In the Apartment Next Door

The club was alive, it pulsed like a living organism, breathing in sweat, the smell of perfume, alcohol, weed, and desires. The air was thick, heavy with bass vibrations that made the floor tremble beneath her opened-toed heels that showed her well-pedicured French tips. Every beat crawled up her spine, syncing with her heartbeat until she couldn’t tell where her pulse ended and the music began. Strobes of violet, red, electric blue lights slashed through the dark, flickering over faces that melted into one another. Hundreds of strangers laughing too loudly, shouting over the music. The smell of liquor mixed with expensive cologne and weed, coating everything with a sweet, dizzying film. Everywhere Abby looked, couples pressed against each other in the shadows, bodies moving in different rhythms, eyes half-closed, lips closed against each other. When the lights flashed, she caught flashes of faces… flushed, smiling, flirting, teasing. She sways her body in tune with music while observing the couple that seemed so fond of themselves: the man whispers something into the woman’s ear, she threw her head back, both laughing hysterically, then she pulled him closer, her breasts resting comfortably on his chest, until their laughter disappeared into a kiss. He lowered his hands to her butt and squeezed gently. Engrossed with their intense kiss… he slightly pulls her dress up and moves his hands into it. They cared less about the hundreds of strangers around them, the music and the intoxicating chemistry seemed to have demanded it. Abby watched in awe, as the man found his way into the woman’s v****a. The woman immediately pulls out of the kiss and lets out a loud moan, “Oh f**k me!” the woman screamed. No one noticed, as they were all intoxicated and filled with an unending desire to f**k their partners. Girls grinding and twerking, while guys dwerking and getting hard on, are too busy to watch what the next person is doing, but not Abby. Abby knew that she was not supposed to be at a club on a Wednesday night… there she was. She lifted another shot to her lips. The liquid burned, but not nearly enough to erase the image flickering in her mind… Flash back: A week ago. Abby had been sitting in her car outside Michelle’s apartment, her fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel, a restless rhythm that matched the beat of the song playing low on the radio. Her nails were perfectly done … a deep, glossy wine red that caught the glow of passing streetlights like shards of glass. She had painted them the night before. Something neat, something controlled… because when everything else in her life fell apart, she could at least make her hands look steady. They look almost classy for such a nervous motion, the polish smooth and gleaming, untouched by a single chip. The gold ring on her index finger glimmered as she drummed faster, her movements growing sharper and less patient. Each tap leaves a soft, hollow sound that fills a car when silence feels too heavy. Her hands were small but expressive, they were alive with tension, her thumb occasionally grazing the leather of the wheel as if grounding herself in its cool surface. Something that made her tap a little harder, wasn’t just a rhythm; it was a pulse trying to keep her from unraveling. His messages had changed, they were shorter, distracted, cryptic. “I’ll call you later”. “Games night with the boys.” “Will be late today, don’t wait.” She had scrolled through his phone when he left it unlocked on her couch two days earlier. A message from Jason had popped up “I’d love to see you tonight…” She read the message with a confused and curious look. Messages to Jason, full of inside jokes and unfinished sentences. Then that one picture! She wanted to believe it was a dumb prank… Curiosity… that sick, desperate curiosity dragged her to his door that night. - She walked to the bar to get more drinks. Across the bar, she notices a guy staring at her immensely. Even in a room lit by strobes and chaos, she observes he has a kind of calmness that drew her attention. He leaned against the bar for a moment, his drink untouched, just watching her. The air between them felt strangely charged, like static waiting for a spark. Abby took another shot at trying to drown all the memory under alcohol and music, but grief doesn’t drown easily… It swims. She stared back at him as he straightened, his eyes still locked on her, and began to cross the room. Each step was slow, it seemed deliberate, but sure. He moved like he had all the time in the world, as he kept his gaze on her … Tall, at least six foot two with shoulders that filled his charcoal shirt just enough to hint at strength without trying to prove it. His skin held a faint bronze glow under the club lights, his thick dark and slightly tousled hair looked like it had been combed once and left to do as it pleased. She noticed that there was curiosity in his gaze, not hunger…just a quiet pull that unnerved her. For a heartbeat, she tries to ignore him, tossing back the rest of her drink and turning away. But curiosity…or defiance led her to glance back. He was still coming. The air seemed to shift when he finally reached her. The surrounding noise dulled, or maybe her mind just tuned it out. He stopped a few feet away, carefully not crowding her. “Hey,” he said, his voice low, smooth, unmistakable British. "You look like you could use a friend or maybe… water." Abby blinks, caught between a laugh and a sigh… she stumbled. The floor seemed to shift beneath her feet, the bass line pushing through her body like an uneven heartbeat. She took a step, but her balance betrayed her. Her heel caught on nothing, and her body tilted forward before she could stop it. “Hey, are you alright?” He asked one hand closed around her forearm, the other steadying her at the waist. The contact jolted through her… his touch firm, sure, the kind that steadied without demanding. For a second, she leaned unto him, her body soft and not resisting, the scent of alcohol and perfume heavy between them. The lights painted her in fragments… red… blue… then gold. Abby blinked up at him, breathing unevenly, her hair falling across her face. She cracked, laughing. “Do I look alright?” “Fair point,” he said, smiling gently. “Maybe just…less drink next round?” “Who are you… my dad?” she snapped, pushing him off. “Leave me the f**k alone… Dad!” she slurred. He released his grasp, showing her his hands up. “I’m Eli…. Just making sure you don’t fall and crack your skull open”. She blinked up at him, breathing uneven, her hair falling across her face. He smiled. She just stared, as if trying to decide whether he was real or part of the haze clouding her mind. His voice carried that unmistakable British accent… smooth, deliberate and deep. Each word rolled out like it had weight, like he’d chosen it carefully before letting it go. There was a calm precision to it, a soft edge with quiet authority. His face… the sharpness of his jaw softened by a mouth that looked like it often smiled, complimented handsomely with his chester-nut colored eyes… steady, intelligent, that seemed to see through the noise. He looked like he wasn’t supposed to be at the club either… a last-minute detour after a business dinner… but the sight of her caught him like gravity. There was something different about her… something raw and unguarded that did not belong in a place like that.