Iris
The next morning I get to campus extra early. My breath plumes out in front of me as I walk at a brisk pace towards the labs. The winter nighttime sky is shaded with soft pinks and yellows, the moon still visible over the city's horizon. I rub my fingers together in my pockets as I walk, trying to warm them up. It always seems a little colder when I'm in the city, even though I'm surrounded by people and activity.
Right now it feels less crowded. Most students don't opt to have a class this early, and I'm ahead of time, so there is something hushed and almost reverent about the campus now, insulated from the rest of the city by the wide paved walkways and old buildings.
I sit down on a favorite bench outside of the Edison lab building, waiting until it gets closer to class before I resign myself to going inside. The building is beautiful, but I generally dislike being indoors.
I rub my palms against my jeans, trying to ward off the prickling anticipation travelling up my body. I want to know if Ash will be here today. I woke up dreaming of him, of his heated hands against my skin, the ways his dark, silvery eyes seem to strip me bare. I still can't believe that I got so carried away with him yesterday, let him touch me like that-
"Hey, Iris!" I jump a mile in my seat when a figure comes striding towards me. It's Paul, one of Claire's friends, and he happens to be enrolled in this class with me. He's a nice guy, but I keep my distance because, like most men, he likes me too much to just be friendly.
"Hi, Paul," I give him a friendly wave.
He bounds a little closer, like an over-eager puppy, and parks himself on the bench, uncomfortably close. "How's it going?" He seems jubilant as he asks this.
"Alright," I answer, deciding to give no more than is polite.
"Hey, aren't you cold out here? You aren't wearing much." He rubs his arms in an attempt to warm up. He eyes my body with appreciation, looking speculative, and I feel a cold spark of irritation. Why didn't I feel this way when Ash looked at me?
"Listen," Paul says, breaking me out of my thoughts, "Claire and some of us were talking about going out tonight. It's an underground club downtown. Maurice says it's really cool. Are you going to go?" He looks at me with open hope.
"Um, I didn't know about it," I mumble, checking the time on my phone to make sure that we aren't late to class. Muarice. Before I saw Ash yesterday, I'd been trying to convince myself that I had a crush on Maurice. He's Greek-Latino, and similar in coloring to Ash, with dark eyes- but without their luminescent, cat-like quality. I'd made myself go out with him once or twice, but like with most men, he left me cold.
"Well, you should totally go," says Paul finally, looking at me earnestly. "And we should probably get to class," he adds, looking at his watch.
I nod, and we stand, walking into the Edison lab building. Paul rushes up to the door of our classroom so that he can open it for me, and when I murmur a thank you he grins at me like a kid, his baby-faced cheeks dimpling. I survey the room. Every one is here, except for the person I was hoping and dreading to see. I sigh, unsure if I'm relieved or disappointed.
At the end of the uneventful lab I pack my bag slowly, not particularly excited about heading to my next class. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Paul is approaching me again. He waves as he gets closer, and then leans against the lab station counter. "So, are you going to go?" he asks brightly.
"Sorry?" I don't know what he's talking about.
"To the club, tonight, with Claire and Maurice and everyone," he says it urgently, as if partying is of serious import. He pauses, looking at me with a mix of sincerity and anxiety. "I'll be there," he adds finally, after a pregnant pause, and I feel a wave of sympathy for Paul.
* * *
"You look so hot." My best friend Claire is sipping a whiskey-ginger, and I can barely hear her over the blasting music. The club is filled with shifting lights and the beat thrums through the ground, the rhythm keeping time with the reverberations in my body. After letting Claire dress me up at her apartment, she had led me to the club, which was accessed by a non-descript door with no sign. A slim, androgynous bouncer lets us in, looking like he should belong in a fashion ad rather than handling belligerent drunks. I protested for a while, but finally Claire had convinced me to go inside with her.
"Claire, this leaves nothing to the imagination." I purse my lips, looking at the tight black dress Claire had demanded I wear, noting how my breasts look like they're poured into the top, while the tight hem barely covers my ass.
Claire sighs in exasperation and gets to her feet. "That's the entire point. You're always hiding your banging body. Why not get some attention?" She cranes her head around to get a better look at me, and I can tell she has her fashion editor wannabee hat on.
"I don't want to attract anyone. So," I shout over the music, gesturing at the tight dress, "this is not in line with my whole objective."
Claire shrugs her thin shoulders. "Fine then. Don't wear it to attract anyone. Wear it to feel hot." At this she starts looking at her own outfit, which consists of a tight white top with a pleather mini-skirt. Claire is tall and model thin, so clothes always look like they were made for her, with the fabric draping elegantly over the clean lines of her body. I, on the other hand, have shape, with full breasts and a rounded ass, with my stomach curving so slightly that no one would notice unless they saw me naked.
"Come on," Claire says, taking hold of my hand like the sister she is to me. "Let's dance."
I down the rest of my drink and follow her with small steps, unused to Claire's high-heeled shoes I'd borrowed. All of my clothes are based on comfort, and, I'll admit, to ward off unwanted attention. Sometimes, and only sometimes, do I allow Claire to play Barbie with me and coo over my features as she applies my makeup.
The last of my drink is still fizzing in my mouth as Claire playfully grinds against me. I blush a little, but reciprocate, putting some bend in my knees before sliding back up her body with a playful wink. I usually don't want to dance with random guys at clubs like these, so this is normal for Claire and I: we like to be playful. I make out Claire's delighted laugh under the heavy bass that flows through my veins. A small feeling of euphoria blossoms as I lose myself to the electronic music and the charged atmosphere of all of the dancing bodies around me. In a way, it almost feels like the inverse of the peace I feel when I am out in the natural world: there is an electric grid of all the life around me, each piece with its own glowing signature, ephemeral and energizing as my mind brushes past them.
This feeling, however, has a very different flavor from what I experience in nature. Instead of peace, I feel filled with a sensuality sharpened by adrenaline, like I'm riding a cresting wave. I open my eyes, looking over Claire's shoulder at the undulating dancers. I spot Maurice and Paul both dancing with women that look like supermodels. After realizing that Claire and I weren't interested in hitting the floor with them, they had struck out on their own. They did just fine without us, I think, as a preternaturally beautiful girl with red hair slides up Maurice's body. Come to think of it, everyone here is unusually attractive, with high cheekbones, gleaming hair, and expensive clothes. I survey the crowd some more, spotting a girl with long, sleek silver hair dancing with a large man that looks like belongs in the Highlands rather than a nightclub, a pair of twins that are mesmerizing as they echo each other's movements, and a man with shining white-blonde hair and blue eyes so light they are almost clear- and they're staring right at me. I blink, startled by the intensity of the way he is looking at me. He is sitting at the bar, not moving, facing the crowd looking like he's trying to telepathically communicate with me.
I tuck my head into Claire's neck and do a turn with her, hoping that the strange, hauntingly beautiful man will have become distracted by something else. I glance back up. To my alarm, he is heading through the crowd, making a beeline for me. The thick crowd seems to part for him like the red sea as people look up at him, some sneering, others with almost reverential faces.
"I think you've gotten someone's attention," Claire says, her voice barely audible over the music.
Before I can think of what to do, he is strides right up to us, and, weirder yet, the dancers that surround us back off, giving the three of us a wide berth. It's as if everyone but us knows who this guy is. Maybe he owns this club?
Claire and I stare stupidly at him for a moment. I have to admit that he does stand out from a crowd. He's freakishly tall and well built, with white-blonde hair like mine. He's dressed in kind of a weird outfit, with boots, leather pants, some kind of a velvety doublet coat, and- I have to look twice before I can believe it- a sword at his belt? I look up at his face again to find that his winter-sky gaze is still trained on me. He does not look angry, or as if he is about to make a pass at me. If anything, he looks fascinated.
Claire is able to gather her wits before I can. "Can we help you?" she asks, using the icy tone she reserves for men who give us unwelcome attention.
The knight- because that is what he looks like, I decide- drops to one knee. For one wild moment I think that maybe he is about to propose to me. Claire and I exchange a loaded look. Is this guy nuts?
"My lady," the knight begins, his voice loud and regal. "It is a great honor to be in your presence again, after all of these years. I am, and will eternally be, yours." He reaches out to take my hand in his, and then he kisses my knuckles chastely.
I am too flabbergasted by his proclamation to pull my hand away. This is the second time in twenty-four hours that a man has kissed my hand, and I feel like the world has been turned upside down. I start looking around us, thinking that maybe a camera is in sight, and this is some kind of internet prank.
When no cameras can be found, I look at Claire again, totally flummoxed. She looks from me, to the knight, and then back again, looking concerned and amused all at once.
"Look, friend," she finally says to him as I pull my hand out of his, "that's nice that you are feeling honored to be in our presence, but I think you might have us mixed up? If there is some kind of renaissance fair after party happening here, we're not apart of it." She makes a gesture to the people around us, who have begun to dance again but are still watching us out of the corners of their eyes. Many of them wear similar clothing to him, I notice. Minus the sword.
The knight turns his attention to Claire, his look frosty. "I am not honored to be in your presence, silly girl, but to be in
hers
," he says, inclining his head towards me. I feel my cheeks go red at how weird and embarrassing this is.
