Darkness. And thus it begins. As it begins every night. Alone. Always alone. I can smell her stir in the room next to mine. I can hear her cry in bloody streams. I know she wants me. I can feel the heat from her loins from where I wake. But this she'll never have. I'm not one to tame.
I draw the curtains back. It's still vaguely light outside, remnants of the sun still straining to be seen, but I refuse to acknowledge it for its glory. It only speaks to me in days of yore, and those are dead to me, much like my own body, stilled in its tracks.
Anya cries for me from her cell. Still a child, in her own rite. How can I hold her loneliness against her? How can I hold her pain and fear from a life forced on her rather than offered to her? Somehow, I always seem to find a way.
"Don't make me come in there." I whisper under my breath, knowing fully she can hear my every syllable and smell my anger as it stirs under my breast. Silence. I growl gently to express my point more aptly even though I know she's quivering at the mere memory of my words. Stepping away from the window I sit down on the corner of my bed and reach for my black leather pants strewn over the chair across from the bed. As I muster the strength to stand up, I step into the pants and feel them melt into every curve and contour below my hips. These are my favourite simply because I know exactly how I look in them and I know just what it does to men and women alike.
Taking one final look at the dying sun's rays, I swish the curtains shut and grab my black faux fur coat and black combat boots before I step out of my apartment and lock the door. And I growl once more, just because I know that it makes Anya both cringe with fear and longing.
As I swing my thigh-length coat on, I grab my combat boots and run down the stairs. I wonder why I'm always so urgent to get outside. As though I'm trying to prove something to that damned sun. That I can and will defy it in all its glory. Or perhaps it's to remind myself what I look like under "natural" light. I forget.
When I reach the bottom of the stairwell I see Elena. Elena, always so frightened of herself. Elena, long brown hair, always pulled out of her face with some contraption chosen to accent her frumpy dresses she wears to her office job. Today she's chosen a dreadfully drab brown dress that resembles something like a brown paper bag. I'm not fooled, though. I know underneath her ugly garb is a voluptuous woman, dying for the touch of an evil lad, such as myself. Heh heh, go figure. She meekly steps by me as I situate myself on the bottom step to tie up my combat boots. I grin in her direction flashing my teeth and lightly licking my canines.
"In so early, Elena?"
"Yes. Long day at work." She laughs forcedly and attempts to avoid contact of any manner: eye, physical, sexual.
"You know, Elena," I begin as I turn around from where I'm perched to wait for her to make eye contact, "I'll bet you I know just what you need after a long day's work." I purr lightly under my breath to press my point until I see her face turn a deep shade of scarlet. I can smell her getting wet which only encourages me further. "And I'd like to bet just about anything that I'm just the person to give you what you need."
"I um, I really have to… I have to go, Justin. I just have to go." She turns and starts up the stairs at a quickened pace. Justin. That's me. To her, at least. Justin.
"Maybe next time. Next time," I mumble under my breath. She hears me. As I finish lacing up the second boot I saunter out the door at my own pace, now. The cool of the night is setting in already and I am enthralled. I feel the metal in my body chill: my septum ring, my nipple rings and the chains connecting them, my nape piercing, and my sternum piercing all raise gooseflesh on my body as I stroll down the boulevard. The rays have gone now. It's just me and the night air and thoughts of satisfying that ever-stirring hunger in me. I know where I'm going. I know what I want. And I know just where to get it tonight.
Everything's a blur until I get there. There's a line to get in. The Continental is always crowded at this time on a Friday night. Full of little children dressed up as adults and pretending to know who they are behind their masks of black eyeliner and eccentric outfits. There is an unsettling silence as I pass them all by to get to the doors. They watch me not only because of my exotic exterior. They watch me because they see the true embodiment of all they try to be. The living (well, for all intents and purposes) nightmarish fantasy they all yearn to take part in. I feel my lips part to a smile as I pass them and I catch the eyes of a few young boys and wink before I disappear behind the doors. I can hear them groan under their breaths.
"Long time no see, gorgeous." Henry, the bouncer, or Prince Henry as he prefers to be called in his PVC cat suit, eyes me up and down before I nod at him and offer him a half smile. All unspoken promises yet to be filled. Someday, Prince Henry, someday.
The music is pounding in my head and filling me completely as I walk up the stairs to the dance floor and bar. Oddly enough, I recognize this song. It's Massive Attack's Tear Drop. When I gave her the privilege of a stereo for a month, Anya played it all the time as she danced and wept herself into a bloody mess. When I finally reach the landing the smell hits me. It's the smell of desire, solitude, and sex. I'm aroused. Rather than stalk the dance floor for a willing victim, I decide to station myself in a booth where I have an excellent view of both the bar and dance floor. All those children, dancing by themselves and dreaming of life after sunset. They watch themselves in the mirror as though if they turn their eyes for one moment, they shall disappear. And what worse a hell than to have your name forgotten? Just as I have forgotten mine.
As the song ends, there is a huge turnover on the dance floor while a fast paced song entices all the drunken children to the floor to work out their sexual frustration and yet repels the lonely ones who would rather flow than grind away their desires. I lean forward on the table before me and run my fingers up and down my throat pretending to muse on something other than satisfying my immediate needs. I catch the eyes of several young girls on the dance floor as they grind into each other. Both are dressed as off-kilter catholic school girls with stockings that end right above their knees. Legs intertwined, they begin to grind into each other more fiercely as they feel my eyes on them.
The one closest to me has her bright red dreadlocks up in pig tails with soft brown eyes haloed by bleached eyebrows and an eyebrow ring. Very slender. She's not wearing a bra and has no need for one, at that. I can see her nipples straining against her tight white button down shirt as she pushes her companion's head down until she is kneeling. Her companion, on the other hand, has her black hair back in a pony tail to showcase the shorn lower portion of her scalp and before she ducks her head under her mistress' skirt, I take note of her attention to detail through her kohl lined eyes and bright red lipstick and black bindhi that serves as a morbid recreation of a third eye. The mistress moans and glares at me with unmasked desire as her voluptuous girlfriend holds fast to her hips and grinds her face into her mistress' snatch. When the girlfriend finally emerges, her lipstick is smeared and her mistress grabs her by the top of her scalp and passionately kisses her to signify approval.
I'm amused. These two girls, not any older than 18, are putting on a show for me. I'm more amused than I am aroused at the site and I can't hide it as I turn my head away and bite my fist so hard that blood streams down my knuckles. Licking the blood away, I turn back to the duo to see if I've offended them, but it appears as though they have moved on to a new young boy to tease. I laugh out loud this time.
"My, my, what a lovely voice you have," I hear from behind me.
"All the better to catch your attention with," I chuckle as I turn around to face my aggressor. Her eyes are dark brown, almost black. I'm smitten. Her black hair shadows her fair shoulders and her short bangs remind me all too much of Bettie Page. As she slowly walks over to sit across from me, I see she's wearing a form fitting red dress that traces her body's every curve down to just below her knees and black stockings with a seam up the back. Her black platform pumps offer the point to the exclamation that she embodies. I can feel the heat of her sex as she demurely sits across from me and lights a black clove while drawing in deeply through loosely puckered lips.
"My, my, aren't you the dish," she grins at me as she eyes me up and down. I catch her eyes as she fall upon mine and she reaches across the table with an alabaster hand and gently fingers away a stray hair that had fallen in my eye. "Such blue eyes. I don't think I've ever seen anyone with that shade of blue. So icy. Almost transparent."
