Then, Night to Bust

The moment I stepped in, I was immediately struck by the overwhelming smell of alcohol and sweat. Paired with the oppressive heat and lack of ventilation, and I was almost ready to gag. I could barely see anything, if not for a flurry of people: glowing, flashing, illuminated.

And there she was.

I didn't quite recognize her at first; slumped over the counter, head buried in her hands. But as I was making my way towards her, I realized she'd been looking at me through the reflection of the mirror all along. I slipped next to her and waited for the slightest bit of acknowledgement (a stupid move, really, what with her track record so far). I had initially decided to wait it out, but in my hasty impatience, I knew I was bound to break.

And some part of me was overjoyed, seeing her here. Our encounter had been so long ago (4 months and 12 days, if you were counting) but I was as unsuccessful in forgetting about it as I was in finding her. I don't really know what I was hoping to achieve in finding her, but I looked with all my might (or, as much as I could without making an ass out of myself). And as I was finally coming to terms with my defeat, she appears, almost out of thin air!

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" I start, already regretting my approach. There was something so unattainable about her; how she was never truly present, too lost within herself to allow for an actual connection between us. It was only when I provoked her that I got any response at all.

She looked over at me and frowned. Her eyes skimmed over my face, settling on each feature as if she was making a mental inventory of it all. Then, within half a heartbeat, she shot to her feet and grabbed my arm, "Come."

I could hear the music gradually fade as we journeyed the narrow corridor, there were people scurrying in every direction; and she maneuvered so easily between them, as if she's done this countless times before, while I struggled behind her. Then we made our way up a steep stairway, and again, there were people sprawled at every side; this time she held my wrist and pulled me along.

When we finally made it out to the street, the autumn air came blustering towards us, cold and harsh, but it was a welcomed change to the stifling heat of the club. Her lips stained crimson and she started sniffling; and in the yellow glare of the street lights it almost looked like she was smiling.

I must have forgotten how beautiful she was, because I found myself marveling at the curve of her lips, and how her unkept hair fell in mismatched curls over her face. Her eyes were an icy blue, when she was occupied with her own thoughts, but once she broke out of it, a cloudy murkiness took over them, as if she was suddenly made aware of her own existence.

"You hungry?" she asked, barely finishing her sentence when I already answered with a yes.

"Come on, then."

Maybe it was my own wishful thinking but it felt as if some preexisting barrier had somehow been removed.  Every once in a while, I'd start a conversation with her; most of the times I'd fail to even get it started, but sometimes she would humor me, mumbling her replies before quickly falling to silence once again. Yet it wasn't an unpleasant sort of silence. It felt comfortable; like the fluid silence of casual companionship.

And when the night finally came to an end, I asked her if she had a good time. She took a few moments to consider (which wasn't a good sign), and finally answered with a yes.

Then I told her it was the most fun I've had in a very long time.

And she said: "We better work on that, then."


 *Previous part: http://relinquish-my-masochism.blogspot.com/2013/10/one-crows-rows.html