iFeel

by Marissa Carmel

  I’m speechless, not to mention horrified.

  “Did Eunique put you up to this?” I ask hoping this is some kind of sick joke.

  “Of course not!” They nearly shout.

  Uppity little things.

  “What did you guys have in mind?” I try to ask enthused, seeing they are completely serious, but the words came out flat. My mind shutters at the thought of their answer.

  “Solstice!”

  “Oh…” I just stand there, staring, making a small puddle on the floor.

  Solstice is one of the most popular nightspots on the Shore; it was one of its Mecca’s. That being said, I don’t think I can live through a night at an overly crowded social hotspot, filled with inebriated tourists and heckling locals without an obscene amount of alcohol. It wouldn’t be pretty.

  “It’s sweet of you guys to think of me, but I really don’t do well in crowds.”

  I suddenly catch a whiff of their conniving energy, and I can see an insidious twinkle Honey’s eye.

  “Liv, you can't spend your twenty-first birthday alone, cooped up in your apartment,” she starts as she slips one of her arms into mine.

  “On 4th of July, weekend no less.” Serena finishes, weaseling their way into my apartment.

  “I know, but I…” before I can put up a fight, the two of them have forced me into my bedroom and are rummaging through my closet. They remind me of those two trouble making cats from Lady and the Tramp.

  “True Religions or Rock and Republic?” Serena asks.

  “True Religions,” I reluctantly answer, trying to think of a way to wiggle out of this. However, before I know it I’m dressed up like a Barbie doll.

  “Wow Liv, for someone who doesn’t get out much, you have quite the collection.” Honey says eyeing up my black Michael Kors dress.

  “Thanks, but I still don’t think this is such a good idea.” I say hesitantly.

  “Nonsense,” Serena demands as she pulls out my makeup bag from the bathroom. “You’ll look back on this one day as one of the best nights of your life.”

  I highly doubt it.

  As I apply some eye shadow, I fight through the hair-splitting desire to go out. I desperately want to socialize, but the emotional coil of my insides prevents me from running out the door like any normal twenty-one year old. You see; I only have a few shards of sanity left. I’m at war with the world and with this disease; it’s an inexorable battle. And every time I step outside; I wonder whether this will be the day the illness finally wins. I want to fight it; I want to control it, but it’s so much more powerful then I will ever be. The only thing I have to hold onto is the bubble that houses my life. So fragile, so frail, that one wrong touch can pop my entire existence. I cling to it desperately and protect it ferociously. I don’t want to end up as some tragic mental patient, but I don’t foresee any other future.

  On that depressing note, I try to look past my impending doom and convince myself I shouldn’t be cooped up as I run my flat iron through my hair. If I’m going to go out, it might as well be with a bang. Right?

  I gloss my lips and finish with some shimmery bronzer. I look at myself in the mirror. Except for the relentless burn still lingering on my skin and the crushing emotional disorder, I almost appear normal, inconspicuous even.

  “Ready?” I ask in circumspect, walking out into the living room now matching my decked out friends.

  We walk out onto the busy street. I live in a tiny Soho inspired town known for its beauty, shopping and nightlife. Red River is nestled against a waterway that flows into the Atlantic, and although its activities don’t revolve around the ocean, it has no problem drawing a crowd, which is exactly what it’s doing tonight. The town’s annual Fourth Fair has people littered in all directions, enthralled at the night sky bursting with color over our heads. We weave our way through the crowd, and up to the entrance of Solstice; there must have been fifty people waiting on line eager to get passed the coveted velvet rope.

  We bypass the line and walk down a side alleyway instead. We wait by a large black iron door. I can’t help but catch a peculiar sensation in the air. It’s uncomfortable and piercing, and almost feels like it was seeping up through the cracks in the sidewalk. It made me want to move, preferably away from the nightclub and back into the isolation of my apartment.

  The door finally opens.

  “You guys ready?” Serena’s brother Gary asks as he ushers us into the dark hallway. “It’s just starting to pick up inside. I already had to break up two fights and kick three people out. Fourth of July weekend has begun!”

  He was pumped.

  I was scared.

  We can hear the club beats echoing through The Hallway of Hands, the long dark corridor that leads into the main room of Solstice. It’s called that because it was so black and so crowded you can never tell exactly who is touching you, and for the most part, you really didn’t want to know.

  We surfaced from the hallway unscathed and into the center of a tri-leveled universe. The room is cluttered with beautiful people, mingling in designer clothes drinking designer martinis.

  Above us, strobe lights danced like aurora borealis, and the disco ball sparkled like one of Harry Winston’s diamonds in the sun.

  We walk down the illuminated staircase onto the main level where men have hair styled with product stronger than crazy glue and graphic tank tops that show off their summer biceps. The women are dressed in tight, low-cut shirts, their lips oozing with gloss that is so shiny it reflects off the gel in their boyfriend’s hair; their skin both the perfect tanning bed bronze.

  I push my way over to the bar; I can’t wait to get some alcohol pumping through my system; it will be the only thing that will help combat the madness. I urgently order five shots of Apple Sauce and a Blue Crush, because that is exactly my intention, to get crushed.

  I slam down the shots. Bring on the intoxication emancipation.

  “Geez Liv,” Honey giggles as she watches me. “Save some alcohol for the rest of us.”

  Funny, I thought, but necessary.

  We migrate over to the lounge area where white leather couches are lined against crown-molded walls, and metal pub tables are sprinkled among a dark carpeted floor.

  On the level below the lounge, the dance floor protrudes four white pedestals peaking female dancers above the crowd. Turbines stream the flowing, white fabric of their ensembles across their glistening skin, rendering them dream like. I admire them intensely as if I’m trapped in a hypnotic state.

  “Liv, are you ok?” Honey tugs at my arm.

  “Fine, why?” I smile and blink out of my haze. I feel oddly at ease.

  “Just checking,” she says. “You seemed a little distant.”

  I snap myself back to reality as Serena introduces us to some high school friends. Soon our tiny table is full of empty beer bottles and martini glasses.

  An hour later I nudge Honey, “have you seen Serena?” I yell over the thumping music.

  “Ya, she’s hunting frat boy,” she yells back, nodding to the left.

  In a dark corner, I can feel Serena aggressively flirting.

  “It looks like she really likes him.”

  Although what I meant is that it feels like she really likes him.

  “I know,” Honey grimaces. “I guess he could be cute in that, I’m too cool to care kind of way.”

  The mark has on a plaid button down and wild undone hair, totally uncharacteristic of the Solstice crowd, not to mention Serena’s taste.

  “To each their own,” I say taking a lackadaisical sip of my martini.

  I’m happy Serena found a potential love interest and even happier no one was bothering me. One boy tried to talk to Honey, but she immediately blew him off. He was another to cool to care kind of guy and clearly held no interest for her at all.

  As for me and romantic relations go; I stay as far away as possible. It’s safer that way.

  Liv +Love=Ludicrous. I’ll find all the company I need in the
liquid of my martini glass.

  As the celebrity DJ blasts a well-known melody through the speakers the strobe lights go berserk. One of Jersey’s rock anthems bio-chemically vibrates the atmosphere. Fists pump and scream singing ensues. There is no escaping it, the music sucks you in, and everyone gives praise to the rock Gods of the Jersey Shore.

  “We have to dance!” Honey screams as she grabs my wrist pulling me towards the dance floor.

  “Hey! Careful!” I cry. My martini is spilling everywhere, “alcohol abuse!”

  I down the drink as elegantly as I can. Really there’s no nice way to pound one back. I put the empty glass down on a ledge just as Honey pulls me onto the crowded dance floor. We squeeze our way through the masses, so we can find a place to dance. I am definitely feeling the alcohol’s effect, and it’s allowing me to enjoy the moment. Why don’t I do this more often I wonder to myself, like I have no inhibitions.

  We dance for what felt like hours. The music is just so pleasurable. I don’t even notice the thirst in my throat or the sweat down my neck.

  Our circle is officially broken when Honey finds herself a worthy dance partner. I watch as their two bodies weave together, influenced by the music. Beads of sweat glisten on their skin, and their breath is heavy and wet. They are so in sync they look like extras in a Step Up movie.

  I saw this as a perfect opportunity to slip away and grab some water before I dehydrate right in the middle of the dance floor, and am swallowed up alive. Besides, I was starting to pick up some very libidinous desires, which makes me feel dreadfully uneasy, not to mention it’s totally killing my high.

  I try to move away from the infringing craving, but a pair of unfamiliar hands grabs me, pinning my wrists to my sides; his grip inexplicably strong.

  He presses his body against mine, keeping rhythm with the music. I decide to indulge him just for a moment and then make an escape. My throat yearns for some water, and my feet are swollen from dancing in heels; I am seriously uncomfortable. I try to pull away, but he wraps his arm around my waist trapping me in. I’m helpless as the stranger invades my personal space, and every time I try to break free; he acts like quicksand sucking me in.

  I look for Honey in the crowd, but she has disappeared in the swelling mass of dancers.

  The stranger presses his body against mine; it’s hard and uncomfortable, and I just want him to let go. I look up at one of the bouncers standing on the staircase, but he takes no notice of me. My pathetic attempt to get his attention is undetectable in the flooding human sea.

  My head starts to become cloudy, and I feel jabbing energy prickle all over me.

  I pull and squirm, trying every means possible to get free from the arm bar hold this jerk had on me.

  Why is this guy not getting the picture? I don’t want to dance!

  The room starts to spin, and the strobe lights blind me. Everything is closing in. There are too many people in a tiny space.

  His grip suddenly starts to suffocate me; I gasp for air like I’m going into anaphylactic shock.

  “Let go!” I yell, but my voice; it’s gone. It has become nothing more than a whisper, like the kind in a dream, or in this case, a nightmare. I wish I could find Honey; she would surely see my SOS; the upset on my face and my resisting body language. At this point, everyone should notice, but no one does, as if I have gone invisible or something.

  As the energies impale me, it feels like they are killing me. I fear my number has just come up.

  The worst part is there seems to be no escape. This jerk just won’t let go, like he has some kind of superhuman death grip, lay off the steroid’s buddy!

  I unexpectedly feel something cold against my neck; it’s wet, but it’s not liquid.

  “Uncomfortable?” A rigid voice asks, sending shivers downmy spine. The cold wetness was his breath. It smells like beer from the next day’s hangover. Disgusting.

  “No.” I mutter still trying to struggle.

  Big fat lie by the way.

  “Why won’t you let go?” My voice strains. However, he doesn’t answer; he just keeps me dancing in his prison. I don’t even know if he can hear me.

  My energy starts to drain. My feet go numb, my back aches and my head throbs.

  “Let go,” I beg breathless.

  I start to see stars, then, suddenly; something hard smacks me in the face. I can literally feel pandemonium in the air. Random images flash in front of me, but they’re blurry, unrecognizable.

  As I take my last breath, the only sound, I can hear is my dying heartbeat echoing in my ears.

  Thump thump… thump thump… thump thump…

  Stranger Than Fiction

  “Uhhhhh!” I shoot up.

  Pain floods into my head. I hang it between my hands, resting my elbows on my knees as I moan in agony.

  “Well, good morning,” a strange voice says in an ear pleasing tone.

  “Says who?” I ask unconsciously, and then snap my head up to see who I’m talking to. Sitting in my oversized reading chair is a complete stranger. I stare. His eyes and nose are covered by a black military-style cap, as he sits completely at ease.

  “Who are you?” I ask quickly, the pain shooting into my ears and down my neck from the jerked movement.

  When I rub my legs together, I find another surprise. Where are my pants?

  “Who are you and why are you in my apartment?” I ask again rubbing my temples; I feel totally disoriented.

  “You should really take those.” He nods to the nightstand next to me were three aspirins, and a bottle of water sit. “I’m Justinian,” he adds. “But you can call me Justice.”

  He lifts his chin, but the brim of his hat still conceals most of his face.

  “Ok, Justice.” His name rolls off my tongue.

  “How much of last night do you remember?” He asks in a suspicious tone.

  I shake my head lightly trying to recall. “The last thing I remember is being at Solstice watching the dancers…and nothing else.” It was like my memory hit a brick wall after that.

  His lips twitch, but he says nothing more.

  “How did I get home?” I look around confused. I am so confused.

  “I brought you.”

  “Was I that drunk I needed an escort?” One I apparently didn’t know.

  “Well not exactly.” There was a hesitance to his tone.

  I was probably so intoxicated Honey and Serena pretended they didn’t know me after a while. I tried to warn them. I’m absolutely horrified, and now I’m stuck with some guy -with a weird name- recapping the details of a derailed night. Life is just wonderful.

  “Was I dancing on the bar?” I ask mortified.

  “No,” he smirks, “for the most part, your feet were planted firmly on the ground.”

  “Was I drinking other people’s drinks after the bartenders cut me off?”

  “No, I don't think you drank anyone else’s drink but your own.”

  “Was I walking around the club barefoot trying to find where I left my shoes?”

  Another “no” was his answer.

  I wanted to die asking the next question. “Well…did we…um, you know…?” I cleared my throat uncomfortably.

  You find a strange guy in your apartment the next morning, and you think one of two things; psycho killer is the second.

  “Definitely not.”

  “Well....then why can’t I remember anything, and why did you need to bring me home?”

  He doesn’t answer at first, so I wait during the long silence. My head still throbs, but I have to know what happened last night.

  He leans over and lets out a hesitant sigh. “This might be a little hard for you to believe, so I’m going to ask you to keep an open mind.”

  I look at him thrown; that’s an interesting start to a conversation.

  “There are things…things, not so natural to this world. And last night, while you were dancing you encountered one of those things.”

  “Things?”


  “Yes, a Spirit Stalker, he was trying to kill you, until I intervened.”

  I can feel my facial expression contort. That’s not exactly the answer I was expecting. I peer over at my bathroom knowing I have some anti-psychotic meds to spare.

  “So, you’re telling me that some kind of creature was trying to kill me in a room full of people?” I can’t believe the words that are coming out of my mouth. I think it has finally happened; either this guy is certifiable, even worse off than me, or the bubble has finally popped and somewhere, in reality, I am strapped to a metal table being sedated. This has to be a dream or a weird drug delirium.

  “Yes, I know that probably sounds crazy to you, but it is the truth.”

  “Sounds crazy? It is crazy.”

  “I told you to keep an open mind.” He says directly. “I’m trying to explain, last night, I was hunting.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You were hunting?” I interrupt him.

  He lets out another frustrated sigh. “Yes, and if you let me finish you’ll understand why.”

  I nod him on. I just have to hear this. My subconscious is crazier than I could have ever imagined.

  “I settled back into the darkness to watch. I watched all night. I watched for him. The one who attacked you. He was only there a little while when I spotted him making his way through the crowd, I knew he found a target. He moved onto the dance floor, and proceeded to blend in with the rest of the dancers. He acted quickly, because before I knew it, he was making his way into your mind.

  “My mind?”

  “Yes, your mind. A Spirit Stalker invades your senses, deconstructing your sanity, and ultimately sucks out your soul. The pain he implants starts in your head and works its way out into your body until there’s nothing left, but a hallow corpse.”

  I wrap my hand around my throat and flash back to a pair of pink flip-flops with rhinestone flowers.

  “You crumbled beneath him. He acted quickly, like he couldn’t kill you fast enough. I was actually worried I wouldn't be able to stop him in time. It was only moments before I got to you, but even by then he had already done some serious damage.”

  I sat there staring at the mysterious stranger who abruptly stopped talking.