jezebel1386

Shadowplay: Chapter 1.

2007-11-07T05:20:26Z

I already had one foot out the door as the man shoved some bills in my hand and tried to apologize. As the words tumbled out of his mouth, I could feel the bruises beginning to form on my wrists, the soreness spreading throughout my lower body. The man kept talking, saying something about wanting to see me again, but I got out and slammed the door behind me. No amount of money was worth what he had just done to me. Outside the car the night was cold and clear. I exhaled deeply and watched as my breath formed a mist in the air. Somewhere behind me the man in the car sped away, tires spinning out as he went.

With shaky hands, I pulled my pack of cigarettes from my pocket and lit one, inhaling gratefully as I felt the nicotine hit my bloodstream. A glance at my watch told me it was just about 1:00 in the morning, still early, but I had no motivation to stay out. The last trick had been horrible: his eyes full of pure hate as he bound my hands and fucked me with no restraint. I tried to beg him to stop, to tell him he was hurting me, but each thrust had driven the air from my lungs. Eventually I'd just gone along with it, tried to block it out, and silently prayed for it to be over.

Remembering, belatedly, the money in my pocket, I pulled the bills back out to make sure he had paid me correctly. Each bill was a fifty, making the job of counting much easier. He had given me an extra hundred dollars. Apparently, a hundred dollars was the going price on my dignity. I smiled bitterly at the thought and continued my way home.

Attempting to shrug it off, my mind drifted as to what to do with the extra money. The decision was made with very little conscious thought: a carton of cigarettes, a bottle of wine, and a long hot bath. Granted the bath would not be an additional purchase, but it was necessary to complete the trifecta. As I walked, I mentally cursed the cramping in my legs and stomach. Making a note to pick up some Motrin as well, I started debating between a bottle of merlot, or a dark smooth bottle of pinot noir. Lost within my own head, I didn't notice the car next to me until the passenger side window was lowered a voice called me out of my reverie.

Hey Can I give you a ride? It was a beautiful car: a shiny dark purple with flecks of glitter that caught the moonlight.

No, thanks honey. I'm done for the night. If you go back up five or six blocks, someone will be sure to take care of you. I started walking again, picking up the pace as much as I could, and continued my debate between bottles of wine. The car engine revved, a sleek feline sound, and I was once again next to the passenger side window, close enough to feel the escaping heat.

I don't want anyone else. Come on, get in Anger flashing, I placed both hands on the window sill and bent down to see my new stalker.

Listen... I'm sure you're very nice, and I'm sure you pay well, but I have had a horrible fucking night. He stared back at me, a devilish grin playing on his lips. Whatever I had expected him to look like, the boy in the car was the exact opposite. He was young, probably younger than me. Playful blue eyes danced with mischief and smooth pink lips stayed curved in am impish smile. Wisps of what appeared to be dark brown hair escaped from the beanie on his head. We both stayed still, sizing each other up, figuring out our next moves. Deciding to try a new approach, I let my body relax and my voice to soften. “I just won’t be very much fun tonight, love. Go find someone who can give you a good time.”

“No, that won’t work. I’ve already decided it has to be you. Just come with me. We don’t have to do anything. We can talk? Or watch a movie.” I kept waiting for his smile to falter, for him to admit it was all a big joke, but the confession never came. For the first time in a long time, I felt the heat of a blush creep into my cheeks. The way he was staring at me and smiling... like a child who had a secret he was dying to share.

“How very Holden Caulfield of you.”

“What?”

“Holden Caulfield? You know? The kid in the Catcher in the Rye?”

“If you say so. Books were never really my thing.” His left hand, which had been on the steering wheel, reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a clip full of money. Very deliberately he counted out five crisp hundred dollar bills and held them up for my inspection. “You get in this car, and this is yours... free and clear. All you have to do is spend the night in my company. Do we have a deal?”

Closing my eyes, I took a moment to weigh the pros and cons. My apartment would be empty, but the thought of alcohol and cigarettes was still enticing. The car in front of me was warm and had the comforting smell of hair and skin. And then there was the boy himself, with the soft eyes and the infectious smile.

Accepting defeat, I opened the door and slowly slid inside the car. I had to bite my lip to keep from wincing in pain. He handed me the money and turned his attention to the road.

“You ready?”

Without waiting for my response, the threw the car into drive and made a sharp U-turn in the middle of the street. Before I could register another thought, other than fearing for my life, I realized we were heading out of the city... and at a very high speed. As we drove on, commercial buildings became fewer and further in between. Stores gave way to houses and then even the houses seemed to melt away. The road became curvy, winding its way up not-too-steep hills. All that was visible then were trees. I probably should have panicked, should have demanded he turn around and take me back to the boulevard. Instead I settled into the seat and let myself relax. Except for the low, rich notes of Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” playing from the radio, the car was silent. Strange that I didn’t notice it until then. Usually people have to know each other for years before they’re capable of the comfortable silence. The pretty boy and I had managed without even trying.
I couldn’t help but steal a glance at him, once I noticed I was at a much closer vantage point. He had a strong jaw-line that would have been angular if not for the baby fat on his cheeks. Long eye lashes framed those deep cerulean eyes: eyes I knew danced when he smiled. I couldn’t help but wonder how beautiful they would be when he laughed. As I admired him, and admitted to myself I was admiring him, it became painfully obvious that he was very attractive. Try as I might, I could not remember the last time I’d found a man sexually appealing. Why would this man, of all people, be on Hollywood Boulevard at 1:00 in the morning, picking up a hustler?

Just as I was about to ask, the car slowed and we turned onto a small driveway covered by over-hanging trees. When the house finally came into view, I thought I was hallucinating. High arches and dramatic turrets were wrapped in heavy gray stone. A black, wrought iron fence enclosed a wrap-around porch that hugged the outside of the house. Any horror movie director would have killed to film there.

“Do you like it?” His soft, happy voice snapped my attention away from the house.

“Very much.” He nodded, smiling at me again. “Good. Glad to see you’re awake. I thought I might have lost you. Let’s go inside and get a drink.”

Wordlessly, I unbuckled my seat belt and followed him into the house. He unlocked the door and moved through the rooms without pausing to turn any of the lights on. I was slightly disappointed that I didn’t get to see any of the decorations. Stumbling over an unforseen object, my hand found his shoulder and I let him guide me though the darkness. When he at long last turned a light on, we were standing in a very large kitchen. I paused, frozen in the doorway. Moving swiftly, my escort pulled two red wine glasses from a china hutch and placed them on the large island in the center of the room. From a wine rack, he selected a bottle and opened it, expertly pouring the burgundy liquid to equal levels. Only then did he turn his gaze on me, at the same time turning on his electric smile.

“Are you planning on spending the night in the doorway? Come in. Make yourself at home.” He gestured towards a stool and nudged one of the glasses in my direction. “I’m Bam, by the way. I probably should have introduced myself before.”

Cautiously, I stepped further into the room. Under his gaze I was suddenly self-conscious; I felt an almost uncontrollable urge to check my make-up, run a hand through my hair and over my clothes. Slowly I allowed myself to meet his gaze, to take the hand he had patiently extended.

“My name is Ville.” All my senses focused on his hand, warm skin that was lightly calloused. I tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip. The sparkle in his eyes told me he was trying to be playful. For some reason, that made me feel better. Against my better judgment, I let myself relax again.

“Ville?” I nodded. “Ville...” He let the sound roll over his tongue, like he was trying to taste the word. “So, Ville... what’s your story?”

“Pardon?”
“I said, what’s your story? Where were you born? What was your upbringing like? How did someone who looks like you end up making a living on Hollywood Boulevard?”

“I really don’t see how that’s any of your business...”

His grin then rivaled the Cheshire Cat as he casually removed his beanie and ran a hand through his hair.

“For five hundred dollars, you’re going to tell me everything I want to know.”

Keep On Pretending: the Prologue.

2007-10-16T05:24:06Z

In my mind he was still with me. Even though it had been years since we’d seen each other, I could remember every line, every nuance of his face. With or without the black lines of kohl, his eyes seemed to glow with some internal light, reminding me of a bottle of 18th century Absinthe. The description so perfect. Every time I put my lips to his, it was to drink of his essence, and without fail, the experience was intoxicating.

The last time I saw him, he was sitting in the darkest corner of a seedy London pub. In front of him were the remnants of a pint of dark lager and an over flowing ash tray. He didn’t seem to notice my presence as I took a seat on the opposite side of the booth. Alcohol glazed the shining green of his eyes and a cigarette occasionally made its way to between his berry-stained lips. Although it had nothing to do with our situation, I noticed his nails had been manicured and painted a shiny lacquered black.

“I’ve been looking every where for you. So has the band. You should call one of them- tell them you’re okay.”

He scoffed and once again raised his cigarette. When he spoke, the voice was miles away, lifeless in a way I had never heard, before or since.

“I don’t want to lie to them.”

At once I felt juvenile and stupid, my purpose at the table now seeming to be an exercise in futility. What was I supposed to say? Words can’t be unspoken, and as much as we’d like to believe, hearts once broken cannot be put back together- at least not without visible cracks and imperfections.

A waitress walked by just then and he raised his empty glass, signaling for another. She nodded and glanced at me expectantly. I pointed to the glass as well.

“I’ll have what he’s having.” Without further comment, she walked away. “Ville, listen to me. We knew this was going to happen. There was a time when we agreed that this should happen. Don’t be like this. Our friendship means too much.”

Producing a pack of smokes from his pocket, he lit a new one from the smouldering remains of the last. Then he looked at me for the first time since I sat down, but I had a distinct feeling he didn’t see me at all. Those eyes, which I had expected to be alcohol glazed, were alarmingly sharp.

“Bam, you and I waved goodbye to mere friendship long ago. Our little situation did not just happen. You had sex with me You proposed to her. Last time I checked, those fell under the category of specific actions.” Nothing but his voice betrayed his current emotional state. His posture was impeccable, his clothes and make-up flawless. I wanted to reach across the table and run my fingers though the chocolate silk of his hair.

“Just because I’m getting married doesn’t mean that I don’t love you.”

A cold smile slowly spread across his lips but his eyes were lit with a dangerous fire. The beers we’d ordered arrived, and he took a long sip of his before bringing our gazes back together.

“Actually, Bam, that’s precisely what it means.”

I could say nothing, the expression in his eyes took all my words away. What I saw in them wasn’t hate, but something much, much worse. Disappointment, pain, and apathy had all melted into one.

There had been a time, not so very long before, when absence of words had been amazing. Together he and I had laid, tangled in my satin sheets that had been warmed by our skin. Waking from a light sleep he had opened his perfect green eyes and they had shone the color of natural emeralds. In that moment, that sweet fleeting moment, everything had been right with the universe. No anger, no stress, no obligation or responsibility... there had been only us.

Then too, his gaze had made me speechless. He looked almost childish, innocent and open. His lips never moved, but his eyes had begged love me... because I have allowed myself to love you.” I had no choice. Automatically I pressed my lips to his, covered his body with my body, and prayed that somehow he heard my silent answer. “I do love you... always have, always will...”

But the man sitting across from me was no longer my lover, no longer my willing partner, and no longer my friend. I hated myself for being the cause of his transformation, the hurt causing a physical pain in my chest.

“Please Willa...” my throat threatened to close around the words, “don’t shut me out.”

“Don’t. Call. Me. That.” The tone of his voice sent shivers down my spine. “How dare you walk in here and try to play the role of the well-intentioned friend? It is far too late for that. Every choice you have made has been yours, and yours alone. And as far as our friendship,” he paused as if looking for the correct words, “consider it over. I don’t need friends to do what you did, I have enemies for that.”

The pain in my chest increased until I was sure I was having a heart attack. It was if he had taken the dagger out of his heart and plunged it into mine. When he spoke again, his words were laced with an insouciance I never thought Ville capable of.

“You can go now, Bam. We’re finished here.”

I wanted to get up from the booth and run screaming out of the bar, but my limbs felt as if they were weighted down by quick sand. The world seemed to run in slow motion as I stood and made my way to the door. Voices from random conversations floated to my ears and made me feel as though I was under water. I’m pretty sure I ran into a girl and almost knocked her over.

The familiar sting of tears started to burn behind my eyes but my mind was too numb to care.

Outside the night was clear and cold. It did nothing to shake the leaden feeling from my body.

My driver nodded and said hello as he opened the door of the car. I think I mumbled something by way of a greeting, but I really can’t be sure. The door shut behind me and I was finally free to bury my face in my hands. As soon as my palms touched my face, I felt the cool wetness and wondered, absently, how long I’d be crying.