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I looked down at her hand again. The one touching my arm. Soiling me. I blurted out the first thought in my head. “An estimated 1,500 bacteria live on each square centimeter of skin on our hands. Even more underneath the fingernails.”
My voice was bland as I observed her long acrylic nails painted black with a floral design. I bet there were a lot of bacteria under them. I wondered how she cleaned them. Or kept food from getting under there. How often did she change them?
“Never mind.” Her lip curled as she hopped off the stool and moved on to the next guy sitting alone.
I watched, curious, as he wrapped his arm around a complete stranger’s waist. He pulled her close, and she giggled again. How could he resist the urge to cut off the sound by ripping out her throat?
See, I didn’t understand people. It was a good thing they didn’t understand me. So far, I hadn’t had to use any of the violent skills I’d learned. Just my words were enough to send them away.
The song changed, and the volume increased. My watch told me it had been sixteen minutes. I was about to get up and leave when a couple crowded behind my chair; the man leaning over so he could order drinks. Now, I couldn’t move without brushing by them.
If that girl’s hand on my arm was enough to make me want to soak it in bleach, I’d rather not press up against a stranger. My body tensed. My teeth creaked as I snapped my jaw together. I pushed down the pounding in my head. The burning of my skin.
“I asked for a tequila.” The girl sighed, visibly annoyed at the man. Her shoulders were straight and tight, like she was angry. But I had a hard time focusing on it because… her voice.
All the tension in my body vanished. Her voice was… I didn’t know what it was. But it didn’t bother me. Instead of adding to the chaos in my head, it seemed to make it fade away.
My attention snapped and focused. The club around me disappeared. All I saw were the flashes of light as they crossed her face.
Who was this girl?
2
Nathan
“Don’t be trashy.” The guy grunted as he handed her the glass. “Only people looking to get drunk fast drink tequila straight up.”
His voice grated down my spine, making the pressure inside me build once more. She rolled her eyes as she took it. They leaned against the bar as they sipped.
I edged closer. I needed her to talk again. Unless results can be replicated, then the data isn’t valid. The calm her voice brought was a fluke.
Only numbers made me focus like that. I’d tried a lot of hobbies. Typical and not. Building models; trains, cars. Reading, painting, various forms of exercise.
But none of them stuck. I can concentrate on them for days, even months at a time, but then I’d move on. Numbers were the only thing that constantly kept my attention.
Now, it was on this girl.
I couldn’t just ask her to speak. That was weird, right?
There had to be a socially acceptable way to hear her voice, but I didn’t know what it was.
“I don’t know why you chose to meet here.” The man spoke again, and my jaw clenched. The anger rose as he glared at her. “I thought you wanted to talk.”
She was close, but the lights were low. I could make out dark, tight, curly hair. Not the kind that women fabricated with curling irons. Hers were an abundance of spiral strands that could only be natural. I wondered if they were soft. Not that I’d ever touch them to find out.
She was petite, but not tiny. Her body had curves and dips. A little cleavage, but a thick round ass. The heat inside me moved down, pooling in my gut. This unfamiliar sensation had me shifting in my seat.
Lights flashed across her face, showing me a plump bottom lip, freckles adorning her cheeks, dark eyes. I needed to see more. Categorize the features. Her. Maybe it would help me understand.
“No, you wanted to talk. I said it was over.”
The fire inside me spread, but it wasn’t the usual aggression. It was warm and smooth. Calming.
Say more, Songbird. Let me hear you again.
Twice could be an accident. I was just overstimulated, and she had a pleasant voice. Soft. Not high pitched. Lower, but not too low.
“Come on. Don’t be like that.” The guy crowded her space. My instincts wanted me to grab him. Rip him away from her. But I learned to ignore those urges; they were wrong. Or so I was told.
