Finally, I'm Lost in Your Eyes

Chapter 3

    The night is slow. He sits in the lounge and drinks and drinks, trying to forget that everyone is still looking at him. Judging him. Wondering why he isn’t dead. 

    The same girl from earlier comes up and starts talking to him at some point, putting her hands on the table and leaning in so that she’s practically shoving her boobs in Dominic’s face. Dominic blinks at her chest then downs another shot.

    “You’re so hot,” she purrs, playing with his hair. Yes, at least Dominic has his f*****g looks. Thank God.

    “You’re not so bad yourself, doll. Are those real?” He paints a smirk onto his face, nodding to her perky chest.

    “Why don’t you find out?”

    Dominic simply chuckles groggily, amused by her attempt at what he thinks is flirting. She kisses him, and Dominic doesn’t do s**t to stop it. His tongue is heavy. Slow. Everything feels washed out. He’s found another girl whose face he won’t remember in the morning; she’s good though, drawing out breathy pants from his lungs.

    “I knew you two weren’t actually together.”

    Dominic lets her bite his lip slowly. “Who?”

    “You and Carissa. I mean, she’s not even that pretty, if you get a good look at her.” She sounds so smug. As if she is the star of a romantic flick and Dominic had come here for her, only her. Even though they both know she basically jumped him. “Everyone said you two were together, but I never believed it. Just wait until I tell them I hooked up with Dominic Davis.”

    That rubs Dominic the wrong way. That really, really rubs him the wrong way. It would be so easy – so mind-numbingly fantastic to drag home a shag right now, but the gaping emptiness consuming him is uncomfortable enough for him to walk away, wiping his lips in shame.

    Bringing Carissa into the conversation . . . that’s a solid turn off.

    Dominic plucks his hat he’d brought with him from the table and slides it back onto his head, once again stuffing his hood over top. He stands out maybe more like this, but it hides his facial expression from anyone who tries to look at him too long, and he’s in need of that.

    “Where are you going?” she gasps, tugging at her dress and combing her messy hair. Though it does no good because she’s far too drunk to do anything better.

    Endless one-night stands who are always willing to go home with you seems great on paper - and it was fantastic…for a short while. Now it’s become such a constant variable in his life, he’s essentially defined by it. He’s called a man w***e in the media, a player behind the backs of his so-called friends, and a disconnected asshole by everyone else. Now it’s become a thing where Dominic wonders if he’s only ever functional enough for one-night stands. 

    His emotional capacity is obviously quite low anymore. His past where he’d tried to kill himself within the last year certainly doesn’t help that picture. Nor did he ever do a good job connecting with anyone he ever slept with, enjoying the ride for an hour or so, then completely disregarding them out of deep, internalized humiliation he refuses to admit to anyone except himself.

    There was a time - maybe - when Dominic had considered that he wouldn’t necessarily mind trying to be romantic for someone. That he’d be willing to let someone come to his concerts and kiss him backstage when he stumbled off at the end of the night, high on caffeine and the noise of his fans. But it’s obviously a deluded thought.

    Carissa has come close at times, but Dominic has yet to feel that mind-numbing, grossly toxic love that the movies always glorify.

    Fame is hard, and he wouldn’t wish it upon anyone he cared about. If Carissa wasn’t already pretty well known, he wouldn’t have brought her into this s**t. He even hates the media for getting involved with his family. It’s not nearly to the extreme he encounters on the daily, but it annoys him to know that the pesky, intrusive little bugs can’t just pester him – they have to attack everyone else in his life as well. He’s the one who asked for this, not them. Dominic asked for complicated relationships and media backlash and one-night stands. If he tried to say it wasn’t what he’d signed up for, then he’d be a hypocrite or just a downright i***t.

    “I’m s**t,” he mutters out loud. 

    Whether the girl hears him or not, he isn’t sure, but he feels his own self-loathing resurface. I’m complete and utter s**t.

    The drinks continue to find him though, at the bar, and he swallows his disgust. He swings out his phone, surprised to see a text from Carissa. For the first time since the incident. His vision momentarily goes dark but all it says is, we need to talk.

    And f**k, Jesus. Yeah, they need to talk. Are they even in a relationship anymore?

    Dominic guiltily glances over at the girl who had stolen his attention earlier, licking his lips. s**t.

    “Dominic,” comes a authoritative, quiet voice from over his shoulder.

    He’s never tensed so quickly in his entire life. His stomach drops to the very heels of his feet, his throat immediately burning with acid as he slowly turns around to face the voice. He knows who it is before they even make eye contact. Dominic is in deep, deep s**t.

    Sagging, he doesn’t put up a fight. “How did you find me?”

    His bodyguard, Paul, offers him a confident glare, his arms crossed dominantly. “I’ve got insides here. You really thought you could go public and no one would see you? The phone was a good diversion though, I’ll give you that. You’re getting smarter.”

    Everyone in here is a traitor for turning him in. “Well f**k off, I’m fine.”

    “No. You’re coming with me.”

    Paul snags his waist when he tries to get up, throwing him effortlessly over his shoulder so that the wind is knocked from his lungs as his stomach hits his muscle. He kicks and fights while he’s carried humiliatingly through a side door to the building. When they’re outside, he’s dumped back onto his feet.

    “f**k you,” he spits, straightening out his clothes but likely not very smoothly considering he’s way past drunk.

    His bodyguard doesn’t twitch at the insult, used to Dominic’s drunk dramatics. The face he wears is more pitying than anything, and Dominic hates looking at it. “I know I’m not a world-famous pop star who can get anyone he wants, D, but you’ve got to stop cheating on Carissa.”

    Dominic’s stomach drops again, his head shooting up. The cheating was supposed to be a secret. He hadn’t meant for anyone to know. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone.

    “How did you know? Did they -“

    “No one knows unless they saw you in there like I did. Or any of the other times . . .” Dominic bites his lip. “Just because you can cheat, doesn’t mean you should. I’m not sure why you’d even consider throwing away a girl like Carissa to demean yourself like that. Now, I’m not knocking one-night stands and sleeping with strangers because that can be really fun, but not when you’re in a relationship. Especially a televised relationship.”

    “Stop,” Dominic snaps, sick of hearing people telling him he’s messing up. He almost goes so far as to childishly place his hands over his ears and sing. “I’m fine. Leave me alone. It’s my decision, Paul.”

    “You’re not -“

    “You’re just my bodyguard. You’re supposed to be protecting me not belittling me. Stop trying to be my manager, the job’s already taken.”

    “I’m not trying to be your manager, D.” Though something in his expression makes it seem like perhaps that’s not entirely true. Dominic squints at him, wondering why in the hell he’d want that god awful job. For a good for nothing brat like himself. “I’m trying to be your friend. You’ve been making some poor decisions, and I feel like I’m the only one chastising you for it.”

    Dominic scoffs. “Have you been to my family dinners?”

    “Dominic, all I’m doing is giving you advice. Take it.”

    Dominic is annoyed. “I’m going to go home and be alone,” he grumbles, pressure building behind his lungs.

    “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

    “It’s not like I’m going to kill myself,” he grins sarcastically, trying to contain the burp in his throat. Oopsies. That isn’t exactly true anymore. He stumbles over his feet but quickly recovers, flashing him a grin. “Too soon?”

    Paul rubs his forehead with his oversized hand like he’s got a headache. When he pulls it back to his side, there’s a very serious expression scratched across his features. There’s concern and exhaustion, and for a second, drunk Dominic somehow convinces himself that Paul maybe cares that Dominic had tried to take his life.

    “Dominic,” he repeats softly, only quiet enough for him to hear. His large body stumbles forward, his biceps caging Dominic in as he gently tugs him into a tight grasp. It takes him a second to realize he’s been caught in his intoxicated moment of hesitation. “Please don’t say that. Come on. Let’s go.”

    There’s a rustle away from them, and Dominic’s head pops towards the noise like a drowsy rabbit, drooping slightly as he squints through the darkness. It’s - well, it’s a boy. Dominic was expecting an alley cat or maybe a rat. But there’s a boy at the end of the street, observing them as he walks past.

    The streetlights light up his frame, illuminating his closely knitted eyebrows and strange expression. If he’s heard anything, that could be very bad for him.

    He looks every bit as common as Dominic pictures when he thinks of a random London dweller. Drowning in a warm sweater with a rain jacket over top to protect him from the mist and wearing black jeans that are a little saggy around the knees but comfortably snug looking in the rear. His brown hair is scruffy, messy with little to no product, and his cheekbones are the soft kind of sharp, natural. He also looks extremely apologetic, like he hadn’t meant to stumble upon them at all.

    “Ah f**k,” he hears tumble from the boy’s lips as he stumbles over something in the street in his haste to get away.

    How long has he been there?

~******~  

Daniel's POV

    “It’s not like I’m going to kill myself,” the tall boy utters, arms outstretched shakily, a goofy yet terrifying smile adorning his youthful face as he stumbles along the cobblestone. The pure horror that hits the other man’s face is concerning, however the drunk boy doesn’t bat a single one of his pretty eyelashes. “Too soon?” He chuckles.

    The tip of his hat starts to fall, dipping down towards the ground before his body starts to trip that way too. A tattooed arm comes between him and the wall at just the right moment to catch him, slicing up his well-polished skin, and I cringe at his failed attempt at self confidence.

    I make a bit of an oopsie myself, stepping backwards onto a littered trash bag that crinkles loudly when I set my weight on it, and the two boys whip their heads around so fast that I don’t have time to catch my breath.

    “Ah, f**k,” I mutter to myself.

    Jumping, I quickly scurry along, hoping I’ve feigning nonchalance well enough to just catch the bus. My ticket feels too hot, too shaky in my hands, and I pinch my eyes shut briefly as I will the universe to take my idiocy back.

    “Oi,” a deep voice rumbles in the silence, the sound of heels on brick sounding suddenly.

    I attempt a speed up, I do, but I’m hopelessly out performed by the longer legs of the man in pursuit of me. My breath catches and shudders helplessly as - the man is equally thrice the size of myself, his hands big enough to wrap around a cow - gets a hold of me. I thrash an arm up, catching him in the side so that he grunts and releases.

    “Oi, kid you need to come with us. There have been things you’ve seen here -“

    “There have been things you’ve seen here," I mock. "What is this? The f*****g mafia?”

    “Let him go,” a third voice slurs, much lower than the others. It’s the drunk. Swinging his body back and forth and fixing me with a dead look that make what are probably some nice eyes dull and restrained.

    It’s hard to see exactly what he looks like when he’s got a hat, a hood, and a shadow across his face, but he’s built like a celeb. Standing outside a club for A-listers, so I fill in the gaps a little in my mind.

    “D, you can’t just -“

    “What good’s it gonna do to take him? He - er, he doesn’t know who I am or what I do, isn’t that right?”

    “What?” I ask, confused by his ego. There are plenty of celebrities in the world. I certainly don't know all of them, and I'm not sure why he would expect me to know who he is. “Why would I know who you are?”

    “If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” the other boy teases with a giggle, clearly amused either with himself or with me. It’s hard to tell, he’s so obliterated.

    “Great so don’t tell me and let me go then,” I grumble, wishing I hadn’t been so nosy.

    I should have kept walking and ignored the scene like every other sketchy and highly illegal thing I’ve seen in London. See, when I ignore it, I don’t become directly involved like this. The boy approaches me suddenly, not helping my uneasy feeling. I unknowingly take a step back, and the bodyguard grabs me again, preventing me from escape.

    As he comes closer, I see long eyelashes, tan, sweaty skin and green eyes that have been polluted by alcohol. Large clumps of greasy hair are caught under the band of his hat, dark and curled around his ears.

    “Can I ask you a question?” Pretty boy prompts.

    “I don’t know, can you?” I rebuke childishly, blowing a strand of hair out of my eye that had fallen when I was manhandled.

    The bigger, older man shoots a warning glance at the younger one, but it’s ignored. “How do you feel about cheaters? Man to man.” He questions with a small, playful little smile darting over his lips, and I stiffen.

    Something tells me by his smug expression that he’s defending himself from something he’s done, and that automatically makes my spine curl in repulsion. “As a victim of cheating, I can honestly say that I want to stab you in the neck.”

    The boy’s face whitens to a sheet, the humor completely erased from his eyes while his friend lets go of the front of my shirt. Beefcake doesn’t look triumphant though, just frustrated. I push down my ruffled collar with a frown. “You’ve messed up the elastic,” I complain, though quickly diminish my bite when I see the large man shoot me a threatening look.

    “f**k you,” the boy growls suddenly, his tone of voice completely changed. “Get lost. This doesn’t concern you.”

    I scoff, irritated. “That’s not what you said when you asked for my opinion five seconds ago.”

    “Well your answer was wrong, and I take back my question, so leave before I let my bodyguard drag you off with him.”

    I raise my eyebrows, wondering why this college age kid needs a bloody bodyguard but decide it’s not worth sticking around to find out. I'm sticking with my original guess that he happens to be a celebrity somehow. “Alright, f**k you too,” I throw over my shoulder, tossing him my middle finger as a departure.

    I’m never going to see him again unless luck has a cruel twist of fate, or he’s got a band of assassins who will come after me, so I show him my other middle finger too.

    “I might take him anyway.” I hear beefcake say from behind me, joking but threatening seriousness. “He straight up told you to f**k off. We need more people on the team who can do that.”

    “Is that a job offer?” I call over my shoulder sarcastically.

    The bodyguard chuckles. “Only if you’re serious.”

    The ‘D’ kid rolls his eyes, stomping off to the street where a black car sits, and climbs inside. “Paul!” He calls impatiently before slamming the door.

    Nah, he’s not a real threat. Just a bratty kid, like I suspected. Probably rich. Who apparently thinks he can get away with cheating. Paul’s eyes drift to me one last time, but I shake my head. “Never in a million years.”

    “I figured,” he laughs. “Bye, kid.”

    He runs after the boy, likely not wanting to keep him out of his sight. With an attitude like that, I can only imagine what kind of trouble he gets into. Probably a lot of it and frequently.

    I step back out onto the sidewalk and continue my journey, awkwardly passing right by the parked car on my way to the bar entrance. I hear the gear shift and the tires groan as they start to roll forward, pulling onto the street, but when I move to turn into the front of the club I’m walking into, they screech dramatically. The window rolls down, and I’m face to face with the boy once more. Paul is in the back, rubbing his forehead like he’s tried to tell him to let things die.

    “That club’s for celebrities,” he says smugly, earning a jab on his shoulder from Paul. He ignores it, more intent on pissing me off than listening to his bodyguard.

    “I know,” I reply blankly.

    “You -“ He blanches, his green eyes flicking me up and down. “You’re a celebrity?”

    “No, but I’ve got a friend who is, so if you’ll excuse me…I’ve been keeping her waiting for a while now.”

    “You won’t get in,” he utters confidently.

    “We’ll see.” I smile at the bouncer, his expression amused considering he heard the entire conversation. “Hey, Emilé.”

    “Nice to see you, Daniel.”

    Without hesitation nor looking at his list, he steps out of the way to grant me entrance.

    The boy’s face could not have been more priceless nor rewarding. I almost wish I had my phone out to record it all. Paul throws his head back in laughter.

    “Thanks, Emilé. You’re the best.”

    Walking into the humid warmth, I flick the car off once more behind the back of the bouncer and head to the bar.