The night swirled in with licks of inky ebony, sunset laid to rest, trussed up in velvety black tentacles, swallowing away the blood red sky.
She slicked a matte scarlet lip-stain across her lips, tracing the seams like the tongue of a hungry lover. Closing her eyes briefly, a veil of black lashes fanned her cheeks, for a moment dulling away the bass reverberating through the bathroom walls.
He was here.
When she looked in the mirror she didn't see Lara anymore. Lara was back at home, sitting on the sofa with a mug of earl grey, ear trained on the baby monitor.
...
The thick heavy riff of a screaming guitar punctuated by persistent, relentless drumming matched the barrage of animalistic emotions almost flooring her. Gripping the edge of the sink she threw back her hair, teased into waves that rippled over her shoulders like a wild waterfall. The skintight pleather jeans swathed her limbs accentuating her rear, eliciting a nod of approval from a well inked woman leant against the wall, a cigarette clenched between her dark purple lips.
'Hes one lucky bastard.' She winked. 'Trina.'
'Lara.' She didnt hesitate nor give a false name. Tonight was all about new beginnings. Accepting who she was. Breaking free of the restrictive cocoon she'd had shrouding her for nearly thirty years.
'Cute name.' The elf like woman pushed away from the wall, posture assured, bolshy, even. In a ripped black tee emblazoned with the band logo, it was obvious why Trina was here. And why the ramshackle bar miles from anywhere was heaving, impregnated with hoards of rock music addicts, a tangle of adrenaline pumped bodies, thick black eyeliner and beer running like water.
'Don't look so nervous.' Trina squeezed her shoulder, offering soulful blue eyes that reminded Lara of a porcelain doll. Alien amongst all the ink. There was something magnetic about the woman, something comforting.
'My first time...this is my first time here. I was supposed to be meeting a friend.'
'Missing tonight is a fucking sin.' Trina took a drag of her cigarette, a froth of smoke billowing around her head like a cumulonimbus cloud. 'Crossbow are electric, there's something primal about them, don't ya think?'
The truth was, Lara had never seen them live before. She'd never been to a gig, never before experienced the intense sensory ambush, the bass line in her bones, drum beat feathering the length of her spine. She thought of herself as an armchair groupie, a silent supporter, a spotify connoisseur.
'I get lost, when I listen to them.' She closed her eyes again, and as if with some third eye, she could see Trina nodding.
'They're the greatest guys. Down to earth, hard working, real grafters.' Trina perched on the ledge of the sink, tapping ash from her cigarette onto the polished ceramic. 'Let's go grab a drink before we're fighting someone for a lick of booze.'
...
The air, a mixture of sweat, beer, whiskey and cow hide was an assault so heady that Lara breathed in the intoxicating blend pondering whether she might get high on the energy of the place. Ten foot speakers rang out Pantera and Berserker, Mastadon and a sprinkling of Bon Jovi. Four barmaids manned the bar with military precision, drinks spinning across the counter top without a drop spilled. Trina passed back a bottle of Bud. She could deal with that, and taking a long sip, the cool malted liquid wet her dry, nervous throat.
Maybe more anticipatory than nervous.
'Come on, follow me.' Trina threaded her way through the bar, Lara followed in her four inch red heels, an impulse buy just this morning.
Everything about this was impulsive.
Double saloon doors opened out into a lounge, great L shaped mahogany sofas lined the walls, a smattering of bar staff carried cables and power packs into the bar, a bearded blonde caressed Lara with a look of unadulterated lust. A fizzle of heat ignited in her gut, spreading its way like a forest fire through her veins.
Trina thumped her fist against a door marked 'Staff Only' in stencilled black lettering. When the door opened, Lara felt herself shrink back, numbness pouring through her bones like concrete. She'd never been star struck before, but now she understood where that term came from.
She was struck. Fastened to the spot as if she'd been nailed there.
Will Carter wrapped his arms around her new friend, mussing up Trina's dark purple mane. Then his eyes found Lara, his lips curling up in a grin that spread across his whole face.
'Holy shit. Lara Temple?'
'Uh.' Her voice cracked, mind devoid of any thought beyond the thumping of her adrenaline fuelled heart.
'It's about fucking time!' Carter wrapped his arms around Lara, calming her roaring heartbeat, for all of a millisecond. A brief passage of time where her eyes took a snapshot of the room behind him, and then the air seemed to have been extinguished from the space. A great exhale, an absence of anything but dark brown eyes, and that smile, broadening as virtual reality morphed into clarity.
She was here. His head floated, like some insane high, a drag on something priceless.
It was as if the fabric of all substance had been disrupted, Lara stepped into the room, Kent, the bass player grasped the beer bottle from her hand, swigging from the bottle and handing it back with a kiss to her cheek.
'So here we are.' Kent laughed, his voice far more deep and baritone than she'd imagined, curled up under a quilt at home, watching other people thrusting their arms in the air, entranced by Carters voice, enriched by the seamless, cohesive musicality of the band. And now she was here.
'I'm...'
'A little overwhelmed?' Ryan Lockwood stepped out from behind Stryker, lead guitarist, doing his Buddhist meditation, cascading blonde hair shimmering over his shoulders, as striking as his name suggested. But she wasn't here for Stryker.
She was here for Ryan.
He seemed to tower over her, this stoic, intimidatingly beautiful presence, eyes tangling with hers like she'd known them her whole life. She saw the lust brimming within him, with so much clarity that her body responded with tiny shards of unexpected need, clattering down around her and blurring away the rest of the room.
He didn't hug her, like the others had, Ryan Lockwood battled the urge to pounce on her like a predatory animal, starvation kicking him in the gut like someone had drop kicked him there. If she was hot in the images she'd shared with him, then technology and photographic leaps weren't enough to capture the dark haired siren in front of him.
