Twisted City: (Twisted City Book 1)

by Rebekah Vasick

  Only a trickle of electricity wandered through our touch. The hummingbird stayed her wings and not a single butterfly fluttered around my stomach. However, I wasn't about to let these insignificant details cease my pursuit of a blossoming relationship.

  As my gaze travels the length of his body, I discover he's already staring at me with a longing in his eyes that I'm unable to fulfill.

  Is this how Angelo perceives me?

  I force a smile and even allow him to press his lips against my forehead before we resume watching the movie.

  The flickering images meld together as my mind plays its own movie. Though Patsy and I adorned ourselves with jeans and sweaters, John wears a white button-down shirt and jeans. Along with his aftershave, I can't help but wonder if this was all for my benefit. Or maybe he’s trying to mimic Angelo as he’s parted his hair on the right, though it flops over his left eyebrow. At this point, it wouldn't surprise me if he dyed it to match Angelo's raven hair.

  I banish the thoughts, only to request their return as I focus on the screen to witness a couple passionately kissing before retiring to the bedroom to proclaim their love and desire for each other.

  Heat flushes my cheeks and moisture forms in my hands. I try to release my hand from John's, only to find he tightens his fingers around mine. I glance at his face, to discover the allurement dwelling within his eyes as he gazes at me.

  Oh, gosh. This is too uncomfortable.

  Though I'm not fully educated in dating, I know he wants to perform the acts on the screen with me; something I'm far from ready to do with anyone, let alone him.

  I turn my glowing face away and retrieve my drink, taking long gulps from it until it's safe to watch the movie again.

  At the closing credits, I release John's hand, as I'm not ready to display my affections to the world quite yet. However, I'm sure he'll tell Patsy once the two of them are alone.

  My head becomes heavy with thoughts of Angelo, of John, and my sudden desires for them both. And it's not like I can confide in anyone.

  My head encourages me to drop my love for Angelo and pass the torch to John, but my heart begs me to continue hoping for something to transpire, despite him having a relationship with my best friend.

  With heavy feet, I follow John and Patsy to the exit.

  As the two of them babble on about the movie we watched, my lips remain sealed while my thoughts continue to blitz through my mind.

  Do I really like John or is he filling the void because Angelo is unavailable?

  “So, Eva?” John asks.

  I wear a bewildered stare. “Huh?”

  Both he and Patsy chuckle.

  “That good, eh?” he says. “I asked what you thought of the movie.”

  “Oh, yeah, it was pretty good.”

  I didn't have the heart to tell either of them that romantic movies aren't my thing, considering they paid for the tickets before I arrived.

  “Are you ready to go home or would you like to get a drink somewhere?” John asks. The longing in his eyes informs me he's hoping for the latter.

  “Actually, I’m heading home,” I say, wrapping my scarf around my neck before donning my jacket and zipping it up to my chin.

  Disappointment saturates his warm, caramel eyes, though I refuse to allow them to alter my decision.

  “Can I at least take you home?” he asks.

  “No, I’d like to walk.” I force my lips to curve.

  “Well, okay. Can I call you sometime this week? Maybe we can make plans or something.”

  Though he didn't say “date,” I know that's what he's implying. My gaze wanders over to Patsy to discover she's already acknowledged John's intentions as her dark eyes glimmer and a wide smile materializes.

  I return my attention to John. “Yeah, I suppose so,” I sigh. “Well, thank you both for a lovely evening.”

  John pursues our embrace, holding me tightly like he did when I arrived. However, I'm reluctant to do the same, nor do I rest my cheek against his shoulder.

  After giving Patsy a final hug goodbye, I don my gloves and brave the winter night.

  The frigid air penetrates my leather jacket, chilling me to the bone. I don't regret my decision to walk home. However, I do quicken my pace.

  By the time I reach the bar where I found Angelo's car, my eyes spontaneously scan the parking lot, only to discover his car's absence.

  My teeth chatter from the cold and I tighten my jaw to cease the chatter, with little effect.

  Once I’m inside the building, my cheeks burn. After removing my gloves and scarf, I press my naked hands to my cheeks, expecting to warm my fingertips, only to discover my cheeks are just as frozen. I step across the threshold of my apartment and slip off my Converse and leave them by the front door. I shed my jacket and toss it onto my bed.

  I don’t notice Alice's return until I hear her speak. “How was the movie?”

  She's curled up on the sofa, decked in her winter pajamas. Her sea-green eyes sparkle. Only when I make my approach does she sit up, allowing me space on the sofa to join her.

  “It was okay. Certainly your kind of movie,” I chuckle weakly.

  “Romance? How did you survive?”

  “They paid for my ticket, so I grinned and bore it. How was your night?”

  “Oh, it was fantastic,” she gushes, allowing her eyes to slide closed as she revisits her memories.

  I tighten my jaw and swallow the sour taste that has formed in my mouth. A heavy stone materializes in my stomach and I wish I’d kept silent. Yet, my mouth opens, allowing more undesired questions to flow. “Did you help your friend?”

  She furrows her brow until she remembers the lie she told.

  “Oh, yeah.” She arches her eyebrows. “Yes, she's fine now. After I filled her with alcohol, she forgot all about her ex.”

  “That's good. Did you take her home? If she was that drunk, she would have needed a little help, right?”

  “Mm-hmm,” she mummers through pursed lips, holding the deceit within her mouth. Her eyes widen. Even the color of her eyes grows a shade lighter.

  “So, I saw Angelo's car as I was walking towards the theater.”

  The color drains from her face and her voice raises an octave. “Really? I thought John would have picked you up.”

  “No, I wanted to walk.” I scrutinize her features as I muse. “I wonder why he went to a bar so close to our house.”

  She nods as she fakes a questioning expression.

  “Maybe you can ask him when you're at work again,” she finally says.

  I’m tired of her lies and the anguish it brings when I hear them. Why can’t she just tell me the truth? I thought we were closer than this.

  “I'm exhausted. Night, Alice,” I say, heading to my bedroom.

  “Night, Eva,” she says in her normal voice, clearly relieved I've liberated her from my inquisition.

  After stashing my jacket in my wardrobe, I change into my soft Snoopy pajamas and cocoon myself within the comforter. I try to conjure up the memories of my time with Patsy and John, only to find Angelo invades my mind, expelling all other memories. The night he came to my apartment to take me to the club, I was wearing these pajamas. The image of him standing at my front door invites the hummingbird to reminisce the encounter.

  Though I want to dismiss the memory, it stays, nonetheless. It is his face that warms my heart and soothes my troubled mind as I allow sleep to take over.

  One by one, I scrape the hangers along the rail of my wardrobe, with the full intention of wearing something plain tonight. Yet as I admire each of my dresses, I recall my last attempt to elude Angelo's desires for me and how it made no difference. It seems nothing I wear will hinder his affections towards me.

  I suppose Elodie warned me he’d love everything she dressed me in. She wasn't kidding.

  If I wasn't attending a club with a strict dress code, I'd remain in my jeans and baggy sweater. Maybe then he would overlook me.

  Once I reach the fina
l hanger for the umpteenth time, I hide my hands in my hoodie pockets and sit on the end of my bed. It's no use. All my dresses will catch his eye, including my old black one.

  If I had the creative skill Alice possesses with fashion, I could create an outfit elegant enough to enter the club, but dull enough to thwart Angelo's amorous glances.

  But alas, I possess no such talent.

  The baby-blue material of a silk dress I've yet to wear protrudes from the mass of color as if it has elected itself for tonight's attire. Finding I have exerted enough energy on this decision already, I'm relieved my clothing made the choice for me. Or maybe the dress became tired of being imprisoned and used this opportunity to make her escape.

  I retrieve the dress and hold it out in front of me, questioning why it's taken so long to wear it, considering I bought it because my favorite color is blue. Out of all my dresses, this one seems to cover more of my body, with its square-cut shoulders and neckline, and a flowing skirt that reaches my knees.

  I disrobe and slip into the dress, closing the zip and accessorizing with a silver sequin belt.

  I preen in front of my full-length mirror and contemplate wearing my black suede, knee-length boots and my leather jacket to offset the beauty of the dress.

  After I put on the jacket and one boot, I change my mind. Yes, the odd biker/princess combination would avert Angelo's gaze, but I'll be standing on stage with a room full of patrons gawking at my bizarre fashion choice.

  Though I keep my leather jacket, I opt for a pair of silver pumps instead of the boots.

  Since my beautician already left for work hours ago, I need to take care of my hair and makeup alone. I disguise the haunted appearance in my ice-blue eyes with black eyeliner and autumn eyeshadow.

  After my shower, I allowed my hair to dry naturally, and now I resemble a French Poodle in desperate need of a haircut. I tame my wild mane and secure it in a messy bun, allowing a few locks to cascade around my face. Even Alice would approve of my efforts.

  As I approach Club Stang, I implore the hummingbird to settle down, though she refuses to listen. Instead, she flaps her wings harder the closer we get to being in Angelo’s presence.

  I exit the taxi and find my feet glued to the ground. I know the moment I see Angelo, I’ll lose myself within his gaze and succumb to his desires and hate myself further for my indiscretions towards Alice. But I have to enter the building and entertain the patrons in two hours when the club opens.

  I glance down at my heavy feet, fully expecting to discover concrete blocks instead of my silver pumps.

  Come on feet, work with me, I silently implore.

  They grudgingly obey as they shuffle towards the glass doors.

  The frigid air allows me to see the mist of my hot breath. When we were kids, Alice and I would hold twigs between our fingers, pretending to smoke. It seemed more realistic during winter. I giggle at the memory and wish she was here now. At least she would hinder any advances from Angelo.

  Maybe that's it. If I can keep her in my conversations with Angelo (or at least in my mind) this will be enough to repel his allurement.

  The sudden epiphany causes the concrete blocks to crumble, liberating my feet, which now propel me forward, eager to be inside and away from the cold. The chill remains within my bones, even after the door closes behind me and the heat from the club envelopes me. My cheeks burn and my teeth chatter. I hug my elbows when my body shivers.

  I expect someone to greet me, only to find the entire room appears desolate. Though I should be grateful for the solitude and Angelo’s absence, a tear opens in my chest. I miss him.

  It isn't until he stretches his arms above his head and releases a heavy sigh that I notice him sitting at his usual table. The hummingbird flaps her wings as one corner of my mouth curves.

  I remain still as I admire him. Tonight, he removed his jacket, revealing his black vest and white shirt. Though his back remains towards me, I visualize his face perfectly. A hand flutters up to my mouth, where the tip of my finger caresses my bottom lip.

  So much for keeping my thoughts in check as they conjure the image of our almost kiss.

  He must have sensed my presence as he whips his head around to look at me. My hand falls as I straighten my posture. A hot blush stains my cheeks.

  “Hey,” he says, allowing his lips to curve.

  My feet, so reluctant to move moments ago, now want to race towards his table. I order them to slow their pace so I don’t appear too eager or trip.

  An array of papers and books lay on the table, along with a bottle of whiskey and an empty tumbler. He slides along the sofa, allowing room for me to sit beside him.

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “You seem pretty busy.”

  He rests his arm on the back of the sofa towards me, while glancing at the paperwork. “I could use a break,” he says before returning his attention back to me.

  Before sitting, I rest my bag on the table and remove my jacket.

  “Wow,” he remarks.

  His ocean-blue pools glimmer as he admires my attire. I knew I should have worn the boots. And maybe a hoodie.

  My gaze lowers to my dress as I smooth out the skirt. “Oh, this is another dress, courtesy of my boss,” I say nonchalantly.

  “Seems you have a pretty decent boss.”

  “Yeah, he's okay,” I chuckle, sliding onto the sofa beside him.

  As usual, I'm close enough to inhale his scent and become drunk from it.

  But tonight, I need to control the urge to nuzzle at his neck inhale his fragrance until I pass out.

  As I scrutinize his apparel, drinking in all his splendor, one of my hands spontaneously flutters towards his tie, allowing the tips of my fingers to caress the baby-blue silk.

  “We're matching again,” I note.

  His gaze follows the length of his tie towards my hand as he chuckles. “Yeah, we should stop doing this. People might become suspicious. Maybe I should call you in the morning and let you know what color tie I'm wearing.”

  I draw my hand away, letting its twin hold it against my chest. He runs his hand through his hair, turning his face from mine.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask in a timid voice.

  When he refuses to answer or acknowledge me, trepidation trickles into my mind. Did I do something wrong?

  One hand flutters up to my mouth, where I chew on a fingernail. Maybe he's thinking of Alice and trying to be faithful towards her, considering they were together last night.

  “So, how was your birthday?” he asks, startling me. “That was the deal, right? For my forgiveness, you had to tell me about your night?”

  “Yes, I remember. Well, Alice had the night off, so we invited Patsy over and watched a movie,” I tell him.

  A rhythmic tapping beside my ear distracts me. I investigate the sound and discover it's his fingertips drumming on the back of the sofa.

  “That's it?” he asks, drawing my attention back towards him. “That's hardly a fair trade for my forgiveness, Eva.” The mischievous grin materializes, and I giggle. “You need to do better than that if you want to stay friends.”

  “What more do you want me to say?” I ask. “We ate pizza and popcorn while watching a horror film.”

  The hand resting on the sofa gravitates to his mouth, to caress his chin. “Hmm, so you like horror movies,” he muses, filing the information away, possibly alongside my date of birth. “Which one did you watch?”

  “A Midnight Haunting.”

  “Ah, a classic.” He returns his hand to the back of the sofa.

  “You like horror films?”

  “Of course. Though there haven't been any decent ones lately.”

  “That's true. Romance overruns the cinemas these days.” I grimace.

  “You're my kind of girl.”

  I lower my gaze and watch my restless fingers twist around one another. If only I was his girl.

  “Why don't you like birthdays?” he asks me.

  I feel the color drain
from my face and swallow a hard gulp of air. “You know how everyone says it's your day and you can do whatever you want? Well, someone failed to mention that doesn't apply to me.”

  When he doesn’t respond, I look at him. “I'm not being melodramatic here.”

  “I never thought you were, angel.”

  Before I can continue, my jaw tightens, and I glance around the room for nothing in particular. Though I’m unsure what provoked it, a memory of my last night at my prison materializes before my mind, causing the scar on my stomach to burn. My hand gravitates to the site and I scrutinize the area for signs of blood soaking through my dress. Of course, I find nothing.

  “I got stabbed,” I blurt out.

  A set of frozen hands grips my chest as I comprehend the words that spilled from my lips. I gasp as my wide eyes flicker towards him, while my mouth hangs agape. Why would I say that?

  He blinks a few times. “When?”

  I wish to gather the words and swallow them and change the subject entirely. Instead, I stammer incoherently.

  He gently reaches for my shoulders.

  “Hey, it's okay,” his soft voice soothes.

  He releases one hand from my shoulder and tenderly cups my chin, ceasing my babbling and drawing my attention to him, where I observe sincere love and concern expelling from his ocean pools. The frozen hands release their grip and I relax.

  I moisten my lips with the tip of my tongue. “It was a couple of days before I left Cinderwoods. I wasn’t ‘behaving’ and they threatened me with a knife but stumbled and stabbed me.”

  I can't believe I’m telling him this, having only ever told Alice and Mr. Thompson before.

  He releases my chin, allowing my head to droop, though I can't determine if I feel shame or relief from revealing my secret.

  “Who did it?” he asks.

  “Someone I hope I never see again.” My shoulders rise and fall with my heavy sigh before I gaze at him through my lashes. “After it happened, they did a shoddy job of stitching the wound and, well, I ran away.”