5. Briar
Chapter Five
brIAR
That asshole didn’t reply to my message.
Not that I’m surprised. It’s not the first time Luke has gone radio silent after a half-decent fuck, and the sad truth is he’s not even good at it.
He couldn’t find my clit with a map, a flashlight, and written instructions.
Still, I keep saying yes. Still, I keep letting him crawl back into my bed because I’m an idiot.
I need better. I deserve better.
Lucille’s text is exactly the lifeline I needed tonight.
I set the phone down, pour the last of the red wine into my glass, and head to the bedroom.
The apartment feels too quiet without music so I crank the volume back up and let the music wrap around me.
The bass thrums through the floorboards and into my bare feet as I stand in front of the open closet.
Time to remind myself I’m not just some sad girl who waits around for mediocre dick.
I pull out the pieces one by one, laying them on the bed.
First the black lace long-sleeve crop top.
The fabric is sheer enough to tease, tight enough to cling.
I slide it over my head and adjust the hem so it sits right under the curve of my breasts, exposing a strip of pale stomach.
The lace scratches softly against my skin in the best way.
Next come the high-waisted black shorts, so tight they feel like a second layer of skin, riding high on my thighs and making my legs look endless.
I turn slightly, checking the way they hug my ass. Perfect.
I sit on the edge of the bed and roll the black thigh-high stockings up slowly, one leg at a time.
I smooth them with both palms, enjoying the way the fabric makes my legs look.
The chunky black combat boots come last, heavy, aggressive, laces pulled tight.
I stomp each foot once, letting the weight settle.
I lean close to the full-length mirror on the back of the door.
Cat-eye liner first with sharp, wicked wings that make my blue eyes look dangerous instead of soft.
Fake lashes go on next, thick and dramatic.
My skin is already pale as moonlight, so I skip the blush and dust on fine silver glitter instead, letting it catch the light.
Finally the lipstick: deep, dark purple, almost black.
I press my lips together, then smile at my reflection.
Holy shit.
I step back and look at the whole thing.
The lace top clings to every curve. The shorts ride high enough to make my thighs look lethal.
The combat boots give me height and attitude, turning the entire outfit into something that says “come closer if you dare”.
My long black hair falls straight over one shoulder.
The glitter on my cheeks sparkles every time I move.
The purple lipstick is my favorite one. The one I keep using over and over but it makes me feel hot, sexy and powerful.
For the first time in weeks the girl staring back at me doesn’t look like someone who settles for half-assed hook-ups and cheap wine at two in the afternoon.
I run my hands down my sides, hips rolling once just to watch the way the outfit moves with me. A low laugh slips out.
“Perfect,” I whisper to my reflection. “Let’s go break some hearts tonight.”
Bauhaus is going to be packed. Stone walls, old dark wood, blood-red lights, eighties songs blasting until four in the morning. It sits right on the edge of the woods and the second I step inside I know I’ll lose myself.
My mind will finally shut the fuck up and all that will matter is the bass in my chest and the eyes on my body.
I stand in front of the mirror and take a full body picture, then send it to my profile, tagging Lucille.
“This action can not be completed.” The error appears.
What the hell? I turn my WI-FI on and off.
“This action can not be completed.”
This stupid phone. Why isn’t it posting?
The hell with it, I’ll post it tomorrow. Or maybe I take some selfies with Lucille and we post it later.
I grab my bag, wallet, phone, and the long warm coat hanging by the door.
It’s cold as hell outside and still raining.
I pull the hood up to cover my hair, lock the apartment, and head down the stairs.
Each step echoes in the empty stairwell.
I take a deep breath at the bottom, letting the chill settle in my lungs.
Tonight is going to be all about me and what I want. I’m tired but I refuse to let it win.
The building door is shut. Actually shut. For two years it’s been broken, I can’t believe they finally fixed it…Maybe it’s because of the flowers.
“That’s new.” I whisper, testing the handle. It clicks perfectly. I fish out my old key from the keychain just to be sure. It slides smoothly and turns. “Great.”
Outside the rain is steady but the wind has finally calmed. I walk across the lot to my car, boots splashing through puddles. Halfway to the car I feel something crunch under my sole. I freeze.
A flower.
Black. Crushed. Petals splayed like broken wings on the wet asphalt, and it looks exactly like the one that was lying on my doorstep yesterday.
I look around fast. The parking lot is empty. Streetlights flicker overhead, throwing weak yellow pools that the fog is already swallowing.
It’s creepy to keep seeing these flowers, right?
I shake my head hard, refusing to let the weirdness crawl under my skin. I pick up the flower and slide into the driver’s seat, slam the door, and crank the heat. I grab my phone, and snap a quick picture of the mangled bloom.
Image search.
“Hellebore” Google tells me. Winter-blooming evergreen perennial. Poisonous and medicinal. Black hellebore.
Poisonous. Great.
I open the window and flick the ruined flower out onto the sidewalk. It lands with a soft wet sound. I dig out the baby wipes I keep in the glove compartment, scrub my hands and then finish with a generous squirt of alcohol gel. The smell fills the car.
Who the hell is leaving this hazard around?
I stare at it for one last second through the rain-streaked window. The petals are already drifting apart under the downpour, beautiful in a haunting, wrong way. Second one in twenty-four hours. There’s something uneasy about it—
No. I’m not letting this ruin my night.
I turn the key. The little engine coughs to life and I pull out of the lot onto the main street, windshield wipers slapping steadily.
The club is only a twenty-minute drive. Lucille already texted that she’s arriving in five minutes.
When the beam of the neon sign finally cuts through the fog I feel that familiar flutter in my stomach, half excitement, half “what the fuck am I doing.” I park near the trees at the edge of the lot, kill the engine, and sit for a second.
My hands are ice cold on the wheel. At home I feel amazing but out here, right before I walk in, the doubt always creeps up.
Maybe I should just go home, crawl under the sheets, and read until I pass out.
I shove the thought away, pull my coat tighter around my face, and step out into the rain.
“Shit, it’s cold!” I mutter, teeth already trying to chatter.
“Briar!”
I turn. Lucille is waving from the club door, tall and impossible to miss.
Five-ten of pure gothic goddess. She calls me her keychain bestie because I’m five-three on a good day.
Tonight she’s wearing a long black skirt with two high slits that flash her legs every time she moves, a black leather corset that looks painted on, and her dark cherry hair falling straight down her back.
Long open coat, Lolita-style shoes clicking on the wet pavement.
“Lu.” I hug her tight, breathing in her familiar perfume. “You look hot.”
“How are you not freezing?” I ask, half laughing.
“I need to show off the outfit, girl.” She winks. “It’s packed!” she chirps, already opening my coat to inspect the outfit underneath. “And you look like you are on the hunt.”
“I am,” I wink, dark humor curling my purple lips. “Let’s go ruin someone’s night.”
The bouncer gives us a quick once-over and swings the door open. “Good evening, ladies.”
The second we step inside it’s another world, a world where Dracula would definitely feel right at home.
We walk down the short flight of stone stairs.
Lucille tugs my coat off my shoulders with a grin.
“I’m taking this.” She strides ahead to the coat check and every head turns to watch her.
She’s gorgeous, magnetic, and the one who taught me how to embrace this dark side of myself instead of hiding it.
I wait for her, arms wrapped around my middle against the sudden blast of cold air. When she comes back we push through the heavy inner doors together.
The bass is so loud it vibrates straight through my combat boots and into my bones.
Low crimson lights pulse across black stone walls and old dark wood beams. Smoke curls thick in the air, turning every movement into something slow and haunted.
The scent of incense, spilled cocktails that look like blood, and warm bodies wraps around me instantly.
I feel the first real smile of the night tug at my purple lips.
“Let’s get a drink!” Lucille says, grabbing my arm. I let her pull me through the crowd toward the bar.
“Two Witches Blood, please!” she tells the bartender. The woman behind the counter, black lipstick, silver septum ring, gives a quick nod and starts pouring something dark red into two glasses.
Before the drinks even hit the bar, True Faith by New Order starts pulsing through the speakers.
And fuck the drinks.
I slip away from Lucille, weave between bodies, and find one of the tall high-top tables near the edge of the dance floor.
I kick off the ground and climb up, combat boots thudding onto the wooden surface.
The moment I’m standing above everyone, the music slams into me full force.
My entire body connects to the rhythm. My brain finally, blissfully shuts the hell up.
I close my eyes for half a second, then open them and let the night take over.
Men are watching. Good. Let them.
One catches my attention hard. He’s leaning against the bar, drink in hand, wearing a faded band shirt under a worn leather jacket.
Blond hair a little messy, sharp jaw, eyes locked on me and I feel my cheeks burn under the glitter, but I don’t look away.
Instead I slow my movements, hips rolling deliberately, hands sliding down my waist, tracing the lace edge of my crop top.
I smirk, trying to unlock every ounce of my seductive power, while my entire body is shaking.
He blinks. Once. Twice. Then his mouth twitches and the right side of lips curls up.
He’s hot. Not gonna lie, I’m usually not a blond type of girl, but for this one I could absolutely make an exception. Still… It's too early to pick. I did that with Luke and look how that disappointment turned out.
A hand wraps around my ankle. I glance down.
Lucille is holding my drink up to me, one eyebrow raised in that absolute menace way she does so well.
I take the glass, the cold condensation biting my fingers, and sip.
The cocktail is sweet, smoky, and hits the back of my throat.
I look back toward the bar for the blond guy.
He’s gone.
That’s disappointing.
Dragula by Rob Zombie crashes through the speakers next.
The beat is perfect. Lucille climbs up behind me without asking, her body pressing close as we move together.
Our long hair swings side to side with every headbang, black and dark cherry strands tangling in the red lights.
We sing the lyrics at the top of our lungs, voices raw and laughing, not caring who hears.
For these few minutes the world narrows to nothing but the bass in my chest, the smoke curling around us, the heat of Lucille’s shoulder against mine, and the feeling of every eye in the club sliding over my skin.
I feel alive.
And for the first time in weeks, the tired, heavy version of me that’s been carrying around too much wine and too many mediocre nights finally shuts the fuck up and lets me dance.
We lose track of time completely.
The music keeps swallowing us whole until Lucille suddenly laughs and points toward the edge of the dance floor.
A guy is signaling her, tall, dark hair, a smirk that says he’s been waiting all night.
Cooper. He’s been trying to date her for six straight months, but Lucille loves making him chase.
She talks to him constantly, sends him filthy pictures that keep him up at night, and still refuses to call it dating. She just enjoys watching him drool.
“Don’t wait for me!” she chuckles, already climbing down from the table with that wicked grin on her face.
“Have fun, babe!” I wave her off, blowing her a kiss. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
She disappears into the crowd.
I keep going until my legs start to go numb from dancing on the high table for so long. I hop down, but the second my boots hit the floor my balance betrays me. The world tilts. I start to face-plant straight toward the sticky floor.
A pair of strong hands wrap around my waist from behind, catching me before I eat the floor.
“Fuck,” I grunt, grabbing for the person’s shoulder to steady myself. “Sorry—”
I turn fast, ready to laugh it off and flash my best apology.
I have to crane my neck way up.
All I see are forest-green eyes staring down at me through strands of messy black hair.
His hoodie is pulled low over his forehead and a black mask covers the lower half of his face, his mouth, nose, everything.
He’s dressed head to toe in black, tall and broad enough that he blocks out half the pulsing red lights behind him.
My mouth goes dry for half a second.
“I’m so sorry—” I start again.
He doesn’t let me finish.
His hands drop from my waist in a flash and he gives one single, silent nod, then turns and melts straight into the crowd of dancing bodies without a word.
That was… weird.
Usually guys say something. “It’s okay.” “No problem.” “You good?” They don’t just disappear.
I shrug it off, shaking the strange little jolt out of my shoulders. Whatever. Not my problem tonight.
I push through the bodies until I’m right in the middle of the dance floor. Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode kicks in and the old dark-wave beat slides under my skin. I love these songs, the ones that make you want to dance until the world burns down around you.
I close my eyes and let the music take over again, hips rolling slow, arms lifting above my head, hair swinging with every move. The smoke curls around me, the red lights strobe across my glitter-dusted cheeks, and for a minute I forget everything and everyone.
“You dropped this.”
The voice is low, right against my ear, warm breath brushing my skin.
I turn.
It’s the blond guy from earlier, Metallica shirt, leather jacket, that same sharp jaw and hungry eyes. He’s holding up my lipstick, the deep purple one I must have lost when I almost fell.
I smile, looking him up and down.
This is going to be fun.