A few minutes later, I lay waiting for the crushing guilt to show itself. For regret to rear its ugly head.
But then, when Graham puts his arm around me and kisses my shoulder, I know that my feelings of love will outweigh and overpower both of them. Guilt and regret don’t exist here any longer.
Siblings aren’t supposed to fall madly in love with one another. It’s wrong. It’s sinful. It goes against nature. But we're not like everyone else. We are twins who are madly in love with one another and we wouldn't change a damn thing.
LUST
Melancholia
CHLOE JANE
Chapter One
For the third night in a row, I find myself in the same place and wonder why. I’m looking for something to take the pain away, but I haven’t found it yet, so I should have been able to move on.
Maybe it’s the darkly lit wooden walls and doors that are holding so many broken hearts in one place. It could be the darker corners of this establishment where young men are talking to even younger women, more than likely looking for a companion for the night.
It could also be the raucous group of dangerous looking friends that seem to have a claim on the billiards corner, beers in the air, and a few dirty, beyond sexually explicit cat calls that split the air when a pretty girl walks by.
Either way, for the past few nights, I’ve found myself sitting at the bar, ordering different amber-colored bottles of beer, hoping that my sense will finally wither and die off.
I don’t know why I’m feeling the pain again. It’s been gone for quite some time now, but lately when I close my eyes and try to sleep, the images flash before me and I’m trapped in a world of hell for the few hours that my body can’t find its way back to the sunlight.
I push my way through the clusters of couples and threesomes—the secret lovers and the ones hoping for something more with an extra partner to add to their bed for the night. I make my way to the bar and walk to the very end of the long, wooden counter until I find my favorite seat that is hidden in partial light and sit down.
I can usually go unnoticed for most of the night because I don’t dress for the occasion as most of the lonely women here do. The girl behind the bar is the same one for the three nights I’ve been in here and I wonder if the money is really that good, or if she just doesn’t have anything better to do with her time. Surely, being around semi-drunks and loud, vulgar people can’t exactly be fun—even if they’re not all like that.
“Hey, girl!” she greets me warmly when she finally notices me. I’ve got my purse on the bar-top and I’m ready to try whatever beer she suggests tonight. It’s fun for the most part because it gives me someone to talk to and I don’t feel so damn lonely. It also helps to keep me awake longer and avoid the trauma of my dreams.
I smile at her and wait patiently as another patron manages to snag her attention before she can get to me. I take the time to turn slightly on my stool and glance around. My eyes fall almost immediately on the billiards corner and I raise an eyebrow when I notice one of the pool table hooligans is leaning against the wall, watching me with a pool cue in his hand.
I hold his gaze for a moment, then shudder involuntarily and turn my attention back to the row of bottles sitting in the large glass display case that sits behind the counter and sigh.
“Sorry,” she says with a laugh when she finally settles in front of me. “That kid tips well, so I like to keep him fully plied.”
My smile returns as I shrug. I don’t expect to be anyone’s first priority because I know that for me, it usually only leads to more scars on the soul, and mine has so much tissue damage that I know I don’t have room for any new ones.
“Not a big deal,” I reply.
“So, what will it be tonight, sweetheart?” she asks, reaching underneath the counter and producing a damp rag to wipe away someone’s partially spilled drink two stools down from where I’m sitting.
“Let’s play another game of roulette,” I suggest, reaching into my purse for my wallet. “Set something down in front of me and I’ll give it a go.”
She grins and rubs her hands together, “Shit like this is why you’re my favorite around here.”
When she walks away from me, swaying her hips to keep the attention of her big tipper, I realize that we don’t know each other’s names. She returns a few moments later with a dark, long-necked bottle and sets it down in front of me.
“This is a new one—some kind of Belgian import. I haven’t been able to get anyone to try it yet,” she says with a mischievous smile.
“Sold,” I say as I lay a ten-dollar bill on the bar-top. She grins as she takes the money and goes to make change in the register, but she knows that when she comes back with it, I’ll wave it off and let her keep it. I feel it’s the least I can do for someone who lets me sit around and talk about nothing.
I would imagine that if I actually had a friend, this would probably amount to what a friendship could be like—minus the money, anyway.
“So, what’s up tonight?” she asks, leaning down and crossing her arms on the bar-top. “Do anything or anyone fun last night?”
I put the cool bottle to my lips and take a large swig, then shake my head as I set it down and suck my teeth. This has more alcohol content than a normal beer, so a couple more of these and I’m pretty sure I’ll be calling it an early night.
Before she has a chance to ask another invasive question, the jukebox starts blaring some loud rock song and the entire place erupts in cheers. American Woman by Lenny Kravitz is all it takes to make them into one cohesive unit instead of a pack of unhinged caged animals trying to steal meat from each other’s mouths.
I smile as I take in the scene. My eyes wander back to the billiards corner and I laugh when I see one of the bastards that holds that corner hostage standing on the edge of one of the pool tables, air guitaring along to the song. But not him—not the one with the eyes that seem to have become permanently attached to my presence. No, he’s raising his own bottle of beer to his lips, still leaning against the wall, and still watching me as if I were the only woman in the room.
“What’s his deal?” I ask, tearing my eyes away from him and swinging back around in my stool. The bartender leans up on the tips of her toes and cranes her neck to see who I’m looking at before a knowing look clouds her eyes and she grins at me.
“Tell you what. If you’re looking to forget whatever the hell it is that seems to be bothering your pretty little head, then I would definitely recommend him.”
I stare at her incredulously before shuddering and setting my bottle down. The way she’s saying it makes it seem like she has hands on knowledge of what he’s capable of and I don’t want any part of it. In my dire want of friendship, I feel like I could ruin the potential of forming one with her if I clean up her sloppy seconds.
“No thanks,” I reply with a firm shake of my head.
“Oh, come on. He’s a lot of fun and he seems to be interested with the way he’s staring at you. I can intro you if you want?” she asks, giving my arm a playful punch.
“I’ll pass,” I say evenly.
She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at me in confusion. She’s probably wondering how I can resist the charms of someone who seems to have a bit of a staring problem, but truth be told, I find it a bit creepy. I feel like a meal he’s sizing up and I don’t think I want any part of what he has to offer.
“Would it change your mind if I told you that I haven’t fucked him?” she asks curiously.
My face flushes red and she grins at me. I guess I’m a lot easier to figure out than I’ve always assumed, but she isn’t laughing at me. She’s laughing at my obvious fumbling teenage girl personality.
“Listen, when I said he’s fun, I didn’t mean it that way. I’ve got a guy at home, so I know my limits. He’s just really fun when it comes to hanging around and having a conversation with is all,” she explains with a shrug. “And, I promise you, if you guys talk, you’ll forget
everything in the world that’s bringing you down. It’s kind of his specialty.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” I reply quietly.
“Tonight seems like a better time. I’ll be back,” she says, making her way down the counter to the other end of the bar where she lifts a small door and heads off into the crowd.
I want to run away.
I want to put the bottle down and get the fuck out of dodge because nothing good can come from a conversation with someone whose “specialty” is to make people forget things. I pick up the bottle again and gulp the rest of the beer down, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and pick up my purse, ready to make my escape when I see her talking to him. He’s leaned down, listening to every word she has to say, and when she raises a hand and gestures toward me, he grins, sets down his pool cue, and nods.
“Goddammit,” I mumble to myself as I begin my attempt to push my way toward the door. I’m not interested in talking to anyone else tonight and I don’t know if she’s pushing this out of spite or to snap me out of my misery, but either way, the choice is soon taken away from me.
“Hey.”
A firm hand grips my shoulder and stops me in my tracks. I bite my lip nervously as I turn around slowly and find myself face to face with the man I saw across the dark, crowded bar. He’s half hidden behind a beam, leaning around it and watching my reaction carefully.
Then suddenly, as his light blue eyes smile into mine, the world doesn’t seem so bad after all.
Chapter Two
“I heard you wanted some company,” he says with a friendly grin.
I smile weakly and when he laughs, I deduce that it was more likely a grimace than anything else.
“Sorry,” I mumble in embarrassment.
“No, it’s okay. That seems like the appropriate reaction to have when someone’s been watching you all night, then decides to pounce.” The grin on his face widens into something a little more salacious and I find myself swallowing the lump I didn’t even know I had built up in my throat.
“So, was I misinformed?” he asks, running a heavily tattooed hand back through his wild, cedar-brown hair. He looks like a misfit—a bad news indie rocker of sorts that’s slept with one too many groupies and got kicked out of the band for fucking the lead singer’s girlfriend.
And yet, I don’t find myself moving to get away from him anymore. If anything, I find myself becoming a little drawn to his candor and lofty attitude.
“Kind of,” I squeak out. I clear my throat and roll my eyes, wondering when the teenage fumbling girl that’s living inside of me took a stumble back into puberty.
“Alright. Um, do you mind if I hang out for a bit then until you figure it out?” he asks, slightly tilting his head to the side. The salacious grin is replaced again by a friendlier smile and my nerves are starting to fray.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say, pushing my hair back behind my ears. He nods and leans a little further down toward me. I think it’s because a sudden eruption of laughter blew up from the bar area in an attempt to deafen everyone in the place. I shrink down a little, still not taking a step away from him, but just enough that he knows I’m not comfortable with him being so close. He rolls his eyes playfully and straightens himself up just a little before he attempts to make a conversation out of the awkward tension that sits between us.
“What’s your name, anyway?” he asks, leaning on the sturdy beam between us.
“Axelle-Rose.”
He arches an eyebrow, an amused smile crossing his lips, and I can see that he’s trying his best not to laugh. It’s a reaction I’m used to at this point in my life—at least from people that have damn good taste in music.
“Really?”
“My parents were big into eighties metal,” I reply with a shrug. The corners of his lips keep twitching, so I decide to have fun with it. “I have a brother too.”
“What’s his name?” he asks, shifting from one foot to the other. “Wait. Can I guess?”
I shake my head ruefully and smile, “To be quite honest with you, I think I would feel offended if you didn’t at least try.”
“Is his name Slash? Please tell me his name is Slash,” he says, finally coming around the beam to stand in front of me. I take an involuntary step back because I don’t think I was prepared for just how tall he really is. My new acquaintance here has spent most of our conversation leaning down over me against the beam that I damn near forgot that people tend to grow when they stand up to their regular heights. I roll my eyes at him and chuckle at the excitement on his face that maybe, just maybe, my brother was named after one of the greatest guitar players on the planet Earth.
“What about you? What’s your name?” I ask, giving the subject a change.
His face drops a little, but he recovers quickly. I can tell the mystery of my brother’s name will come back up again later, and that’s okay with me as long as the stranger in front of me gives me a name to call him.
“Silas,” he says, extending a hand. I smile and take his hand in mine, giving it a gentle shake before letting go. I can’t help but think of how proud my friends would probably be of me right now if I had any—and that’s when I glance at the bartender. She’s the one that dared me to come over and strike up a conversation with him anyway, so at the very least, I’m hoping she’s paying attention.
“You drinking tonight, Hair Metal?” Silas asks, noticing my eyes scanning the bar. But I’m not looking for booze; I’m looking for the chick that laid out the dare and has now seemingly vanished into thin air. “Come on,” he says, taking my hand loosely in his. “I’ll get your next one.”
I follow behind him closely as he weaves through the crowd. Once we get to the bar, he puts his hand on a guy’s shoulder, leans down, and says something to him with a menace in his eyes that I’m almost sure is what moved the man and his friends so quickly from their chairs.
“Did you … did you just call me ‘Hair Metal’?” I ask, settling into the chair. He laughs and sticks the tip of his tongue out at me before reaching into his back pocket and tossing a thick, black leather wallet onto the bar top.
“I did indeed,” he confirms with a nod as he tilts his head at me. “I think it suits you.”
“It would if I had a canister of Aqua Net holding up my bangs a foot over my head, but I don’t. Besides, I usually go by Axelle or Rose; not both,” I say with a shrug.
“A pick your poison kind of thing,” he confirms, grinning. “Well, I pick Hair Metal, so I guess you’re gonna have to be okay with that until the night is over and we part company, eh?”
Before I have a chance to decline his request of addressing me by what he obviously feels is a cute nickname, his face suddenly lights up and he pulls my stool closer to his. “Speaking of Poison. Is his name Bret Michaels? Your brother, I mean.”
I roll my eyes and laugh, using my foot to push my stool back away from his and give him a playful pat on the arm. “No.”
“I tried,” he says with a shrug, turning his attention the bottles behind the bar. “What do you feel like?”
“She wants something that will knock her out.”
We both turn around quickly and find the disappearing bartender standing behind us, a grin on her face. Silas cuts his eyes toward me, then back to her again, a knowing look clouding his eyes.
“Of course. I don’t know why I thought—whatever. Here,” he says, digging deep into his left side pocket and pulling out a small bag of multicolored pills. He opens it carefully and slips one into my hand before closing the bag and putting it away.
“You won’t even remember your name after that. See you around, Hair Metal,” he says evenly as he gets to his feet, retrieves his wallet, and walks off into the crowd.
“You won’t find a better product in the entire state,” she says, hopping into his now empty chair. “He’s the best when it comes to those.”
I quickly toss the pill into my purse understanding that I’m now holding an illegal narcotic of some kind
and sigh. I thought she sent me over to make a friend, instead it seems that she took my need for wanting to forget certain aspects of my life a little too seriously.
“I’m Vanessa,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and smiling. “And I wouldn’t take that until you’re in a safe place. Too many creeps around here.”
I nod, pulling my purse closer to my body and get to my feet. With a smile and a mumbled thanks, I quickly head for the front door, bobbing and weaving my way through kissing couples, drunk men that can barely stand and the women that love them, until I reach the door and step out into the night air.
I guess tonight is as good as any to get fucked up. It’ll only add to the shit storm that my life has mutated into anyway.
Chapter Three
It’s a quarter past twelve when I walk into the door of my apartment and I’m still clutching my purse tightly against myself. Almost as if some invisible force is waiting in the darkness to steal the little pill of joy that Silas gave to me.
With a sigh, I kick my shoes off and gently nudge them toward the small closet that sits just inside on the left. I smile when I hear the small scamper on the hardwood floors because I know it’s just my Miko coming to see who’s in her home. I lean down and scratch behind her ears when she comes over, then stand back up and head into the kitchen.
I decide not to turn the light on as I reach into the cabinet over the sink and retrieve a large glass. I pull my purse off my shoulder and toss it onto the counter before I fill the glass with water. Only half full because such is life.
I’m a bit hesitant about taking the pill at first, because I don’t know what it is; however, knowing that it will allegedly erase any memory I don’t want to hold onto anymore is enough to make me fish it out of my purse, pop it into my mouth, and take a healthy swig of water.
Love is Strange: A Taboo Anthology Page 10