James Pt 05 1

James - Part 5

One thing is a surety in this moment: I am king of the world, not some guy stumbling through life. This is my life. I am a fucking good lawyer, and every victory in court and every deal struck is a testament to my greatness. I am Jeff Brennans son, for fucks sake. I have a space carved out for myself back home, and my life is awesome. Home.

Fuck

. I miss home; why the hell am I here? Dad. Dad needs me here; that's why I am here. He needs me. I'll show them all; I am in charge of my life.

I sway.

I won't admit it to myself, but I am drunk. A fact confirmed by the blurry evidence in front of me: the slow motion of flashing lights, the bass of music that I can't recognise vibrating through my bones, and, finally, the bottle of tequila clutched in my hand like a holy relic. The after-party has transformed into a chaotic blend of glitter and sweat, and I am riding the wave like a drunk surfer, flailing my way through my emotions as I try to let alcohol erase the sequence of events that have screwed with what has been up there with the best nights of my life.

A giggle pulls my attention back into the room, and I turn my head to grin down at a blurry cute face in front of me, her wide eyes searching mine as she bites on her bottom lip adorably. She holds up the back of her hand, a dusting of white crystals stuck across her damp, smooth skin. That's right, we are doing shots. I flash my lazy grin back at her, my eyes flicking across her full mouth as I lift her hand, the gesture clumsy but deliberate. Not that she cares as my fingers brush against hers. I tilt my head down and lick the salt off her hand in a slow, deliberate motion; my tongue lingers in place. The saltiness mixes with the tequila on my lips, creating a sensation that is both sharp and sweet. I frown; she tastes different somehow.

I lift my eyes to her neck; it was one of the first things I noticed about her--that elegant curve of her skin--it's right there. Except. I don't know; I can't focus on it; I just need to get to that curve of skin right now, the one in front of me bathed in the glow of the neon party lights. Like she knows what I am thinking--she always knows what I'm thinking--I watch her fingers slide a wedge of lemon along that soft skin to the nape of her neck. Hell, yes, an invitation. I have to taste her again. I lean forward, open my mouth, and trace my tongue along the wet line on her skin, tasting the tartness, the acidity mingling with the remnants of the salt.

"Cheers," I mutter, my voice slurring as I raise the tequila bottle.

I'm not sure if I am talking to her or to the universe at large. I throw back my head and swallow the shot in one go, feeling the burn travel down my throat. The world spins chaotically as I focus on the woman in front of me--Ana, I keep chanting her name in my mind. She's laughing now; is she laughing at me?

The tequila continues its work. Why is she laughing?

"It's your turn, Ana." I slur.

I lift my eyes to hers, needing to lose myself in their dark depths, my body reaching out to feel that comforting tingle of electricity that accompanies her presence in my world. I can't feel it. Where the hell has it gone? I rub the back of my head as my gaze meets hers.

"Ellie, silly." The voice is a higher pitch than I recognise.

What?

I find myself looking into hazel eyes that scan quickly between mine; it makes my head hurt.

"You're not Ana." I blurt, as I will those hazel eyes to morph into the dark pools I like to lose myself in.

"Huh?" She giggles, not hearing my slurred words.

No, she's not. I feel her warm body lean closer to mine. That's right, Ana is too busy talking to fuck knows who and deciding on my life; she always had something to say about my life and always had opinions on what I should be doing, where I should be heading, and how I should not be a puppet. I am no one's puppet.

I latch onto my misplaced drunken resolve as I drag a finger of the hand I was gripping the tequila bottle in, down the arm of the brunette in front of me.

"I know you," I drawl.

She grins up at me.

"Of course you do, silly. Anyway, it's my turn." She lifts the salt shaker for me to take.

I obligingly take it, lick the back of my hand, and cover it in salt. My head spins with a mix of triumph and tequila as I realise how wrong I am. She isn't Ana. Not even close. But if I'm here then it's too late--I am already lost in my own drunken reverie, a little too proud, a little too reckless, and blissfully ignorant of my mistake as I watch Ellie's tongue glide over the back of my hand.

I can't quite place her--everything about her seems vaguely familiar and distant all at once, and how did I end up here, with her, instead of... that's right, she's not my girlfriend? Ana.

Ana is not my girlfriend;

I can do what the fuck I want. The room seems to tilt and whirl. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know Ana is somewhere here. Last I saw she was with the main band leader; I think she was laughing and flirting. Why am I bothered with her when I have whatsername right in front of me?

Damn

. I try to focus on said girl.

"Where do I know you from?" My words are a dribbling mess, even to me. Those hazel eyes widen, and she laughs. Those aren't the dark eyes I want. I squint in annoyance.

"You don't remember; we already talked about it?" She teases as she lifts a lemon wedge from the tray on the table. It's like slow motion as I watch her reach up and tuck one side of her brown hair behind her ear.

"We met at that pub a while ago. The one with the--"

I'm not listening. The pub where I met Ana.

Ana

.

"Anyway, I saw you were playing here and we managed to get into the after party; I am so glad I.."

"Are you going to do your shot or what?" I snap.

The room tilts again as her nervous giggle becomes distant. I am vaguely aware of her hand reaching up to smear the lemon along my neck, but I can't quite focus. The room is a blur of colours and noise, and my thoughts are tangled in the mess of tequila and fragmented memories.

My senses snap back into reality as I feel a sudden, sharp grip on my arm. I turn my head; it feels so heavy to move, but I find Ana standing there, her dark eyes flashing with a mix of annoyance and something else I can't quite decipher. My eyes flick to see her other hand clamped firmly on the girl's wrist, halting the impending citrous assault.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ana's voice cuts through the din, low and intense. Ellie's eyes widen in surprise, her mouth opening in protest.

I blink, struggling to piece everything together.

"Ana? What the fuck?" My voice feels thick and slow.

"You've made your point." Her voice is eerily calm.

"We're having shots," I state obviously.

"Not anymore, you're not." I can hear the low command in her voice even in my fog. "You," her head turns to look at the brunette and the wrist she still has in her grip. "Need to leave. Now."

Those wide eyes flip between mine and Ana.

The entire room shifts to tilt to the right.

"You don't get to decide that." I manage, as I try to stand straight and look down at both women in front of me. A court speech--I'm damn good at those; they need to hear what I have to say.

"Evie here; she likes me. She came here for me." I shake my head trying to muster better words as the buzz of tequila gives way to anger. "Evie wants me; she came here. For. Me." I push the words out as I try to focus on Ana's eyes. "So, if you don't mind. Evie and I are going to have some shots and have some fun."

I see Ana's eyes soften as she releases her hands and takes a small step back. Sympathy crosses her beautiful face.

"Ellie." The brunette in front of me says almost too quietly, as she places the lemon wedge back on the tray, those hazel eyes now edged with hurt.

"What?" I sway again, confused.

"I'm Ellie, remember?" Her voice comes out in a plea.

Ana steps forward. "He's acting like a dick." I feel my nostrils flare at her words, the sweaty, stale air filling my addled senses. I can hear Ana's voice soften as she looks at the petite girl in front of us.

"Go find your friends, Ellie. This," she waves her hand at me, "is not worth it. Be kind to yourself."

Ellie takes one last look at me, and even in my state, I can see the realisation finally settle across her features.

"Asshole." She breathes before she turns and walks away.

"What the hell?" I turn to Ana and start after Ellie. "What did you do that for? No one does that to me; I'm fucking James Bren..."

She cuts me off with a glare that pierces through the blanket of alcohol and into my core as she places a hand against my chest. The command of her action is absolute.

"Fuck. James. Brennan."

I snap my head back in surprise at the fierceness of her words.

"Don't go back there; where the hell is James? Incredible James, where did he go?

***

'James. I am going to fuck James, OK? I saw you tonight--the real you on that stage.' She continues, her voice barely audible. 'Bring me that guy, and then we will fuck.'

It was the best night ever; I might be addicted; the buzz from being on stage with the band is better than my wildest party, possibly even my wildest sex. Though I have to admit that the interlude that Ana and I had in the orchestra pit under the stage was out of this world too. I can still feel her tightness wrapped around me, and I know I have to have more.

It has clicked into place--what she meant when she said she wanted to fuck James. Being with her was different from Mia and all the other girls that had blurred through my life back home. I felt it, deeper, not in the crude sense, though imagining that definitely brings a smirk to my face and a rush of blood down there. Our connection feels like boundaries dissolved.

Don't get me wrong, I always attract hot women; it drives my friends nuts. The women like my name and status, of course. Mia is physically exquisite, but I recognise now that our sex often felt like she was putting on a performance, or was at worst a habit for me, devoid of any deeper meaning. I'm not objecting to the pleasure, but it was fleeting, tied more to the mechanics of the act than any real emotional exchange. I didn't want any emotional exchange anyway, so I guess it suited us both.

With Ana, even in the raw need of our sex in the orchestra pit, the intimacy was so profound, so encompassing, that it felt almost otherworldly. Definitely a new sensation for me to process.

Turns out the after-show party started in the wings of the main stage straight away. The main band were hyped up, and the alcohol flowed as performers and crew excitedly congratulated each other, long after the crowd had filed out of the venue. I drift in and out of their conversations, my mind still anchored to the moments with Ana.

James

. Tonight was all about

James

. Just me, my music, and a real connection. It isn't just a lingering afterglow of sex; perhaps meeting Ana and our entire encounter has unlocked something fundamentally different in me. Not just about the sex, but seeing myself and my dreams through her eyes resonates on a level I haven't known or have buried too deep.

I shake my head and try to focus on the jubilation around me; true to form, people are enthralled to be in Ana's company. I reach up and scratch the back of my head, tracing the lines of electricity that pulse down my skin, my companion these past weeks. This unspoken nag is becoming insistent; I feel powerless to quash it. This charged depth of emerging is leaving me exhilarated and profoundly vulnerable simultaneously.

As if she senses the turmoil of thoughts crashing through me, Ana turns to give me a smile and wink, her hand lightly caressing the small of my back as I try to focus on the conversations around me. Ana finding

James

, demanding

James

, and showing him to me has left me both curious and somewhat disoriented; my perfectly planned life is suddenly in pieces.

"Come and see the main stage." I blurt out to Ana, my mind needing to escape the hurricane whipping through my head.

"Sure." She says simply, smiling at the group around us and placing her drink on the table.

I take her hand, noticing the rise of her eyebrows at the familiarity of my gesture. I lead her onto the main stage, stopping at the centre so we can look out at the empty venue.

I inhale deeply and relive the sensation of being out here in front of thousands, closing my eyes to allow the good memories to push down the uncomfortable thoughts pervading my mind.

"It doesn't have to end here, you know." Ana's voice interrupts my visualisations.

Her words feel like a weight, not a sentiment; they drag me back to my vulnerable state. It instinctively makes me push back.

"I have responsibilities, Ana. You know my dad expects me to take over his company, damn it. I have been on this path for years. Even though you have only known me for a matter of weeks, I thought I made it clear what's expected of me." Frustration tinges my voice as I keep my eyes trained on the empty seats.

I see your path.

Is this what my mum meant? This, right here, on stage, or did she know my father's plans? I shake my head. Of course she knew his plans.

I hear Ana turn to face me rather than see it.

"And what about what your mum wanted for you?"

That uncanny sixth sense of hers betrays my innermost thoughts yet again. The question cuts deep. I turn to look at her, forcing the sting away from my expression, and wearing the mask that mirrors the one my father wears.

"What does it matter?" I say darkly. "She's not here anymore. She left." I keep my voice steady.

Ana rests a hand on my arm, but I keep them folded across my chest. I can't work out where my rising frustration is coming from, but her touch barely registers.

"James," she says softly. "It matters because it's about more than just expectations. It's about finding what truly makes you happy, what you need, and what makes you feel alive."

The emptiness of the venue seems to amplify my growing tension, and I feel irritation flare inside me, though I can't quite pinpoint its source.

"How do you know what my mum wanted?" I snap. "You didn't know her. You don't know what she'd have wanted for me."

I turn away as Ana's eyes widen, not wanting to see whatever emotion they have in response to my outburst.

The pleasure of the evening and the weight of my responsibilities are suddenly slugging out a boxing match in my head. Dad's company always wins, though; it's a given.

"I have responsibilities. I've told you that. It's not just about giving up a job--it's about everything I've worked for, everything expected of me." The frustration in my voice is barely veiled; my love for the stage is rapidly turning into disgust at its symbolism of possibility that now feels like a poison charm to what I actually am: a company lawyer.

And like a broken record, Ana's voice cut through the thick air between us:

"James, you need to cut the puppet strings with your father. Take control. Let's be honest here; that's what this is about."

And now I am just plain angry, and I really don't know why.

"You don't get it!" I snap at her again, my voice dripping with fury. "My father has been my guide. Mum left us. He had to make us successful. Do you think it's just that simple to walk away from that?"

Ana's eyes turn into cold, dark pools.

"This is as far from simplicity as it gets, James. It's about breaking free from a life that's not truly yours. You're not living your life--you are living his."

My anger flares hotter.

"He has given me everything I have." I growl. "You can't just dismiss that because you think I need to chase some ideal."

Our first couple's argument, or whatever the hell this is. It tastes bitter on my tongue.

"I need a drink." I mutter angrily, stalking back towards the wings. I seethe as I pour myself a whisky at the drinks table. I'm not entirely sure who I am enraged at or why. Ana's seemingly relentless mantra of 'cut the puppet strings' is tiresome, as if it is the only solution she can offer. I don't like the mirror she is holding up, and she knows it.

Strike one for ruination.

As I pour my third shot of whisky into my glass, I savour the effect of the first two, welcoming the burn of hazy numbness that helps to dull the edge of my frustration. I turn to focus on the fading thrum of the concert crew and notice Harvey making his way over to me with the main band lead singer, Ryder. As I watch his almost theatrical swagger, I wonder if I have enough Dutch courage in me to question if 'Ryder' is just his rock god name and if his birth certificate has something more mundane like on it.

I smirk to myself as I lift the glass to my lips, almost knocking my front teeth out as Ryder grins at me and claps me on my shoulder.

"Awesome set Dude, it's kinda poetic, huh, stepping into Isaac's spot like that. One little health hiccup, and suddenly you get to be centre stage."

I feel my smile freeze, my grip on my glass tightening involuntarily as I notice a momentary frown cross Harvey's face.

"Yeah, it's been a night to remember," I manage, trying to keep my voice even.

Ryder's casual dismissal of Isaac's illness as a minor inconvenience is bad enough, but selfishly, the real sting is from his insinuation that I am here by pure chance, just a mere footnote in someone else's story.

"Such a lucky break." He continues. "It's like hitting the jackpot, but with drums." He laughs loudly at his own joke, his head turning to Harvey, who obliges his ego with a fake smile.

His words cut into me as if any talent I have or effort I made is completely irrelevant, and just like that, I am no longer star struck by this man.

"Thanks, Ryder." I respond through gritted teeth, my mind processing a million sarcastic retorts and weighing up which is most likely to cause the most damage.

As if she sensed that I was about to do something I might regret, Ana appears at my side. Ryder's attention snaps to her like a hawk on prey. The draw to her presence is not unusual in itself, but his predatory appraisal of her did nothing to stop my rising annoyance.

"I don't think we have been introduced." Ryder practically purrs at Ana, but I note with some satisfaction that her eyes are fixed on me, her expression a careful mask of neutrality as they search mine. It makes my heart ache, and in a good way, I realise that I am her primary focus despite the celebrity standing next to us.

"This is Ana." Harvey hurries to fill the silence when neither of us speak.

Ryder's smile widens, and he doesn't miss a beat as he takes Ana's hand and presses the back of it to his lips. So cliche, I cringe inwardly.

"Ah, so you are Ana, great name. I'm Ryder; it is a pleasure to meet you, Ana." His voice oozes. "How about joining us for a drink? I'd love to hear more about what you do. People have been raving about you."

They have? I turn my head and look quizzically at Harvey, who gives me an imperceptible shrug before chuckling lightly to diffuse the heaviness in the air. "We didn't even know James had a girlfriend. Guess he's been keeping secrets."

Ana's face stiffens.

"I'm not anyone's girlfriend," she says firmly.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. A pang of something--hurt, confusion, maybe embarrassment--floods my body. After what happened earlier, I mean, I know we have only seen each other a couple of times, and while we hadn't officially labelled our relationship, hearing her so starkly dissociate herself from the term leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Ana's declaration, which I hope is meant to assert her independence rather than just being uncharacteristically mean, feels like a cold splash of reality that chases away the tingle of electricity that has become her hallmark on me.