Bracing myself against the onslaught of horror, I dive deeper into his thoughts.
While his eyes go glassy, I push a thought deep into his consciousness. A thought of what I can do, what Iwilldo, the devastation I will unleash upon his body if he doesn’t fucking back off.
His eyes widen to what would be a comical size before he goes limp in my grasp. With a vague sense of amusement, I realize he’s pissed himself.
I let his body drop to the dirty alleyway, careful to keep my boots out of his piss puddle — although it looks like his tight, white washed jeans have absorbed most of it. I leave him there to go take care of my girls.
As I stride back to the entrance, I reach out to give a mental tap to Calida, who slipped out of the bar after me. She will follow them, at a distance, to be sure that there won’t be any further trouble from that corner. Once they wake up, that is.
“Your drink, milady,” I bow at the waist, offering Ash a new glass. “And for your valiant warrior.” I add, tossing a baggy of ice to Annemarie. She flips me off. I thought she was about love and light?
“Thank you.” Ash says.
Betsy makes eye contact and I stare back at her, blandly. If anyone at this table currently knows what I’m capable of, it’s her. She smiles and re-arranges her boa. Then she gives me a nudge and cuts her eyes to Ash.
Rolling my own, I take a swallow of my fresh beer. I wasn’t surprised to see that the puddle and the broken glass had magickally disappeared in the time it took me to escort the women back to the table.
It’s been a long evening already and it’s still early.
Sipping my beer, I lean back in my chair. I’m tuning out the conversation, but am watching Ash. The way the light catches on her rainbow hair. The arm full of ink that she didn’t have before leaving home, but is undeniably attractive. Words and phrases wrap around one another in different fonts, different colors, and I can’t help but ponder their meaning. Studying the way she crinkles her nose when she laughs. The way she touches Annemarie, showing that she is completely focused ontheir conversation, a physical contact to cement the moment.
While Ash is focused on her conversation with Anne, I see Anne catch my eye and lift her eyebrows.
“Wanna dance?” I blurt, looking at Ash.
She cuts off whatever she was saying and whips her head towards me. “What?”
“Do you wanna dance?” I’m already on my feet, offering my hand. I know damn well the woman loves to dance and, as awkward as I always feel, it never fails to make her happy. She and Anne went through the trouble to get the four of us here; I’d like for Ash’s evening to end on a less shitty note, even if that does mean I have to dance.
She looks at me so long that I start to feel self-conscious but she finally offers me her hand and says, “I’d love to.”
I lead her down the stairs, nudging more drunk people out of the way as we go.
I stop at the bottom of the stairs. Maybe it's the fuckery of the evening or maybe I just want her to have good thoughts, but I ask, “What do you want to hear?”
“What?” she yells, trying to be heard above whatever is being played now. It sounds like banjos being electrocuted.
I put my lips close to her ear. “What do you want to dance to? I’ll put in a request.” Gods, I hope that’s still a thing here.
She suddenly seems shy. Not only can I not hear her, but she’s no longer making eye contact.
“What?!” I yell.
I pull her close and bend, so her lips are against my ear. I fight off a shudder. If we’re about to be slow dancing,this is hardly the time to let my body run away with its more basic urges.
“Damocles.”
“Damocles?” I repeat, confused.
She nods, still leaning close, but she suddenly looks uncertain.
I wonder what is so important about this song. Why does it make her nervous?
Burying my curiosity, I smile and say “Coming right up.”
I make the request of the music man, vowing to focus on the words to see what message she has for me. While the instrumental parts of music have always pulled me in, Ash has always been more focused on the lyrics, pulling deep on her heart strings even when they weren’t meant to. She has always held the belief that some of a person’s most important messages are conveyed by the music they listen to, the songs that are important to them.
Selfishly, I’m hoping it’s a slow song, so we’ll have time to connect.
