Theirs To Desire

FIVE | EMBER

. . . just a bit deeper, it's almost there. . .

The strange voice–– soft yet stern–– anchored me continuously. The voice was scolding me for acting like a weak. It urged me to ease the scalpel furthermore inside my pale skin.

. . . that's your freedom. No one but you would be the one in control. . .

Control!

The pungent smell of metal hit my nose and I realized that the sharp edge of the blade had pierced my inner thigh. My hands were no longer shaky or clammy but steady. My breathing had evened out and now I was tracing the deep cut on my thigh with the tip of the scalpel. I, first time in five years, started feeling in control. And all it took was the sweet intensity of that first slice. The glorious pang when steel penetrated my flesh. The relief that came with the pain, like the roar of the core of a cyclone.

I continued to stroke, scratch the cut while my eyes sparkled at the sight of the crimson which angrily oozed out of it. I didn't realize that a minuscule twitch had graced my mouth. A sudden shift in my insanity driven mind and I was pressing the instrument further, only this time, it jumped out of my hand and lept for my bare throat.

I didn't understand what was happening. I couldn't find myself making a move to escape. All I could do was sit there in front of the marble tub surrounded by my blood and a screeching scalpel jumping in my direction.

And suddenly I realized that I didn't move because I didn't want to. I had wanted the final escape. I had been wanting this freedom from this anguish for long and I was finally getting it. Just a few more distance and I would be free from the hold of these rusty chains. . .

"f**k!" I cursed loudly as the liquor-filled glass escaped my hold and shattered over the club's floor.

I had been repeating this same scenario in my mind for the past three hours–– since the moment, I landed in Chicago's abyss–– and failing in each try of finding a solution.

The moment my flight had stabilized in the air and my fellow A-class passengers had started to doze off, I had been hit by yet another nightmare.

After an unsettling flight of almost five hours, all I had needed was numb senses, hard liquor running in my limbs and a p***s-bearer! And that's what led my steps inside this crappy yet handy club.

I felt myself humming along with the melody swarming inside the club and with that newfound sensation, I let my eyes wander freely across the area, pausing occasionally on the carefree swaying bodies of my fellow drunk souls.

For a long moment, I only held myself back and urged my numb part to observe every minuscule detail around me.

I tried to find the reason behind the vibrancy of sharp colours of the club's ceiling.

I tried to grasp the source of life in the immobile walls of the club.

I urged my subconscious to sync with my present. I forced my drunk stupor to blink back to cheerfulness.

I tried to live. At that moment, I would have been happy to have only a minute or two, filled with hope and faith. But I knew better than to tug on a thin string of fake desires.

I had accepted this a long time, I couldn't be like them –– the crowds of happy buzz –– no matter how much I faked the whole day but once the last shimmer of daylight fade inside the plunging darkness of night, I would return to my broken self.

I had accepted that I was past that deadline which held the power to reform me. And I had accepted the blatant fact that I had no one to rely upon but me.

"Excuse me, young lady, you need to scoot ya lovely ass over there so I can clear the glass pieces." A gruff voice chimed from behind me, the source of which was a man of 30s, probably one of the crew members. I stepped around the stool and walked up to the farthest end of the bar area, disregarding the full mouth grin of the crewman behind.

I held my palm in bartender's direction when he started pouring me a round of shots and threw some extra tips, after taking out an uncorked bottle of wine from the glass stack.

Before I could lead my eyes to register the shock on the middle-aged bartender's face, I found my way in mid-crowd.

Neon lights flashed everywhere, colourful and vibrant, syncing with the loud boom of music. And that was enough to send my control crawling outside my skin, leaving me vulnerable and uncontrollable behind. In mere minutes, I had discarded my wine bottle somewhere after emptying the content in large breathless chugs. The single mouthed clip holding my hair followed the lead, leaving my wild frizz of dyed purple locks cascading down my lower back.

The music, whose lyrics I failed to grasp, got louder; matching my heartbeat. My lungs felt like mush while I found myself swaying along with the crowd of unknown faces. I could feel the beads of sweat shimmering on my face, dripping down towards the low-neck of my sheath emerald dress, whose silken fabric exotically hugged my frame, ending at the start of my kneecaps.

Each element of the club pulled me in, sucked me like a phantom and made me throw a cover of drug-induced fogginess over the nightmare that I had been replaying whole evening. The drunk tumbles of my steps intensified as the bitterness of wine rushed into my system while my feet, as if set on a pre-installed command, took a full spin on my toes and jumped when each one occupying the dance floor matched the high beat of the music.

My eyes met a cluster of variations from the deep ocean of blues to the gripping darkness of greens, including the tints of amber and brown along the way. None of which captured my attention for a second glance.

I knew it with a vivid surety, the shift from Seattle's peace-amplifying days to the electrified-nights of Chicago would push me to the edge of triggers and yet, I couldn't bring myself to take a step towards decency. In contrast, I had plunged myself furthermore inside the ruins.

My lips parted, a low and feral sound of need escaping my parched throat as the dust of liquefied fragrance flew from the minute pores of the ceiling and fell upon our drenched form. The shuddering sensation of icy sprinkles rushed inside my veins at the same moment when I felt an equally intoxicated presence behind me.

Before I could have turned and switched to my predator stance, a deep, husky voice, slightly breathless with a hint of arousal, travelled across my ears; the nose of the speaker tracing the arc of my ear lobe.

"Will it sound too p*****t if I say, you are looking the most fuckalicious thing on two legs tonight?"