Brutally Beautiful(9)

I just needed to focus on now. I’ll have one drink then leave. Leave society for as many months as I possibly could. The bloody images of my flashbacks faded from my thoughts slowly as I walked through the door, but they always lingered in the outskirts of my mind, waiting for the most inappropriate times to peek out.

Stepping my foot in, I instantly scanned the room, taking inventory of the number of bodies, exits, lighting, and furniture. Then I watched the patrons in their various states of expression. It is a subconscious action now, as thought provoking as breathing is to me, but it’s ingrained in me nonetheless.

My brother’s place was packed, of course, it was, and there was a bloody tart gyrating on a glittery pole in the middle of the stage shaking her ass to the sounds of Lady Blah Blah or whatever the hell her name was. I didn’t see my brother, Dylan, anywhere as I sat myself at the back, farthest away from everyone, back to the wall, nearest table to the exit. Looking at my watch, I saw it was almost eleven.

I’m staying exactly one minute.

No more than sixty seconds.

Screw it, time’s up.

I was just about to sneak out and hide from my brother and the rest of humanity for the next damn six months, when I glanced up and froze. A small fluid movement caught my eye. A flutter of something, someone, who shouldn’t belong, grace and poise, yet strong and vicious. It pinned me to my seat.

The deep throb in my temple that always accompanied my flashbacks disappeared instantly.

Thirty feet away from my dark corner stood some sort of angel. Backlit as she stood in front of the illuminated bar, I had a perfect view of her silhouette. Dark black hair tumbled wildly over her creamy white neck, falling to her tiny waist as if it were liquid silk. Petite, yet voluptuous, with soft curves that had me instantly, thinking about sinking inside deeply and riding her hard. She was wearing a high collared, tight black long-sleeved t-shirt, which hugged her shape but was covered by a torn up apron that coincided with the idiotic name of the bar. She was dressed excessively conservative for being inside a strip club; it was as if she didn’t want anyone to see her flesh. Like she was hiding. The sounds of the bar seemed to fade into low murmurs and Lady RahBlahGah, whatever, was now quietly whispering that she was born some stupid certain way, as I watched the woman move.

That’s what I’m extremely good at, watching people. Reading them. I was always more of a voyeur when it came to social situations. Notoriously introverted, I have mastered the art of hiding myself and detaching from everything. I learned an invaluable lesson once. If I stayed silent for long enough, and just watched long enough, people and life would pass by me, as if I were invisible. Or dead.

Her nails were short, just a bit longer than the pads of her fingers, and were devoid of any colored polish. She leaned on one of the tables in the middle of the bar and tapped them on the table, waiting for a bunch of drunken guys to make their orders. She wrote nothing down, wasn’t even holding a pad. She was listening intently as the men seemed to banter back and forth in their blatant inebriated states. Her lips smiled at them, full and lush, the kind of lips that when they speak to you all you hear is sex. Any man could look at those lips and think sex. Hell, her whole mouth would be any man’s fantasy. I shifted in my seat to ease the pressure those thoughts brought against the zipper of my pants. It wasn’t even that she was beautiful, though she was in my eyes. It was the way the features on her face melted together in a delicate balance of strength, intelligence, and sensuality that had me intrigued. And the fascinating way she tried to disguise it, working in a strip club and looking as plain as if she didn’t think anything about her lack of attention-grabbing appearance. Yet, she stood confident and hard, like she knew her hidden attributes were better than showing her tits to the patrons.