I suggest you listen to this while reading:
I fell asleep in his arms, his safe and comfortable
arms. I woke up in them too. One full day of sobriety and counting. I turn
around and sigh, Erik was up too.
“I’m
guessing you enjoyed yourself last night, I heard my name enough,” he smirks. I
blush and smile sheepishly as he touches my cheek. I had a gorgeous man in my
bed… And he was naked. So was I. I prop my naked self up on my elbows and look
over at the clock. Eleven twenty seven. I had promised Grace yesterday to meet
for lunch at noon.
“Oh shit!” I curse. Grace despised Eric. Eric was still here. “You need
to get out of here!” He was puzzled. I explain why, and when he stands up, I
can’t help looking. He notices me looking, not staring… I wasn’t staring. Erik
Sanders winks and I’m turned on in that instant. I wish desperately that I
could pull him back onto the bed. He dresses, kisses me on the forehead, shoots
me an “I’ll text you later” and lets himself out.
There’s nothing to strip, so I just jump into the
shower. I turn the handle and icy water sends chills down my bare back. I
shrill and step out of the way of the frigid water’s path. Then, I get a quick
glance at the mirror. The carved in word has sprung cracks near the corners of
each letter. It looked almost extra terrestrial, or like a book cover. I feel
warm water pool around my feet and step under the raining showerhead, soaking
my hair and body with warm bliss. An image of Emilie standing over my crumpled
self on the floor flashes epileptically in front of my eyes. I’ve decided I’ve
stayed in the shower long enough and dizzily step onto the cold tiled floor. I
wrap a white towel around my body and walk out of the bathroom. On my way
there, I open the window to rid the apartment of the lingering smells of
alcohol and sex. When I reach my tiny bedroom, the front door opens. I take
jeans and a tank top from my dresser; grab my underwear from the floor and
dress.
“I’m here,” Grace shouts from the living room. Still pulling my shirt
on, I walk out of the bedroom calmly, and see my cousin lounging on the couch,
using her hand as a type of visor to shield her eyes from the overhead lights.
“Headache?” I ask, although I already know her head is probably
pounding. I swipe the apartment keys off the island and then realize something.
On Tuesday, I had thrown the keys and they’d slid off… And I put them on the
counter, not the island.
“What the hell?” I breathe. Grace is as unhelpful as ever as she takes
the remote, flicks on the news, turns up the volume, and stays unresponsive. I
cook up some grilled cheeses, although I have absolutely no appetite, and set
the plates on the coffee table. I look at the news channel that’s displayed on
the TV.
“Am I
hearing this right? Death by… Pencil?” a blonde reporter stammers. She presses
two fingers to her ears as she is fed information through her earpiece.
“Apparently, someone had a pencil skewer their eye, very… Gruesomely, like the
Joker did in the Batman movie, The Dark Knight.”
She was cut off as the news station aired the Joker clip. I stared in
horror at how someone would’ve done this in real life. This was taking movie
reenacting a bit too seriously. The blonde’s face pops back up after the clip
and she clears her throat.
My jaw dropped as they
showed a picture of the guy. Three words flew around my mind. I. Knew. Him.
“He’s
cute,” a familiar voice whispered in my ear. I felt Emilie walk around me and
stand next to me. I set my drink down and leaned back against the counter. I
looked around the ship’s only club, illuminated by black lights, and spotted
the guy Emilie had been talking about in a matter of seconds. He was cute,
extremely cute. He had dark brown hair, mysterious eyes and a tall figure.
He was also staring at me. He winked and
gestured I come dance with him. Emilie must’ve thought he was silently
communicating with her, and he might’ve been, because her posture had
straightened up fast. She leaned against the bar and sighed.
“I was talking with him earlier,
his name is Bren,” Emilie purred. “And damn.” She liked him. It was incredibly
obvious. I picked my drink back up and took a sip. I leaned in close to Emilie.
Her dress was basically glowing different colors from the lights.
“Go dance with him then,” I started as I
tipped my martini glass in his direction. I downed the rest and put the empty
glass back on the bar. “If not, I will.” This caught her attention. She whipped
her head around to shoot a glare at me. She didn’t move though, not one little
movement.
“Go right ahead,” she whispered,
staring off into nowhere. She turned around and put her elbows on the bar. It
was killing her to tell me I could go, but the alcohol in my system refused to
let me believe it was hurting her then. Pulling up my dress just in case, I
walked up to Bren, who still had his eyes on me, and started dancing with him.
The atmosphere that night was hot and sexy, music pounding through the speakers
and couples nonchalantly making out on the seats in the corner. Maybe I’d be
lucky and find myself in that corner later.
“What’s your name beautiful?” he
whispered as I grinded against. I looked over at Emilie, upset and sipping on
her drink.
“Effenie. My friend over there
tells me your name is Bren,” I smirked at him and pressed my body against his
again. I grabbed the back of his neck with one hand and rested my head on his
shoulder.
“Maybe we should get to know each other
a little better,” he suggested, whispering it ever so closely to my ear, then
kissing behind it, leading down to my neck. He had great ideas.
Making out with a stranger who
smelled sexily of cigarettes wasn’t technically my thing, but I enjoyed this
change. His hands pressed against my head, pulling me into his forceful kiss.
He was rough. I liked it rough. I let my hand run from his neck to his chest.
We were in the corner, next to another couple who seemed unaware of the other
people. I had been straddling him for the past half an hour or so, and Emile
must’ve left after ten minutes. After a couple of minutes, his hands have left
my hair and head towards my ass, trailing against my back. I felt the warmth of
his fingers through my skintight dress. When I felt his hands nearing his target,
I straightened up on his lap and caught his wrists behind my back. I smiled and
snaked my body back down onto his.
“We’re just getting to know each
other, remember?” I whispered against his lips.
The rest of the night surely led
up to more than “just getting to know each other”. He’d led me back to his room
on the ship. I’d sat with him on the miniature couch, bare legs across his lap.
We’d also drank a few shots of Vodka. We’d chatted. Then he’d started sliding
his hands up my legs. My dress came off, and the rest of what happened is
pretty predictable. One last thing to say: He’d found is target, and he had
easily hit the bullseye.
He was dead. We had a past, you could say, a
relationship. Nobody could be accidently stabbed with a pencil in his or her
eye.
“The
police have not released any information on this case, but we can assume this
was murder.” the reporter continues.
If assumptions could be made, I knew exactly what I was assuming. I was assuming I knew who the criminal was. One could only have suspicions, right?
If assumptions could be made, I knew exactly what I was assuming. I was assuming I knew who the criminal was. One could only have suspicions, right?
No comments:
Post a Comment