penance. a love story (The Böhme Series) (8 page)

I didn’t feel like a stalker earlier, but I did now. Sure, we happened to be at the same place again, but that didn’t mean I needed to watch her every move. How was it possible that we crossed paths three times now in one day?

Henley’s was full tonight. People always came out when the bluegrass and folk bands played, so assuming there was a purpose in seeing her again was ludicrous. It was a popular bar. She danced to the first band for an hour. Her dark blonde hair had started up, but fell out after her second or third drink. She now used her hair as a shield to block her from the world.

“Why don’t you go talk to her?” Blake asked, breaking me from my creepy staring.

“I refuse to talk to a girl in a bar
,” I said before risking a glance at her again. “Besides she’s with someone. They’ve been at it most of the night.” The tall guy with dark hair wrapped his hands around her waist. He had been twirling her around and bowing her during songs. Blake let out a loud laugh and I gave him a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, first, you make it sound as if talking to a girl in a bar is comparable to getting your finger nails ripped out and second, Gabe
isn’t interested. Believe me,” he said as he took a drink of his beer and leaned on the bar.

“You know him?” I asked as I took a drink of my own.

“Yeah, I know him. He’s a regular, we hang out and he would rather be dancing with me if you know what I mean.” I realized there was a side to my best friend I didn't know.

“Oh. Okay. Doesn’t matter though, I’m not going to interrupt her
time with her friends,” I said before giving my attention back to her as a guy in skinny jeans and boat shoes approached. He had tattoos of a pinup and anchors that had horrendous line work. They looked like shit and I questioned whether I believed that or if it was due to him dancing with the girl that made me judge him.

I wondered if the tattoos held meaning for him, or if he chose them because he thought they were popular now. He could be like so many others, lacking originality in their tattoos, branding their bodies with trends the same way they choose to pay for the brands on their clothes. The perpetual high school existence at work again.

Sid always told me he hated giving tattoos that didn’t mean something to people. Every last one of his held meaning. I thought of the tattoos and words that covered my body. I traced the tattoo on my neck and thought of my mother. I hated that she always managed to find her way to the forefront of my thoughts. Stinson said when this happens I need to stop the thoughts, grab onto them and make them my bitch. Yeah, he said that.

“Whatever, man, it’s your decision. So how has work been?” Blake asked trying to draw my attention away from the girl, “I still can’t wrap my head around you taking crime scene photos. It’s badass.”

“It’s been fine,” I stated without turning to Blake. “It’s a job.” I kept torturing myself by allowing my eyes to move to her and her companions on the dance floor. The douche guy with tattoos was behind her. It was obvious by his physical reaction that he was enjoying their dance.

“It can't be just a
job. You have to see crazy shit,” he pried, wanting me to elaborate on any scene. He always asked me of it, but I never shared. It wasn't right discussing someone’s death or painful experience in a passing conversation with my best friend.

I closed my eyes for a second and took a few deep breaths trying to regain control of my thoughts. The live music stopped and the DJ began to play his mixes. I kept my eyes closed as I listened to the haunting voice of Asaf Avidan in the Wankelmut remix of
The Reckoning Song
. The crowd began to cheer and the dance floor started to fill.

I turned back toward it and the girl was between the Gabe guy and tattooed douche. I didn’t know him and he might be a nice guy, but calling him douche, made me feel better. He was doing what I lacked the freedom to do. My fear imprisoned me and calling him douche helped me accept my shortcomings.

“I’m going to go dance,” Blake said next to me. I nodded, closing my eyes again and drinking my beer. I tried to make my thoughts my bitch but failed. I lacked the nerve to get on that dance floor. The fear consumed me and I was getting pissed because of it.

Memories of my mother flashed in my mind. I tried to push the thoughts away and failed. Their constant presence meant it was time to go. I had a few beers, but those few beers dropped my mental guard and I didn’t want to have a breakdown in front of
 these people, the girl in particular.

I nodded at Sophia who was working the bar and left my tip under my empty bottle. I turned to leave and my eyes drifted to the dance floor once again. Blake was dancing with a brunette and I shook my head as he nodded toward me. My focus went back to the girl that held my attention all night.

The Gabe guy was in front of her as the tattooed douche now groped her hips with his hands. She was rolling her shoulders into him and tempted him with every seductive twirl against his crotch. She danced with an unrestrained chaotic freedom. I watched her for a few moments and when I raised my eyes to her face, her eyes met mine.

We were ten feet from each other as she held my gaze. Her eyes filled with an emotion I understood. She wore a mask to cover shadows of sadness. It dropped for but a second as I watched her sadness consume her, then she blinked and the mask of freedom came back. She wanted the world to believe she was free, but she was enslaving herself in a prison built by her own mind. It was a bond we shared. She dropped her eyes and brought her focus back to her dancing companions.

The growing crowd blocked the front door and the thought of pushing my way through them made my heart race. The stage’s exit to the alley was more accessible. I walked toward it, willing myself not to run from the building.

The beer managed to dull my anxiety as I kept my back to the crowd while sitting at the bar earlier. If I pretended to be alone, listening to music, I could cope. But now, forced to face the crowd as I turned to leave, I needed to regain my bearings. I had to control this anxiety and relax.

I sat at a table near the exit and closed my eyes. For ten minutes, I counted as I listened to the songs change. It was four songs. Four songs played over ten minutes. I heard Stinson,
“When you start to run with your emotions, stop, breathe, and think of what scares you in that moment. Then make it your bitch.”
I understood his point, dominate your fears. It was a lame try at humor though.

I made myself do as he suggested and think of why I was afraid. I was afraid of talking to people. The memory of a woman who died seven years ago haunted me. I took several deep breaths and relaxed as I focused and controlled this moment, right now. I can exit the building, I can choose not to talk, and she is dead.

After I calmed, I took a quick breath and standing from the stool, I pushed my way toward the side exit. As I opened the door and breathed the cool night air, my sanity began to return. I needed to leave before I lost this grip. I didn’t want to have a freak out moment in front of her. I didn’t understand why I was concerned as to what a stranger thought of me. I didn’t know her name and I never heard the sound of her voice, but fear for her opinion of me occupied my thoughts.

I stepped into the alley and turning away from a group smoking, I headed toward the street where I parked my bike. I approached a dark part of the alley where two figures hid in the shadows of a doorway. As I drew closer to them, I heard moaning and heavy breathing. I kept my head lowered as not to bring attention to myself and avoid eye contact.

I envied these people. I envied their ability to use the night air in such a primal way. I tried to keep my eyes forward as I walked past, but my voyeuristic nature of humanity caused me to turn toward the two entwined figures. A girl had her back pressed against a door with a guy encased between her long legs around his waist. Any normal person might continue on their way and give them their privacy, but I was never normal.

He buried his head in her chest as he pounded her against the door and I envisioned medieval times and a ramrod breaking through gates. I took in her crossed ankles behind his back and followed them up her body until I reached her eyes. My breath paused as I met
her
eyes watching me. The girl I watched most of the night, the girl I saw in Petra’s store, the girl I tried to hold the door for, bench girl, now pulled her lower lip into her mouth in pleasure as her eyes held mine.

She didn’t turn away from me in embarrassment as I expected. She didn't tell the guy between her legs I was there either. I wanted to continue walking away, but I lost the ability to move my feet in her gaze. They held me fast as I wanted to understand the contrasting emotions running through me.

My once calm breathing now quickened again, but for far better reasons. The man between her legs vanished as we held each other’s gaze. I should be turning in disgust, as that was my usual reaction. Her eyes dropped to my physical reaction and embarrassment filled me. But as the abyss in her eyes consumed me, I found the embarrassment dwindling. I focused on her eyes and what they held.

She was breaking and this was part of her downward spiral. She was trying to be this person. What had driven her to this place? For the briefest moment embarrassment was in her expression as well. I wanted to throw the tattooed douche off her and pull her from the alley away from this place; away from the garbage on the ground surrounding his feet; away from the pain in her eyes. It was a foreign reaction and the longer I stared into her eyes, the harder it was to fight. I wanted to shield her from herself. I wanted to protect her from whatever it was that caused her to make the decision to be with this random guy in a dark dirty alley.

Douche guy groaned and reminded me there was another person with us. For one odd moment, his ability to hold her up as he was impressed me. But she was not impressed by him, she continued to stare at
me
and smile as she pulled her lower lip into her mouth again. With that lip still in her mouth, her shoulders rose as her body reacted to the man under her. She released her lip from her teeth as she moaned once again, meeting my eyes. She was stunning and frightening at once.

I broke eye contact to con
tinue on my way. I didn't want douche guy to know I watched. I didn’t want to devalue it by bringing his reaction into the equation. Turning back toward her again, because it was evident I was a masochist, I watched her lower her skirt and tilt her head to the side in observation of me. I saw the hollowness in her eyes as we shared an unspoken moment. I needed her name and I needed to talk to her. As she watched me walk away, I struggled to not run back and pull her away with me. It was a fucked up reaction and I wondered who I became in those few moments shared with her in that alley.

I watched the stranger with tattooed words along his arms walk away towards the street. I had not spoken to him once, but he was filling me with a want I never knew. I didn’t let him open the door for me because I didn’t want more from him than a glance. I deserved to be a distant memory to every man I met. I wanted to be a vague afterthought. I wanted the memory of, “Remember that one girl—what was her name?” My name and face then forgotten to them. I was a fleeting moment as I passed in their lives. One quick blink and I’m gone. In his eyes though, I craved remembrance.

His intensity as he watched me was the most erotic yet humbling experience I ever had. I couldn’t get those eyes out of my mind as the man standing next to me finished fastening his pants. I never got his name either, but decided his number was twenty-six because that was the date today. My numbers never went in order. He leaned in to kiss me and I turned my cheek to him. I never let them kiss me because I needed to stay empty.

“That was… god that was… amazing,” he declared and I nodded without emotion at his declaration as I ran my hand over my skirt. I looked toward the end of the alley where the stranger left. Twenty-six’s statement felt odd because our interaction meant nothing to me.

I walked towards the street where the tattooed stranger left. Twenty-six followed close behind and laid his hand across the small of my back. I looked at him and gave a small smile at the revving of an engine. I looked toward the sound and saw the stranger fastening his helmet under his chin. He turned out of his parking spot and came toward us. I watched him in awe because he deserved no less. As he passed by, I nodded my head and smiled, in the same way he had me in the bar.

He drove away and emptiness consumed me, “Nice bike,” Twenty-six said as he started to put his hand across my back again.

I gave him a quick smile before turning toward the bar, “I should get going
.” I tilted my thumb toward the entrance. “I need to find my friends and I have to start a new job tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah, the bookstore, you
mentioned that,” he said as he put his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, waiting for something from me that I couldn’t give—my number maybe?

My drunk self was an idiot for sharing about my job. I hoped that he saw us as a one-night stand and nothing more. It was a late night screw to add to the list of events that consume the pain. I used to think sex in an alley intriguing. Now, after experiencing it, hollowness filled me.

I regretted the watchful eyes of the stranger though, because in his eyes it gave the act meaning. I hoped the act tore more from me, but it became significant having him there. He watched me and he saw me. Part of me hoped he saw more in me and it scared me shitless because I wanted to fade away.