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There’s a long white marble bar that stretches across in a sweeping arc. Rows of liquor bottles line the back shelf and massive portraits of famous movie stars splash across the wall.
We walk past an Andy Warhol of Marilyn Monroe and David gives a helpless look toward the bar. “Too bad you’re not twenty-one.”
I flush. “One of the downsides to dating someone younger than you,” I say, trying to play it off like it’s a joke.
He squeezes my hand and gives our tickets to the guy standing behind a podium in front of theater number five. “No worries. There are about a thousand upsides to dating someone your age. Alcohol isn’t a big deal. You’ll see.”
We find our seats and although I’d been expecting regular movie theater chairs, maybe even the ones with fold up armrests, I was way off. The entire theater is separated into pairs of two seats, almost like a small couch with a walkway between each one. There are small tables in front of the seats, a stack of paper menus and tiny golf pencils.
“So we just order the food from here?” I ask, copying David when he grabs a menu and a pencil.
“Damn, you’re adorable,” he says, his body turning to face me in the black leather couch. “I could teach you a lot more than just movie theaters.” He reaches out and taps me on the nose. I guess he means it to be flattering, but I’m just left feeling like a little kid.
Lips pressed together, I look over my menu. Everything is named after movie words, like the appetizers are called the Previews, and entrees are the Feature Film. I read the directions at the top of the paper menu, wishing I’d done as much before asking David about it. All I have to do is make a check mark next to the things I want. You can order as often as you want until the last fifteen minutes of the movie. Everything is written down so you don’t have to talk to the server during the film.
David leans forward and presses a red button in the center of our table. It lights up and a woman wearing solid black shimmies down the aisle and stops in front of our table. She turns off the light and whispers, “Are we ready to order?”
We hand her our menu slips, and she turns off the table light and then disappears. More people fill up the couches around us and waiters, dark as the night, slip in and out of the aisles, barely noticeable as the previews start playing.
Our waitress returns a few minutes later, placing a large pail in the center of our table. It’s filled with ice and a six pack of beer bottles. David unscrews a top and hands a bottle to me, chuckling when I look alarmed.
“I can’t—” I start to whisper, and he shakes his head.
“No one can see you, sweetheart.” He clinks his bottle to
mine just as an explosion fills the movie screen with a burst of orange and red. “Drink up.”
When the credits roll, I’m five beers deep, the bottles lining our table like shameful amber trophies next to our two pails of ice. I’d had a burger and fries for dinner, but the starchy meal wasn’t nearly enough to keep the alcohol at bay. I know this much when I go to stand up and almost fall over.
David catches my arm, and it hurts a little, but at least I stay upright. “Thanks,” I mumble, offering him a smile as I hastily throw my purse over my shoulder and try to swat all of the stray hairs out of my face. I squint as the house lights grow a little brighter. “Is the floor moving, or am I just drunk?”
It’s supposed to be a joke. He’s supposed to laugh. But David’s blue eyes graze over me, and his lips twist into something like a sneer. “A lightweight,” he murmurs as his arm snakes around my back and holds me in place while we ascend the aisle. “Cute.”
I lean into David’s muscular chest as we walk slowly back out of the theater. The chill in the air is almost painful on the long walk to his truck that’s parked in one of the last rows. There’s hardly any other cars out this far, even for the business of a Friday night. The dark autumn air smells crisp and evergreen and as another wave of dizziness rolls over me, I tuck my face into David’s side, inhaling the woodsy scent of his cologne.
“How’d you like the movie?” he asks. His hand slides up and down my back, making a soothing rhythm that I count along to in my head.
“It was good,” I say, squinting in concentration. I shiver from the cold. “At least the parts that I can remember were good.”
“I tell you what,” he says, slowing when we reach his truck. “When it comes out on DVD, I’ll rent it, and we can watch it again in my room.”
I nod along, my eyes more focused on the stars and how they swirl and flip and dance across the night sky. Why is it so damn cold out here? My stomach clenches from the alcohol. “Cool,” I say. My voice sounds very far away. I look to the right, as if, for some reason, another me might be standing there and maybe she just said those words instead of me.
And then we’re standing in front of the passenger door. I reach for the handle, but everything blurs and I’m spun around. My back presses against the cold metal door. I gasp at the shock of cold that sears into my skin and then warm lips cover up my cry. We’re kissing. And it’s sloppy and wet and cold and tastes like alcohol.
The world is spinning, so I close my eyes. David’s hands grab my waist, crushing Ciara’s shirt against my ribs. It’s hard to kiss him back, hard to concentrate on what he’s doing. Something primal rises up in my heart, stalking around like a lion. I find myself focusing more on that sensation than the one on my lips.
David’s hands roam my body, squeezing my breast so hard I wince. “Ow,” I say, gasping for a breath between his ravenous kisses.
“Sorry, baby,” he breathes. His hands are like cobras, weaving all over me. “Maybe you’d like this better?” His hand slides to my jeans, his thumb unhooking the button and sliding down the zipper in one swift movement.
It hits me very hard that I do not want to be doing this.
“No,” I say, shuffling but I don’t go anywhere. There’s a massive truck behind me, and I’m stuck. “No, David—I don’t want to—”
My fists mash against his chest, but he presses into me, one hand on the glass window and the other slithering down the front of my jeans. I can’t breathe. Everything is spinning, and it is so fucking cold outside. Gasping for another breath, I feel the panic set in. “David, I don’t want to!”
The other me, the one who is very far away, says those same words again.
