As the river flows

Chapter 7

Heart thudding loudly in his chest, Ankit stood rooted to the spot. He could feel the chilly October air brushing across his nape, cooling the drop of sweat that ran down the length of his neck, as he stood at the doorstep, blocking the way. He felt apprehension rise like a tidal wave within him, sticking to the roof of his mouth like honey.

“What’s going on?” Laura asks jolting him out of his reverie.

“Oh, nothing” He says, moving out of the way, with a quick glance over his shoulder.

Reluctantly he allowed Laura to drag him further into the pub, towards the back of the room where Damon and the rest were seated, feeling increasingly more agitated the closer they got to the table. He could feel the grey gaze boring into him, getting steelier as he got closer to the table.

He had never thought that they would meet ever again, brushing his nightmares off like one brushes off a pesky fly. Who would have thought that the nightmares would turn out to be such omens instead? He glanced up furtively, hoping against hope that he was just dreaming, and the guy from the airport wasn’t actually here.

But the moment he looked up and his eyes caught on the face that he (unfortunately) remembered so well, he knew that there would be no such luck. Maybe he didn’t remember him? Yeah! Maybe! It’s not like they knew each other. Why was he so worried again? It’s not like he had done something to be ashamed of. He was just being himself, and in fact if one of them had the moral high ground here, it was Ankit himself. He wasn’t the one who had behaved so rudely. Yeah. He wouldn’t give a damn about the man! He was inconsequential. And Ankit would have totally forgotten about him, if not for the dreams. Dreams? No, nightmares!

Steeling himself, Ankit walked up to the group, Laura at his side. He could still feel the gaze on him, but he chose to ignore it in favor of greeting Damon, who gave him a big smile and hugged him close.

“You look amazing!” Damon said, placing his hand on the small of Ankit’s back, guiding him to a chair beside him. Ankit watched Laura give him a wink and sidle up to Omar and Sonja on the other side of the table, and had to suppress the grin that threatened to break out on his face.

“I’m glad you could make it.” Ankit turned to his left, jerking back slightly, when he finds Damon’s face incredibly close to his own. He flushes immediately, feeling his eyes slide past Damon’s face and landing on the grey eyes that seem to be looking back at him unerringly. Unnerved, Ankit quickly looks back at Damon and his beautiful green gaze that manages to quickly put him at ease.

“Wouldn’t have missed it” He says, shooting Damon a shy smile and a bashful look from under his lashes. Yes, this is what he was here for. Some light-hearted flirting to while away the night.

He spent the next half an hour getting acquainted with everyone around the table. There were eleven of them in total. Damon’s friend had brought five of her closest friends with her, the ‘man from the airport’ being one of them. Apparently, his name was Matteo. Matteo Bianchi, and he owned an architecture firm in Paris. He, however, was of Italian descent, despite having lived most of his adult life in Paris.

Ankit tried to pay him no heed, but the way the man had looked at him when they were introduced, had sent shivers down his spine. There was just something about this man that made him want to curl up and disappear. Was that an exaggerated reaction? Of course, it was and he knew it, but as he stared at the food on his plate, he couldn’t help but be overly conscious of the other’s existence at the end of the table. There was something magnetic about that man, in the way his lips curled around each word, and the way his hands held the wine glass as he sipped from it. Even the way he carried himself in his black button down shirt and grey trousers spoke of confidence and sophistication.

For the millionth time, Ankit found himself looking furtively in his direction, even as Damon put his hand around his shoulders and whispered into his ears. He found himself drawn to the way the light reflected off of Matteo’s hair, painting it red and gold, and for a moment, he wished he had a paintbrush with him.

“Let’s go!” Damon said next to him, breaking his reverie and making him flush in consternation. What was he just thinking? Matteo Bianchi was rude and… and, yeah! Rude! That was enough. Ankit shook his head off of the thoughts of Matteo Bianchi and stood up, following Damon and the others out of the pub.

The night was wonderfully chilly, clearing his head after the pungent air of the pub. As he walked down the side streets of Paris, while the others tried to flag down cabs to take them to the rave, Ankit thought about Delhi and his friends from back home, feeling guilt make its way up his throat. He had spoken to Jaya only once since he had gotten here. She deserved better than that. s**t! Even Feroze! It had been a whole week since he had last spoken to her. They both deserved better than him being flaky.

Lost in his thoughts he did not notice the person that was walking right in front of him, till he bumped right into them.

“Oh, s**t! Sorry, sor-“ his words died in his throat as he looked up. Of course! Just his luck to have bumped into Matteo. Like his displeasure of Ankit wasn’t evident enough, the man turned right back around and walked on ahead. Like it was beneath him to even acknowledge Ankit’s existence. Scoffing, Ankit started walking again.

Mood now significantly worsened, he muttered under his breath, hoping that this would be the last time Matteo and he would come in contact with each other that night. Clearly no good thing could come of any interaction between them.

“So sorry for him.” Ankit looked to his right to find Amelie (Damon’s friend, he recalled), looking at her friend’s retreating back with a confused expression. “He isn’t normally like that. I don’t know what’s wrong with him today. He’s also been awfully quiet the entire evening. Something must be going on. So, don’t worry. It’s not you.” She assured with a kind smile and a warm hand on his shoulder.

But Ankit knew, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that it was in fact him. It was him that Matteo Bianchi hated. Wow, that was a strange feeling. To be hated. A novel experience. It made Ankit uncomfortable in his own skin.

He gave her a strained smile. “It’s okay, I get it.”

                                                                                             ----

The lights flashed red and green, cutting through the all-consuming darkness of the warehouse that was La Possession, and Ankit could feel his heart beating wildly at the base of his throat. He could feel the hair sticking to his forehead and the sweat tricking down his spine, as he danced with abandon. It had been such a long time really since he had let go so completely. Unabashedly. There was such a sense of freedom and abandon clouding his mind, and lowering his inhibitions, as he felt the loud music under his fingers, thrumming through his body. He threw his head back, dropping it against Damon’s shoulder. Yes, having Damon stick to him with such possessive and clear interest was exquisite. Made him feel powerful. Wanted.

He felt Damon’s hands circle his waist, bringing him closer, pulling his body flush against the other’s. He shivered slightly, as he felt the warm breath against his neck and the wet open mouthed kisses that Damon dropped against his shoulder. A moan fell unbidden from his mouth, getting lost in the loud music filling the club to the brim. The music was addictive. It rippled under his fingertips, pushing and pulling him headfirst into ecstasy. There was a recklessness that was creeping up on him, lending courage to his actions, as he brought his hands up and curled them around Damon’s shoulders, pulling him closer, turning his head and kissing his moans into his mouth.

Damon’s grip on his hips tightened, and for a second they stood still, surrounded by hundreds of people, just tasting each other’s breath, as they panted into the other’s mouth. As they broke apart, Ankit giggled, his mind fuzzy and light, and detangled himself from Damon’s grip.

“I think I need a break,” he said, brushing his hair off his forehead, panting lightly.

“Okay, I’ll come with you.” Damon said, moving to follow him off the dance floor.

“No, it’s okay” Ankit pushed him back, with a hand on his chest, reveling in the lop-sided grin that Damon shoots in his direction. Everything was so easy with Damon. Like a breath of fresh air. It brought such a vitality to him, making him revel in his own skin. “I just need to sit down for a while. I’ll be at the booth. You have fun.”

“Are you sure?” Damon reached out to squeeze at his shoulder, making Ankit smile. He was such a sweetheart and treated him so well. Made him feel so wanted. Confident.

“Yeah,” Ankit shot back, moving away slowly towards the edge of the dance floor.

“Fine, go. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Damon said, winking.

Laughing and shaking his head, Ankit turned away from Damon, and made his way to the bar. He had been dancing for what seemed like hours. Must have been too. But, this was important. Made him feel the essence of his youth. In moments like these he could almost taste it. Passion. Wild and unbridled. It was everything and nothing like the experience of creating art. Painting was a spiritual experience for him, making his soul soar, making his mind feel endless. Connecting him to the very essence of life. To everyone around him. But dancing, it was such a visceral experience. Unexplainable in the way it made him aware of his own existence. His own breath, his own life. It was like an exultation of the fact of being alive. It made the blood thrum in his veins and the breath expand in his lungs. Filled him with abandon and joy.

He breathed hard, as he flagged down the bartender.

“Gin and tonic, si vous plait!” He shouted, trying to get heard over the pounding music.

“Pardon?” The bartender yelled, leaning over the counter, scrunching her face, trying to understand what Ankit wanted.

“Gin and tonic!” Ankit repeated, bringing his hands in to cup his mouth. The music was very loud indeed, he realized, now that the haze of dancing was receding from his mind slowly. He could feel the start of a headache throbbing at the edges of his consciousness. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he dropped his head down between his hands.

He startled when he felt a hand shake him awake. He hadn’t even realized that he had dozed off, sitting on the barstool! He looked up to see the bartender impatiently shoving his drink in his direction. With a grimace he got up off the stool and reached forward to take the drink.

“Vous payez comment?” she asked, clearly in a hurry, trying to move on to the other customers waiting eagerly for their drinks.

“What?” He asked, his mind still muddled, after the short nap.

“Vous-payez-comment?” She asked, emphasizing each word, like she was talking to a child. And she might as well have been, since he could barely grasp what she said, made worse by the deafening music and his throbbing headache.

“I’m sorr- “

“Par carte”

Ankit whipped around, forgetting the drink in his hand, and watched with a sinking heart as the drink spilled onto Matteo Bianchi’s shirt, drenching him. Oh god! Not again!