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I grin. “I’m married to art, thank you very much.”
“Mae.” Sydney’s narrowed eyes pin me down. “I hate to burst your bubble but art won’t give you the children you want so much.”
My eyebrows furrow. “That’s so rude. Paintings are our children, dummy!”
Sydney rolls her eyes and tips her head to the ceiling. “God, give me patience!”
Owen laughs and shoos Sydney away to sit next to me. His whiskey-infused breath fans my nostrils. He jokes and I chuckle at his corniness. Not long after, Sydney storms to our table with a tray full of greenish beverage, courtesy of the bartender. Owen doesn’t like the ‘puke-like’ drink. That’s all it takes for him and Sydney to go all out in their usual banter.
Relaxing in my seat, I sip the green cocktail. The liquid travels my throat leaving an instant burn in its wake.
“You know what?” I cut the heated profanity-filled conversation between Owen and Sydney. “I believe a shag would drive all this tension between you two away. Have you considered that?”
“Say that again and I’ll kill you!” Sydney glares at me while Owen gives an awkward laugh.
Well, at least that cools things for a while.
When we go back to the dance floor, my head swims in a hazy fog. I can’t keep up with the music, and my steps become more and more unbalanced. The urge to throw up hits me like a crashing wave.
“I’m going out for some air!” I shout over the music.
Sydney clutches my arm. “Do you want me or Owen to come with you?!”
I shake my head. “I won’t be long!”
They took care of me the entire night. No need to ruin what remains of it.
The nightclub is so crowded I can’t see where I’m headed. Pushing my way through the writhing bodies, my eyes dart in all directions, looking for an exit. After bumping into blurry people and objects, I reach the back entrance. I didn’t plan to end up here, but either way, there’s air in the empty alleyway.
Ash grey walls surround me. The only light in sight is a street lamp several meters away. At least, it’s not entirely dark. The rotten smell of garbage violates my nose and I have to gulp to not throw up. I lean against the nightclub’s wall, wishing for a seat of some sort.
A breeze of fresh air whips my hair back and soothes my nausea. Maybe I won’t throw up after all. I stand there, listening to the fading music and kicking cigarette butts and pebbles away. My heels are killing me.
A shiver cloaks my body. I grit my teeth. Why am I so cold?
I look down on my bare arms. My coat is still in our booth.
Great, Mae. What an adult you are.
When I turn towards the club’s back entrance, the hairs on the back of my neck stand like needles. Is this even due to cold anymore? I close my eyes, trying as much as possible to scoot the haze away.
This isn’t real. My mind is playing dirty tricks on me. A false premonition. A needless paranoia.
An intoxicating smell, different from garbage, invades my nostrils. As if compelled by some invisible force, I open my eyes. My feet almost fail me. I stagger and catch myself on a wall. My dizzy vision focuses on the tall man standing between me and the club’s entrance.
All warmth leaves my blood stream. An unknown force draws down my spine, freezing my shoulder blades together.
It’s him.
The stranger is all in black. The hood he wears shadows his face, obscuring his features.
A faceless Grim Reaper.
And he’s here for me.
Oh. God.
“Good evening, Mae.”
