Another taste of Streetlight Silhouettes. Should really start posting more complete pieces in order though but I really like this one.
Glass In Gutter
The
dim lights of Clube Noir cast a shadow across Sebastian's features as
he downed another glass before sliding it across the bar to join his
other empties; he'd lost count of how many and didn't really care.
Leaning back on his stool, he closed his swollen eyes and tightened
his grip on the counter as he stuggled to steady himself. A breeze
across his face, as the door swung open, gave a slight reprieve to
the war going on inside his head. Breathing in deep, he detected the
smell of a perfume he knew, a smell that could bring a tear to his
eye. He kept his eyes shut, even in his desire to see her so near
him.
Reyna
came up behind him, running her fingers through his hair, he bit his
lip, loving and hating her touch at the same time. She moved her lips
close to his neck. He could feel her breathe and held his own.
“Open
your eyes,” she whispered. His knuckles whitened against the dark
surface of the counter. He kept his eyes shut. Her fingers slipped
away and he craved them instantly. He opened his eyes as much as the
swelling would allow.
She
sat on the stool next to him, seemingly oblivious to the near
indecent hemline of her dress. She slipped out a cigarette from a
silver case, but didn't light it right away. “You know, when I saw
you, the first thing I felt was hope, as if you were the person I
needed to get me out of this hellhole,” she paused a minute,
looking over Sebastian, unsatisfied with his response she continued,
“Hope is a silly thing and I was foolish to think someone out there
could be my prince charming, and sweep me away. I was so caught up in
my fairy tale I didn't realize what I was looking at, “ Sebastian
twitched just a little and she turned to face him, “I see you now
for what you really are too late and now the last person I had left
to trust is dead.” Reyna's hands trembled, flipping the cigarette
between her fingers. He wanted to it take from her, put it aside and
hold her hands in his, but he knew she'd never let him touch her. He
wanted to speak but had no right. She was right, Adele was dead
because of him. He wished he could speak, let her know just how he
felt, but he had no words.
“You're
quiet tonight. You used to be full of sarcastic wit. I could never
tell if I loved or hated it. Now, I daresay, I miss it.” The
cigarette was still, resting against her finger tips. He wished she'd
light it and be done with it. The bartender slid another drink across
the table and Sebastian reached for it. Reyna reached stopped his
hand with her own, gripping his tight. “Don't you dare block me
out, me and your guilt and shame because that's all you could ever
do. You were never happy with anything. I didn't know what you're
expectations were but damn I tried to be your everything, and all I
can say is I wasted my time.” She rose to leave, placing the silver
cigarette case on the bar, the one he had given her, and the
cigarette she had held on top. “Enjoy your poison,” was the last
thing she said to him as she left Clube Noir.
***
Sebastian
left the bar, attempting to maintain a little dignity holding his
head held high. It didn't last. Within steps he was slouched against
a glass-windowed store front featuring a million displays of Claire
Sevier, waving and smiling, the only person left in this town that
would wave or smile to him. He smiled, as much as his beat-up face
would allow, she was everything he hated about himself, the City, and
the choices he had made. He mustered up the strength to stand and
stumbled down the street a little more before collapsing to his
knees. Some ladies of the night passed him by, not even glancing his
way. Catching site of his reflection on some broken glass in the
gutter, he felt nauseated. He felt the cuts over the bridge of his
nose, which looked broken. He boasted two black-eyes, reduced to
slits and bloodshot. His lips were swollen and dry blood trickled
down his chin. Even through the night's consumption of alcohol he
tasted blood. His stomach churned and all he could to was give in to
the gut-got wrath of overindulgence.
***
With
more difficulty than usual, he picked the lock and let himself into
Shelton's home. Shelton, he knew, would be out late tonight. It was
cold inside, but that may have just been Sebastian's perception. As
he pushed the door shut, before he could stop himself, he broke into
a fit of sobs. He felt helpless, hopeless, broken, beaten. Forcing
himself to stand he made his way to the bathroom to clean away the
dirt, blood, and retch plastered on his face. He glanced in the
mirror, knowing he looked disgusting, but not near as disgusted as he
felt. He pressed the clean white cloth to his face, attempting to
wash away not just a night's but a lifetime's worth of indescretions.
Shelton
reached the front door, finding it unlocked, he opened it, seemingly
without concern. Even the mix of blood and dirt on the door didn't
phase him. Instead he entered as he normally would, hanging up his
coat per usual and placing his keys in their proper place. He crossed
over to the bathroom and leaned in the doorway, back to the beam.
“Meet me in the living room in twenty minutes. Shower first,” was
all he said before pulling the door shut.
In
the living room, Shelton arranged the bottle he had purchased for
this very occasion, one glass, and an ashtray, on the surface of his
English walnut coffee table.
He
walked over to the deck and stepped outside, breathing in the crisp
night air. Adele used to love the deck. They used to sit there
together and talk. He never really talked much. He had always
perfered to listen. With Adele he talked. He talked of everything he
had ever wanted to say but lacked the courage or the words to
express. With her it was easy, natural. He watered the roses, her
roses, that grew around, the deck, winding their thorny fingers over
the metallic surface. White roses; she loved them most. They were a
symbol of hope and new beginnings, simple yet beautiful even if
outshone by the passionate red. He heard Sebastian leave the bathroom
and went inside.
Sebastian
sat in his customary seat, the bottle, glass, and ashtray in front of
him. He raised an eyebrow questionigly, having never seen a bottle of
alcohol or ashtray at Shelton's before.
“What
is this? What the fuck is this?” He asked. “These aren't yours.”
Shelton stepped forward with the backs of his hands raised, black X
tattoos clearly visible. He lowered his hands and sat across from
Sebastian.
“They're
for you to enjoy your poison.” Sebastian stared back at Shelton,
hearing the very last words he's wanted to hear, come from his former
friend's mouth. Shelton gave him an icy look, emphasized his new
found palour. Sitting across from Sebastian was a ghost, as deathly
white as the roses in the vase next to Adele's photo.
Shelton
stood and walked over to a sidetable protected by a velvet cloth from
an assortment of surgical instruments. Sebastian, with quivering
hands, poured himself a drink. Shelton ran a finger across one before
picking it up, examning it and then carelessly replacing it.
Sebastian watched his every move. Shelton walked over to the phone to
make a call that would never be answered, Adele's number. He let the
ringing permeated the tension-heavy air before returning to his
instruments. Sebastian flinched with every ring. He pulled out his
cigarettes, glancing over at Shelton, whose back was turned, before
lighting one. Shelton had selected one of the instruments and as he
did a slight smile flitted its way into his features, a nasty
caricature. Sebastian struggled with his cigarette. Shelton held the
instrument in his hand as he returned to his place across from
Sebastian. He put the metal contraption on the table. Sebastian put
down his lit but unsmoked cigarette and looked up at Shelton. Shelton
walked around to Sebastian's side of the table, picked up the bottle
and emptied the contents on Sebastian. He picked up the cigarette and
held it near Sebastian.
“If
I don't do this now, you know these things will kill you sooner or
later.”
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