There are as many ways to grieve as there are ways to die. Each and every person is unique in his or her pain.
She was looking for trouble. Anything to keep the vast dark space in her soul from fully consuming her. She'd made it through the day, now she just had to make it through the night.
Everyone told her it would get better. Time, it heals all wounds. Doctors, friends, counselors- she'd poured her black soul out to all of them and gotten tired, old platitudes in return. They couldn't understand why she couldn't move on. Why, a year later, her pain and loss were as sharp as the day she'd watched that mask of death fall over his beautiful face.
Every time she closed her eyes she relived those final moments. Felt the warmth of his blood pulsing through her fingers; watched him struggle to breathe as it filled his lungs. Sat, helpless, as that cold, hard mask took his soul from hers, their connection forever severed.
It was as if someone ripped any good she'd ever had in her away. Now, left with no light to guide her, the dark inside her had solidified steadily, day by miserable day.
They'd tried pharmaceuticals, no change. They'd tried therapy, no change. They'd even had her hospitalized at one point, nothing had helped. The darkness still grew.
Lately, she'd stopped speaking. Started taking foolish risks. Doing things that weren't in her nature. Tonight, she'd try something new. Something she would never have considered doing in her former, happy life.
It was like playing a character in a movie. Here she could be anyone and anything she imagined- or nothing at all. Tonight she was looking for darkness. Someone who's soul mirrored her own.
She certainly looked the part, from her leather mini skirt and thigh high boots to the deep red lipstick and the temporary black hair dye. For a moment, seeing herself in the mirror, she truly felt like someone else.
It was more comfortable, this new skin she'd put on, than she would admit. Something about it made her feel in control. More level than usual. Maybe it was just her imagination trying to ease her along. She didn't much care, just went with it.
The club she'd chosen was obscure, older than most and had a much more sinister vibe than her usual haunts. It suited her new persona perfectly.
It was labeled a "Goth" club, but it was fairly well known around the circles as a fantasy, vampire role-playing club. She wasn't into that, or the light BDSM she'd been warned about. All she cared about was that this club had an open sex policy.
A woman didn't go to this club alone unless she was willing to play the game. Anonymous sex had become her new therapy but the thrill was fading and she needed something more to keep the dark away. Especially tonight.
The main area, with its red lights and dark dance floor, was hazy with all kinds of smoke from cigarettes, pipes, and joints. It was a heady combination. Walls, covered in drapes of black velvet, did only so much to hide the obvious couplings going on in their folds. The smells swirled all around her- sticky sweet liquors, fragrant smoke, cologne and sex, an unmistakable musk that made her heart race.
While you might be able to see what was going on along the walls, you couldn't hear the couples over the loud, heavy bass music blaring from several speakers placed around the dance floor. Of course, what was happening on the dance floor wasn't exactly for the faint of heart.
Moving closer, she waited.
He'd watched her eyes widen in momentary surprise as she'd walked in, quickly masked by faux bravado and some real excitement. Who knew if she'd actually participate. Women like her, come here for one of two things, to hurt, or be hurt. Some look brave but deep inside they have the heart of a choir girl.
This little chip certainly looked like she belonged but experience had taught him that looks could hide a whole lot of nasty business. Still, for some reason, this one seemed different. She was here for a thrill but not because she'd spent a week behind a desk, attending boring business meetings and drinking fancy five-dollar coffees.
No, this one needed something this place could offer. Maybe something he'd be willing to give her- personally.
He'd been approaching her slowly, less than confident. She could actually feel the nervous energy surrounding him like a fog. It turned her off. Knowing his touch would revolt her, she moved quickly away. She did the same to the next two, both much too young to know what she might need from them.
Stepping up to the bar, she tried to tamp down the disappointment that was simmering just under her skin. This wasn't going exactly as she'd imagined. Of course, nothing was ever that easy. She leaned heavily on the faux black ebony topped bar, breathing deep to try and center herself as doubt and darkness tried to swallow her again.
"Finding nothing to your liking tonight?"
His voice was deep, rough like fine grit sandpaper and very close to her ear. Ah, there it was. A tiny shiver of alarm skittered across her flesh, followed closely by curious attraction. Gooseflesh broke out along the back of her neck and her scalp tightened, making it feel as if her hair were trying to stand on end. Without turning, she shook her head no.
His hand appeared in her line of vision, wide with long fingers and clean nails, signaling something to the bartender. "Maybe a drink will help." It wasn't a question, he'd already ordered for her, yet she still nodded a small yes.
The drinks came quickly and she closed her hand around the thick glass, the amber liquid inside tickling her senses with the scent of aged caramel. He picked his up and touched the rim to hers.
It was that moment when she chose to turn her head and look at him through the veil of her hair. The drink distracted him and she wouldn't be caught.
He was everything his voice had promised. Dark hair, wavy and thick, a squared jaw shadowed by just a touch of stubble and thickly lashed eyes that were, thankfully, closed. Down the left side of his face was a long scar that ran from just above his ear on the temple, across his cheek, ending just at the beginning of his chin. It was fairly thick and must have been incredibly painful.
"Do I pass inspection?"
Her eyes shot up to his, noticing how very clear the green was, like those glasses her Grandmother used to have- and how much amusement was in them. It was bait she wouldn't take. Another nod of the head, yes.
"Those other men, something wrong with them?"
A shake of her head, no.
"Just not your taste?"
A nod, yes.
"Are you mute?"
A shake, no.
She lifted the glass to her lips and sipped, humming appreciatively. It was very good. Before she could lick the moisture away, he rubbed his thumb slowly across her bottom lip, then licked the liquid away with his tongue. Sudden heat rose up, nearly choking her.
He didn't ask permission before taking her hand in his much larger one and leading her to the middle of the dance floor. While he hadn't asked, he hadn't forced her either. They stood together, her eyes on his chest, head barely reaching the top of his shoulder. All around them bodies moved, heat coming off them in waves. They stood still, uncaring what happened around them.
Gently, he raised her chin with a finger until her eyes met his. She saw a mirror of her own eyes, temptation, hunger, and heat inside them. She lingered there for a moment before breaking the contact, closing her eyes and turning until her back was nestled against his chest.
Some men would have taken her action as rejection, others as invitation to treat her roughly. He took it exactly as she meant it. Submission.
He did not gloat. He would claim her for his own, here in front of all these others, happily. There were many shocked faces turned their way, many women he had refused over all these many years of owning this place. She was the first he'd willingly touched.
Her scent was unique and he breathed it in as he moved her hair off her neck and over her left shoulder. He was careful not to touch her. This was the way of the people who played here. He didn't need the show and he suspected she didn't either, but they did. They would never touch his woman after this. Here, in this place, it was important to set the boundaries.
The entire place had gone still. It was slightly unnerving. He'd seen plenty do this but had never thought he'd be one to participate. Her skin called to him though, the pulse in her neck beating a furious rhythm. Shutting them all out, he leaned in, bared his teeth and bit into the skin over her pounding artery.
She had to swallow the moan that wanted to burst free of her chest. There was no pain, just pleasure. No skin was broken, no blood taken, yet the intent behind the gesture was erotic.
He lingered, pressing soft kisses all along her beating flesh. To soothe, to excite, to please.
As if she knew the rules to this new game, she kept her eyes closed, letting her other senses guide her. Already the scent of him was embedded into her mind. Spicy, like cinnamon, with a hint of good pipe tobacco and herbal soap, she could have picked him out of the crowd by his scent alone. She would also know him by the feel of his lips, the pattern of them, the firmness and heat. Like a fingerprint, their uniqueness had been branded onto her flesh.
For several long moments all she could do was try and catch her breath, slow her pounding heart. Luxuriate in the strong male body behind her, the heat of his skin through their clothes.
Slowly, she became aware of the amount of attention they were receiving. Attention she wasn't sure of the reasoning behind. His large hands on her waist stopped her breath, and her musings.
Pulling her body tightly against him, he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Keep your eyes closed and trust in me."
