She is back again for yet another night, knowing he will be there; not her guy but him, that man who...she didn't want to think about it, she had to think about it; he didn't make her go weak, necessarily, but perversely gave her strength - strength enough to test herself. Come here, he seemed to be saying; if you dare, the very clear real meaning. She could only hide, avert her eyes, so much. Good and bad would cease to have meaning around him, and part of her wanted to see just what would happen if that was the case. She felt like one of those divers, looking down, aiming for water not rocks, a clean slippage into the sea.
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And so, sensing that inner courage - opening up the box, inhaling, bashing herself up inside, to release something - she walks up to him. "Care to dance? The floor looks a little...empty." He looks a bit taken aback to be approached, but he also seems a bit...relieved? "Generally I don't dance, but in this case...you must be lonely to ask me." Is he trying to disarm her? What does he know? She lags a little behind him at times, daring him to slow down. To give himself? She cannot believe what she is doing is so easy, but strangely he is growing on her and wearing off at the same time.
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The music, she reminds herself as he gets closer - she can smell his smell of grapes and salt now - is what is going to save me. She gave herself to the music, they will say. How she persisted on music alone for so many days, nights. The random melodies from a phone; a radio in a shop; the songs and snatches of songs in her head. I can't stop dancing now, and luckily he won't stop, as he thinks he has me. I want witnesses; I want him, perversely, to want me. And so he does.
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It is only in seeing others that she notes there are indeed very few women around and that in choosing him - though it was done lightly it wasn't done easily - there may well be others she hasn't met yet who may want her in worse ways than even him. That someone who she regarded as dangerous just a few minutes ago could be someone she needs more than she would like. She looks at him and he seems to realize the same thing. This is getting too complex already, where are the girls, the girls?
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There is one! Just the one but she has pulled focus away from her, to the point where she may as well not exist; and so she can breathe. "You're beautiful" he leans over to whisper as they pause; it is through sheer tiredness that she says "Thank you" as she has not heard anyone describe her this way for quite some time. "I like your hands," he continues, holding one of them, pretending he cannot see her ring, that it is merely a shaped piece of metal, "so graceful." "Umm...they are useful" she says in reply, already feeling lame, as the free girl displays herself, is herself, throws glamour as the moon sheds light.
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"So, you think she won't succumb? How optimistic you are!" "Look, I'm no optimist," he said as they waited for the bus (his friend's car has inconveniently broken down), "but you have to understand that she gets into things and before she knows it, there's almost no way out. How many times did she lock herself out of our own house? Too many. So she wants to dance with a guy - fine, let her, I'm not much for dancing myself sometimes - I said sometimes!" His friend laughs. "Maybe she's waiting for you and maybe she isn't but dancing is not the problem. What happens between dances - that is the problem. And I bet someone is giving her the eye right now. No not the skunk eye, you know what I mean." He sighs, his friend hails the bus, a relatively small one that goes down streets regular ones can't. It's rough and intimate and reminds him of her, but then everything does. One pause, one look.
They bump along and he bumps along in his mind.
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He talks too much. This is her problem with him; he is gushing and she wants pauses, breaths, but he is just so busy upping himself and her that that is impossible. She is not disappointed, as such; she likes his voice, he is a fine talker..."you look awfully nice to be here alone for long, that man there has been watching you for instance...though somehow I doubt if he wants you as much as I do, and I want you right down to your toes..." And he goes on about how they were meant to be, not meant to be, but they there are and what about it. There is only the now, but now for her is almost an entirely different concept because it is as if her heart beats as his does, and he is not there. She wanted him to be a drug, but if he is one then he is not working. Try again, try harder, do better she practically wills him.
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