Chapter 7 #2
All of a sudden, I realise why he looked vaguely familiar.
I do have a distant memory of Viral Bat Guy.
There are pages and pages of results, endless news stories and forum posts and memes which paint him as a troublemaker, a rogue.
There are photos which depict a messier-looking Bram stumbling out of bars, draped around a variety of women – a different one in every photo.
I even see a thumbnail of the video Jon mentioned, although I can’t bring myself to watch it. I’m fairly sure I’d never sleep again.
And then I’m torn again. I thought that Jon might be mistaken, but everything he’s told me is confirmed here in front of my eyes. I think about all the messages I’ve seen on Bram’s phone. Just in the car earlier I think I counted four names, all women.
Maybe it’s actually me who’s wrong about him. If the womanising is true, and it certainly seems to be, perhaps the rest is too. Have I made a mistake offering to share the annexe with him?
But then I remember the way Mina spoke about him.
The same way his aunt and uncle did. They surely know him better than anyone, and they’ve told me more than once that he’s a good guy.
Granted, I’ve known him for less than a day, but he’s been perfectly respectful the whole time.
I haven’t seen any traces of the Bram I’ve just read about. I’m missing something, I know it.
Either way, I know I can’t use him the way that Jon suggested. Mina would never forgive me. I’d never forgive myself. But I can’t deny that I’m intrigued by the whole situation, particularly the disconnect between the internet gossip and the regard in which Bram’s nearest and dearest hold him.
This is light years out of my comfort zone, but maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea to try and get a little closer to him and find out the truth for myself, even if I don’t plan to include any of it in my article. I don’t have to go as far as Jon said and compromise my values.
I mean, it’s not like anything would ever actually happen between us.
By the time I push back through the door to the bar, it’s packed.
Bitten’s just about the exact opposite of my normal scene, but I can’t deny that the vibes are an absolute triumph. When I imagined a vampire-themed bar, I couldn’t help but think of fake blood and cheap satin, a gaudy flash of red like the inside of W?adek’s cape. But it isn’t like that at all.
There’s an overabundance of black, of course, but it’s modern and thoughtful.
Matte black walls, styled with a relief that makes me think of church doors.
Black granite floors. A rugged wooden bar polished smooth on top.
A velvet wall in a deep, rich red, buttons pulling at the fabric here and there so it falls in ripples, like the lining of a coffin.
Candle bulbs throwing out just exactly the right amount of light.
I imagine that the clientele of this place generally trends towards the alternative, but it’s wall-to-wall goths this weekend, a sea of leather and lace.
There are more shades of black than I knew were possible, a dark mosaic of texture ebbing and flowing as people move – talking, dancing, laughing.
Two people kiss against the back wall, long hair snagging on the nap of the velvet behind them.
I look away before they see me watching.
It’s dark. It’s atmospheric. And it’s sexy as all hell.
The kind of place I could forget myself and become someone entirely new.
The kind of place I might want to.
I see Bram across the room, light glinting off the cocktail shaker in his hands.
He’s flirting with the woman he’s serving, I can tell by the curve of his smirk, but when he notices me watching there’s a moment when he stills, just for a second, before turning away.
His bitten-back smile is fleeting, but in that moment it feels like it’s just for me.
When he looks back at the customer, his practised smirk is firmly back in place, one fang dimpling his lower lip as it widens.
I slide onto an empty stool at the very end of the bar and sip my drink as I watch Bram and his staff dance expertly around each other.
He’s at the section nearest to me with another bartender – pretty in an androgynous kind of way, with an undercut similar to Bram’s and a shock of bright purple curls on top.
They’re mixing up cocktails with a flourish, spinning bottles and tossing them in the air as they do, pouring shots from a height without even looking at the glass.
At one point the purple-haired bartender full-on juggles with three whisky bottles, and I can’t hold in my gasp.
Bram’s moves are a little more understated, but they feel effortless – fluid and practised rather than showy.
I’m transfixed as he twirls a jigger with one hand, making the steel dance through his fingers.
He looks entirely at home behind that bar, comfortable in a way that I haven’t seen on him before now.
My whole body suddenly feels like it’s on fire, and I sip my drink to try to stave off the flush of my cheeks.
There’s a small part of me – a small, secret part buried far beneath the surface – which dares to think that maybe seducing him wouldn’t be such a crazy idea after all.
God, those hands.
I mean, forgetting for a moment that we’re polar opposites, I’m in love with my boss, and my best friend would never forgive me, of course. I laugh into my glass as I take another sip. In what world would someone like him even be interested in someone like me?
I study him as subtly as I’m able to. He’s all in black again, in slim fit jeans torn slightly at the knees with well-worn combat boots and a T-shirt, its sleeves rolled up to the swell of his deltoids.
High on the chest is a light grey print of the same set of fangs as my lemon – something I now realise is the Bitten logo.
He belongs here, in this world, with these people.
With Purple Hair and the curvy, corseted beauty behind them.
With the frenetic ball of energy uncapping bottles and pulling pints who, from what Bram told me on the way here, I’m going to assume is Quinn.
With the whole crowd in here tonight, in fact.
I couldn’t fit in less if I tried.
On a whim I snap a picture – a selfie with the four of them in the background, me in taupe cashmere looking almost photoshopped on against the backdrop of black and red. I send it to Mina, and she replies almost immediately.
MINA
You made it to Bitten!
LUCY
I did. Never felt so out of place in my entire life.
MINA
Maybe you’re so out of place that you’re actually in exactly the right place.
LUCY
That makes no sense.
MINA
You’ll see.
LUCY
I’ll see what?
But she doesn’t reply, just sends a string of emojis: a tiny vampire, a cocktail, a black heart and some others which don’t make any sense. I smile and pocket my phone.
When I look back up, I crash into Bram’s gaze – dark, intense and, just for that moment, laser-focused on me.
There’s a heavy song playing – gritty and raw, just like him – and I can feel it like a heartbeat through my whole body.
He pauses a moment before one corner of his mouth lifts into the briefest flash of a smile, and then he turns his attention back to the drink he’s mixing, his head bobbing rhythmically to the beat of the music.
It’s not my kind of music at all, so when the chorus comes I’m surprised to find that I do actually recognise this song.
That said, it’s been difficult to avoid Dawn Breaks Black the last few years.
They’re everywhere. I can’t remember the lead singer’s name, but he definitely looks like someone who’d frequent this bar, and the idea of it makes me smile.
I’m suddenly struck by inspiration, and I pull out my notepad and pen, scribbling down my thoughts before they escape me entirely.
I won’t use even half of this stuff in my story, but something compels me to get it all down anyway – to get every detail of this night on paper so that I can come back to it again and again.
It feels important, though I can’t say why.
By the time I look up from my notepad, the bar has begun to clear.
I check my watch and am a little surprised by how much time has passed, though it shouldn’t surprise me that much, because when I flip back through my notebook I find I’ve filled four full pages with frantic notes.
I don’t see Bram at first, and a momentary panic grips at my throat, but then all of a sudden he’s right there in front of me, sweeping his hair to one side in that way that’s becoming familiar.
For a moment, neither of us moves or speaks. There’s just this strange energy between us, a hum like electricity – residual adrenaline, perhaps, or something else entirely. But then he smiles broadly, fangs bared, and the spell is broken.
‘You want to come and meet the guys?’ he asks with a jaunty cock of his head.
And I really, really do.