Her name is Byrne. I met her tonight. She is beautiful, that angel with the light brown hair, laying there in repose. Peaceful, she sleeps and I can’t help but stare at the stray curl that cuddles against her cheekbone. I dare not brush it away and spoil the perfection. Enveloped in blue – the color flatters her fair skin – giving her that resting vampire glow, and I find it a little humorous that she strives to be that dark beauty when she has been the very definition all along.
I work part-time as a cook across the street from The Third Eye Jazz Club on 52nd Street. It’s a hideaway, a forgotten place out of time that I like to visit on occasion after a long and arduous week. It’s not easy to pretend to be one of the crowd day after day without going batshit crazy and frankly, I deserve an Oscar for my performance. Sometimes, though, like today, it’s more than a chore, it’s a trial and I decided that deserved several drinks to celebrate not ripping the throat out of each and every person I came in contact with today. I could swear the stupid was in full bloom..
It is cold out, unseasonably so for June and the fog was so thick that the headlights looked like will-o-the-wisps instead of the metal killing machines. The lovely fog that turns everything into shadow and mist. The shadows and strange noises entice me, the pleasure of anonymity is like a sweet treat. Normally, I would be walking, relishing the breathing space as I watched couples making out in the darkness and nervous loners hurrying along pathways to wherever they were going, but tonight I wanted more and I wanted a drink, badly.
There was a woman there, alone, standing outside The Third Eye, endlessly shaking her lighter and cursing under her breath in a husky that made my mouth water. She lifted her eyes to mine as I approached and smiled when I offered a light; her face lit up like a candle in an instant, turning her eyes into an ocean. I can’t swim but I was willing to drown and after few seconds of engulfed silence and an aromatic exhale, her lips were on mine and she was alive in my hands.
A live wire with rapidly eroding skin, she vibrated and stole my breath; I came to in an unfamiliar bedroom that smelled of sex and warm flesh, beside me lay Byrne, her chest rising and falling slowly. I wanted her again, in a bad way but needed to take a piss worse. Her bathroom was tiny and the pink walls were eye melting but still less horrible than my reflection in the mirror.
A haze of blue across my right cheek of my battered swollen face. Split lip and a scratch on my neck as well. Who the fuck puts a mirror behind the toilet anyway? “You hit like a girl, but you held your own. Wanna shake off so I can go too?” Byrne stated from the doorway, her perky breasts jiggling slightly when she laughed at my expression when I was startled out of my thoughts. Time had passed while I stared at my own face with my dick in my hands. The sun hadn’t been yet peeking like a curious child at Christmas when I had gone in there, and now there was a line of light on the wall.
Washing my hands quickly, I brushed past her and she stopped me, entrapping me with those eyes that probed into my mind and made me drown again. “Hurry up Bryne.” The memory of her on her knees sucking me off with those eyes on mine – my cock twitched and she smiled and gave it a firm squeeze before gently closing the door. I glanced at my watch and cringed at the time. I knew I’d be late for work if I didn’t leave then, but I wanted her again and be damned if I would leave. I was texting my partner when she was behind me with her coolish hands on my back and her teeth nipping at my shoulder.
Text: I’ll let the Sarge know. You owe me coffee. Tell Rita hello
“Lying to your wife? Put down your phone.” Her hands slipped around my hips and slid down my stomach to grip at my dick and laughed when it lay limp in her grip. “Whats the matter baby, you can’t get it up for more than one round? Guess I’ll go back to the Eye and find someone who can.” If she hadn’t mentioned Rita I would have been fine but knowing that I should be at home with her instead of Bryne made any desire I had shrivel into nothing.
“Yeah you do that sweetheart. I need to get to work anyway,” I tossed back at her as I slipped my jeans on and stuffed my underwear in the front pocket. I heard her gasp and felt bad but it was a fact that I couldn’t exactly ignore, “Bryne, I’m sorry. I really do have to go and I haven’t been home yet. I still need to find something to tell my wife.” Her hand was cool on my neck and her lips soft on my cheek. “I understand. Apology accepted. Will I see you again?” Her scent stirred the beast in my mind and it turned over in its sleep, suddenly restless, and so I quickly agreed and kissed her hard before I bolted out the door towards my car.
She stood with clutching the sheet from the bed around her slight frame in one hand and the other raised in a wave that broke my heart a little. I knew that I would see her again. I just didn’t expect it to be like this, her dead and wrapped in an odd package made of tarp and me standing over her body taking in the perfection of her face and wanting to brush the curl from her cheek. After the scene this morning, and now this. How the hell am I going to explain to my wife?