know how much, do you?”
I feel my shoulders dip but say nothing.
“He noticed you, and that little spark needs to be doused before he can open his eyes to somebody else—somebody like me. And if I’ve learnt anything from watching you tonight, is that all you need to do is go over there and open your mouth, and I’ll have that gorgeous creature in my bed before the night is over.”
I turn and look at her now, properly look. The haughty expression on her face, the arrogant curl of her lip.
“What is your problem with me? You didn't even give me a chance before you wrote me off.”
She purses her lips as she looks me distastefully up and down.
“You got in my way.” She beams at me, her white teeth like daggers flashing in the lights. “Now run along now, go get your man. And I'll be waiting right here to slip into that seat beside him when you fall flat on your face.”
She stares at me expectantly, waiting for my move. I might be new to this game, but I'm a quick learner. She's trying to force me to do one of two things: run off home with my tail between my legs and tears burning in my eyes or send me to Jax as a nervous wreck, knowing she'd freaked me out so much I was bound to fail.
The idea of that spark I saw in his eyes falling flat as it had on those others makes me feel small and queasy. I didn't care that they'd lost interest; quite frankly, I hadn't been interested to begin with. But this boy, this was different. If I go home, I'll definitely lose. If I speak to him, I might actually win. I might actually wipe that scarlet smirk off Marnie's twisted face.
I turn back to look in his direction. He's twisted in his seat and peering out at the club now. He raises his glass to his lips but stops when he sees me, the glass hovering by those tempting lips. He sees me, and there it is—that look.
It's something I've thought about, something I dreamt about during all those long hours in the hospital waiting room, greasy-haired and exhausted. And there it was in front of me. A chance for something I'd never had. A chance for something new. A chance for a connection.
Marnie fades away. Turns to a puff of dust beside me. Pulling myself up, I leave her behind and walk towards Jackson Mort.