I place my glass down on the wooden surface of the bar. My glass is half empty, ivory foam sliding down the inside of the clear material and into a golden puddle. Readjusting my weight on the bar stool, I yank the back of my grey jeans up to the deep dimples above my behind. I'd rather not display the mole above my left butt-cheek to the whole bar, but that's just me. A couple of people raise their hands to me in a warm and friendly greeting. I politely return the gesture and frantically hope that they won't approach me, I'm getting fucking tired of acting like I'm not going completely bonkers. They thankfully sit down away from me and I continue to dip my chin towards my only fantasy. The alcohol is a depressant but is also a blessing.
Unable to deal with my current emotional situation, I spend what little alone time I can actually muster at the bars. I sit, I think, I brood, I maybe write, and I certainly continue breathing.
I order another drink, further draining my already dwindling bank account, and I wait for it to be handed over to me before I walk to the restroom. I have to be careful of being drugged, all women seem to have to . . . even if they really aren't at all 'feminine'. My chucks squeak as I walk through the beaten, wooden door. I squeeze into a stall, complete my business, and saunter back on out to my leather stool.
A lot of shit has been happening in the small town in which I currently reside in. I am actually living proof of it, along with many of my peers. My face is black and blue, my lip is split and my eyes are dark around the cheek bones. I got away from the horror that befell me but others are not that lucky. I learned of a fellow peer that faced harassment and an indirect assault while taking a walk in the evening during the weekend. Upon learning this I was furious beyond all recognition. My anger melded with the red hot disapproval of myself and it certainly did not mix a good cocktail for those opposing me. I have been a 'hero' and a 'role model' in the past, but I am no longer that person. I never really was.
I begin to gulp down my fourth glass of liquid reprieve when a hand lies on my shoulder. I look to my left and see a sweet-faced woman addressing me. She holds much humane beauty but I lose interest completely as she begins to speak. She tells me that she recognizes me from several live performances. She tells me sweetly how much she loves my voice and appreciates what I have been trying to say. I am flattered but I would rather not have anyone around. I make small talk and wait for her to leave me alone.
I finish my drink and I go to the restroom again before I begin my set. Little did I know, the one I secretly have been waiting for, the one I secretly admire, has been waiting for me to make the right move.
I walk into the bar's restroom and there she stands, dressed in a revealing leather outfit that I partially know is for me yet is far beyond me. She stands with her eyes down, chin strong, and I just continue to look at her feet when I enter the room. My heart stops and I flounder to decide what it is I should do, and what I desire to do: react with my most animalistic responses, or think with my brain and possibly screw everything else up . . .
It is not beyond me to be frightened but it is certainly beyond my control to be hurt and able to handle myself in a way that I can control. I hurt deeply but my blood is racing in my veins and I feel myself wetting my tight black shorts. I have imagined this for a long time.
I have the free space and I am alone, do I do what I want? I slowly drag my eyes up her pristine frame, admiring her curves, her skin tone and her darting eyes.
Something is different, however. She looks up at me and her gaze is intense. She is strong in so many ways but this is one of the first times that she has cut me with her gaze . . . and I love it. I feel faint as if all the blood in my body is pouring out of place where she has looked through me. I breath deeply, in and out, and I'm trying so hard to stop my body from quaking.
My voice digs through my defenses and I ask
"W-Why are we here, why are we still here and hurting?"
She looks down at her heels and bites her lower lip, exposing her sharp and white teeth. She clears her throat and responds
"I'm sorry, I should not be doing this, I know I shouldn't, but I have to do something or I personally will go insane. It is unfair to all of us to keep quiet and I can hardly bare being here and not saying anything to you . . . no matter how 'wrong' I may me in doing so . . ."
I try so hard to let her complete her thought process but I am racing for her before I can control myself. I know I am about to inflict more pain, but the most animalistic (or humane?) part of me is busting out and clawing towards her face.
I grab her lower back with one hand and she stiffens but I tenderly grasp her left hip and I feel her relax. My hands are already getting sweaty and my mind is finally beginning to quiet down. I feel her back bend and twist in my hand and my arousal peeks. I give myself fully to this beautiful person even though I own very little of myself to provide. In much anticipation and angst I grasp her jawline and pull her chin towards mine. It has been forbidden in the past but I press her lips against my wet and trembling mouth. It is as perfect as it always was. It is surely not the first time but I am almost sure that it shall not be the last.
Vibration escapes between her lips, her hands at first are shaking but she steadily finds the back of my head. She presses into my lips, just like I imagined she would and she yanks me by the hair until my most vulnerable space is exposed. In heels . . . she's pretty fucking tall. . . and it's awesome! My body is bent in a beautiful arch, the tendons in my neck are clearly pronounced and my life force is beating uncontrollably. She is staring at me with such hunger and I can almost feel her self control breaking. It's as if I am about to be a meal. The anticipation is killing me, I am wondering if anyone is going to come in and ruin this. She is silent but the power and energy that I can sense is nearly knocking me out. With her fist still laced in my hair I say through a clenched jaw
"Bite me. Do it, BITE ME. Rip this from me, BITE ME!"
Music pounds from whats seems to be miles away. She pulls me close to her and hovers above my jugular. I break out in goose flesh when her red painted lips brush up against my neck. I have lost control. She doesn't bite me, she knows she can't . . . I just can't seem to get the memo. Instead, she pulls me into her and kisses my neck up to my chin. I'm about to be sick. She looks at me through sad eyes and touches my cheekbones, I wince.
"I know what happened to you" she says
"But you have to be careful. I know you are angry, baby, I know. But if you act on it, it may consume you completely. You are stronger than you know."
I push back and stare at my feet. My walls are up and when this happens I feel like I can never love again.
She sees past my wall and feels that I am about to run, and she pulls me in gently. She tells me not to go anywhere, that it is ok.
"I am not ok. This is not ok. NONE OF THIS IS OK!"
My timbre drops and booms. My voice can sometimes be one of my strongest weapons and when teamed with my eyes . . . you could potentially be looking at a huge problem.
She is still so soft, I feared that I had frightened her . . . or perhaps pissed her off, but instead she understands that my anger is not a personal attack but is instead a release of the turmoil that is me.
I become distant from the world and she wraps her arms around me. I can't even lift my head. Then, as if on cue, the sweet faced woman that talked with me earlier pops in and tells me that they are looking for me to start my set. The stage is ready. I nod once and respond saying that I'll be there shortly. She looks at me then looks awkwardly at the one holding me. With a dejected look she leaves. I don't understand why anyone wants me. It is re-fucking-diculous.
"I have to go" I hear myself say in a cracked voice.
"I know you do." She says.
I look up at her and I kiss her again. I hover in front of her lips and take in her scent. The pain is delicious. Our foreheads meet.
After a few endless seconds she walks away from me without a word.
I sit in the stall and I can't even cry. I just close my eyes and breath deeply. I finish up, wash my hands and walk with squared shoulders and an inclined head towards the stage. Before I step into the warm lights where everyone is watching me, I give word to the bar tender to throw me a pitcher. I'm going to need it.
It's time for the performer to perform, for performing is the life of the performer. It is all a big role crisis. All facets of my personality will come with me on stage and then I leave as an empty shell.
I drag deeply from my cold glass, pick up my guitar and croon softly yet apathetically into the mic
"Good evening ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between . . ."
It looks like it's gonna rain all night.
tbc
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Submitted by:
MariMadlyn
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