“Dad never sneaks up on me and asks me a bunch of stupid questions.”
Her mother, now with jacket on, silently waited by the hallway door and pondered if she should even go out at all. Something did not feel right. But still, she brushed aside her doubts, fishing for her own phone, looking at the passing time along with a flurry of recent texts. Shaking her head, her mother looked back toward Emma’s room. She arched her lips downward at the corners, shaping a frown. She then grabbed a handbag that matched her red dress. “I’m going to trust you…I’m going to trust that you’ll keep your promise and not leave this building once I’m gone.” Her mother tilted her head up in the direction of her daughter, yet no answer came. Rather, just silence enveloped the room. “Are you alive in there?”
“Yesss…I heard you!” Emma growled. “Now go, I just want some time to myself, that’s all,” she said as she nervously watched the clock. Mumbling the rest to herself, she continued, “Just leave you fat, ugly cow.”
Her mother smiled, stretched her neck around the corner, and blew a kiss at her daughter. “Don’t wait up. Oh, and feel free to order whatever you want from room service for supper.” She then strolled from the room entirely, her six-inch heels clicking on a piece of metal floor panel leading out into the hotel hallway like a hammer smacking a nail. She hummed a song, the same song she hummed in the bathroom earlier, as she read a text from her phone and left the hotel room for the night.
Emma rolled off the bed and started rifling through her suitcase, which was tightly packed for tomorrow’s trip back home. She tossed clothes here and there, to this side and that, and soon her wears heaped up a volcano of fabric, covering the entire floor. She picked up a low-cut shirt, scanning it from front to back, and then laid it on the bed, along with her favorite pair of hip-hugging jeans, rainbow-colored socks, and favorite sneakers.
She ran to the bathroom and tied her hair up, then down, once to the side, and then down again before she clipped it up on top of her head. She pulled her phone from her pocket and quickly checked the time, racing from one room to the next.
She dressed until she got to the front door, one piece at a time, and when she was out in the hallway, she put on her shoes and bolted from the room. From there, Emma ran down to the lobby, and out to the main road, waving her hand vigorously and flagging down a cab.
An anxious, uneasy knot formed in the pit of her stomach. Her imagination reconstructed every inch of Killian’s gorgeous face, and over the last couple of hours, she had recreated every little part of him perfectly, making her trip more than surreal and rather agonizingly pleasurable.
She was finally on her way to see him again. She could not believe this was really happening, and she did not care if she ever saw her mother’s face again, as long as her own eyes gazed upon Killian’s embellished form once more.
The cab ride seemed endless, yet flew by in a blur. The amazing city was drab and boring now as she waited, sitting on the edge of the cab’s back seat. Killian was all Emma fawned over the whole ride. She passively scanned faces in the dark city, yet only saw apparitions of him in those walking along the street.
Engrossed with the memory of his lips, eyes, nose, she dreamt of more, and in a stupor, Emma yelled out, grabbing the back of the cabdriver’s seat. The driver slammed on the brakes. The car’s suspension sprang forward with a hard jerk, and then back with screeching rubber tires to pavement. Emma vaulted forward. Upon rapid deceleration, her neck whipped and her wrists bent as she braced against the cabdriver’s front seat. Emma rubbed the deep muscle sting around her collar, but she did not care about the pain, for she had almost missed her stop.
The frustrated driver scowled a glare from the rear-view mirror. Emma threw money at the driver, and jumped from the cab.
She walked halfway down a familiar street, but the flickering buzz of the lampposts, and the shadows they cast, made even the boutique window where she first met Killian appear strangely different somehow.
Emma was anxiously annoyed that she was there first. She felt lonely, and unsure. And even more so when Killian was nowhere to be found. She checked her phone. As far as she was concerned, she was still mostly on time, give or take fifteen minutes, but he was not there. She glanced up and down the empty side street, yet Killian was not present.
A while passed, and a few seconds poured into many minutes. Several busy couples walked the lanes past her, disappearing into a host of doors along an extended chain of shops, clubs, and restaurants. One entangled duo passionately strolled by, their hands held close, their arms wrapped around each other, their faces touching cheek to cheek. The tangled lovers hardly noticed another thing while walking from city lights into pocket shadows along the once eventful, but now solemn lane.
Evening had settled under a fallen black sky. Paris, once bustling and energetic, now slowed to a relaxed mood and leisurely pace. Of those around, chic, tight dresses, high heels, fragrant cologne, along with contoured hairgel, overwhelmed Emma’s vision, hearing, and smell. All that was left of her five senses was to taste and touch and Emma craved the last of her unfulfilled senses badly. She liked it, and wished to do what they were all doing.
Where the city’s merchants clamored with customers, restaurants, and clubs, now swarmed a tide of loud music. Exciting temptations abounded with pleasures not far up from where she stood, but where she stood quietly, the discreet air of melancholy surrounded her, if not without, then within.
The shops had all closed for the day. A distant streetlamp refracted light into the nearest shop booth, catching Emma’s attention, and by chance, she saw the dress her mother wanted to buy her. It sparkled, but hung lifelessly on display through the uneven, square panels of the boutique window.
She pulled out her phone, frowning for a time, before peering to the left and right, but Killian was neither up nor down the deserted lane. Emma sighed of fleeting sadness while looking at the dress, then shrugged her shoulders, and clenched her jaw in a moment of rage. She paced back and forth, mumbling with heavy breath. Clarity revealed itself, so Emma ceased pacing and ambled over to the window with the dress, pouting, she put her nose and forehead to the cold glass, staring up into the window from a set of fallen eyes.
“I guess it’s not totally ugly,” she quietly confirmed to herself. She placed her fingertips on the outward condensation of the store window. With her index finger, she outlined the dress’s bell-shaped form in her accidental vapors along the glass. The night settled in and cooled her warm breath, slightly chilling her skin. With a shiver, Emma left smudged fingerprints, turning dense mist into solid drops of water sent trickling down the glass boutique window. She closed her eyes and leaned her head sideways against the window, scratching her fingernails to the glass up and down over again.
Emma sniffled, and then blew a long, warm puff on the cold glass, drawing two vertical parallel lines, and an upside-down arch. After, she encircled the two lines and arch until a sad face appeared in the moisture she created for herself. She puffed until she clouded her view of the dress her mother loved on the other side of the boutique window.
A pair of strong hands wrapped themselves around her waist from behind as an unseen kiss approached her blindside. She turned around. To her outrage, fear, and surprise, it was not Killian at all. Rather, it was an old, heavily intoxicated man instead.
“Eww, get away from me.” She pushed him back with both arms.
The drunkard puckered his lips, and grabbed ahold, reaching out to hug her, he pulled her close to him. “Come here and kiss me, my sweet.” His kerosene-smelling, dry, cracked lips were just inches away from hers.
“No!” Emma screamed, turning her head, she stretched her neck far from his smelly face. She swung her hands, flailing them for freedom.
Powerful hands reached up and held her forearms in the air. Emma’s eyes fastened shut, she was now defenseless, and so she fretted. She fearfully peeked at morbi
d, unwanted things to come. However, there came a surprising view instead.
“Emma. Emma! It’s okay. I took care of him.” Killian pointed to the drunken man, now slumped over, unconscious, his back facing them, lying sideways on the street. “I’m here now, and you’re safe.”
Shaken, her whole body trembling, Emma pulled away for a moment. “Well…where the hell were you!?”
“I’m sorry I’m late, do you forgive me?” Killian hooked his index finger under her chin, gently raising her face until their eyes met.
She quickly wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “I guess…I was on time, ya know.” She rushed into his safe arms, hugging his chest. “Don’t let it happen again.” Emma propped her head on Killian’s broad shoulder. “He tried to kill me.”
“I doubt it,” Killian replied. “There’s a lot of drunk, old fools around here at night, but they’re pretty harmless.” He half smirked.
Protruding her lower lip outward, Emma sulked. “Well…he didn’t seem so harmless to me.”
They both looked down at the drunken man, now limply flopped over on the ground. He lay with an arm stretched above his head as if holding a pillow, while resting motionless on his left side. Darkness and position covered his face as they stepped over and walked past him up the street. Emma grabbed Killian’s arm tightly, refusing to look at the man as they walked over him. She firmly held her fingers locked intertwined with his.
“What did you do to make him stop?”
“Not much,” Killian casually replied.
“You must have done something.”
“I grabbed him and he must have just passed out on the street back there.”
“Okay, well where did you come from?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean one second you were nowhere in sight and the next second you were like there.”
“I was there, you just didn’t see me.”
“What…like I’m supposed to believe that?”
Killian’s respirations became forced and deep, and his face cast a stony expression.
Emma figured he felt bad enough, especially after what had happened. She pulled him close, slowly kissing him with prolonged, intense signs of affection, forgetting all remaining questions with daubed, hot pink marks across his lips, but this time, he tasted differently when her mouth parted his. She pressed her fingers to her own lips, gliding them over the sensitive skin. Killian took a relaxed breath and then kissed the top of her forehead, putting his arm around her shoulder as they walked up the street. He peered back at the drunken man who remained motionless on the ground. The drunken man’s face had recessed in on itself. His eyes were withered, his mouth agape, and his skin was parched, wrinkled, and deformed, with a yellowish gray hue. The drunkard’s cheekbones, skull, and jaw bulged. All life had been sucked out. This left the drunken man with only the outline of skin covering bones. Even the joints in his wrist and fingers were held together by mere threads of gummy, thin flesh.
Killian whipped his head back around, curled his lip upward, and with a brief admiring smile, said, “We’re going to have a lot of fun tonight.” He kissed Emma on the cheek.
Hesitant, Emma kissed him on the lips again, but this time he tasted right, so they walked and kissed, closely wandering a lover’s path down the dimly lit section of the street, leaving the drunken man far behind.
They walked for blocks.
“How far is the club?” Emma’s feet began to hurt.
“Club?” Killian chuckled.
“Um…yeah. You didn’t think that I wore this outfit for nothing, did you? Plus, I’m hungry.”
“I’m taking you somewhere much better than any club, but don’t worry, you’ll get a bite there.” He held back a smirk.
They traveled between dark alleyways, where shades of hazy light cast spectral images of familiar and benign daytime objects into sinister appearing items. The distant streetlights, which befriended them, now stretched out with dark, ethereal shadows, appearing to grab whenever the wind howled. The air moved, pushing her from behind, like a hand of ill fate urging her onward. A gust would stir, clattering leaves and paper rustled with a menacing, yet submissive tap around and past her feet.
Killian led Emma past boisterous nightclubs, where the music poured into the street and many voices mingled in laughter and loud talk as one inaudible noise. She planted her feet to have a quick look inside, but hand in hand, he pulled her onward.
The bright, colorful lights of the city were now on full display, but also far behind them. Rumbling engines of automobiles on the main road became faint hums only heard among a few moments of select and complete silence.
Tall, old French buildings lined like bars on graphs of different heights in rows ahead of them. Through many dark neighborhoods they skulked, while muted lights from random rooms high above faded into black one by one.
This was the Paris that Emma wanted to see, yet not at night. With little said, Killian curiously rushed her to parts unknown. He held her hand, tighter when she pulled back in hesitation. He only stopped to urge her with an annoyed wave toward the direction ahead. Dark streets and alleyways filtered into silent lanes where the ugliness lived. Replacing glitz and glamour, shattered windows, broken concrete steps, and the odor of rotting waste drifted in the breeze.
Emma ripped her hand from his. “I’m not taking another step unless you tell me where we’re going.”
“It’s just up there.” Killian pointed.
“No!” She thumbed from the direction they came. “I want to go to that club back there. That’s where I want to go!” She glared without a blink.
Killian tilted his head. “I have something amazing to show you,” he softly said. He then gently held her hands together, wrapping them close between their chests. “Then I promise to take you anywhere you’d like.” His words and face appeared truthful.
The gloomy light sketched an outline cutting off half of Killian’s lovely face. Emma caressed his soft, warm skin. She ran the back of her hand from the top of his thick hairline, down to his strong cheekbone, and under his pointed chin, all the way to his solid, raised pectorals. She kissed the tip of his finely chiseled aquiline nostrils, and then the fleshy ridges of his forgiving lips. The two rubbed tongues over each other in a rapid series of want and desire. Emma opened her eyes for a moment and looked deeply into Killian’s soul. She suddenly pulled away, after seeing black fill the white of his eyes. For a second, he seemed dead to her, void of the living spark she had come to know.
Her eyes widened. Slanting her chin down, she kept watching him from behind furrowed brows. She shifted her eyes from side to side for a possible escape.
He walked toward her with open arms and a look of bewilderment. “What’s wrong, my love?”
“Stay away from me.”
“Why? What happened?”
“I saw your eyes…” Emma pushed him away. “Who are you? What kind of stuff are you on?”
“I’m not on anything. It’s me, you know, Killian.” He threw his head back and laughed exuberantly. “The night plays tricks on you. Here, have another look.”
“No! Stay back!”
Killian inched closer as she reversed her steps. He stopped. His arms stretched wide, his palms toward her, his fingers spread apart. Emma released her shoulders, extended her neck, and squinted with a cautious peek into his eyes. She looked again as he blinked several times for her comfort. His eyes looked normal again, and she relaxed. Emma let forth a brief sigh, a puff of air, sucking in the next breath slowly, while her body settled its rigid tension.
Emma clamped her eyes, nodding while shaking her head once, then twice. “I guess you must think I’m crazy or something.”
“Nah.”
“You mean after I just totally spazzed…” Emma’s voice ended in a high pitch. “You still wanna be with me?”
&n
bsp; “Of course.”
Her head askew toward Killian and with brows raised, Emma timidly asked, “Really?” Her eyes moistened at the inner corners. Emma dabbed at them, hunching her dampened face midway to meet her own consoling hand.
Killian impulsively pulled her body close to his. “As I said, the city lights, they play tricks on the eyes.” He gently caressed the side of her face, tilting her frown back up toward his smile. Killian calmly kissed her chin, cheek, and then tenderly her mouth. “Are you ready to go now?” Emma stared willingly into his eyes, letting go of herself, and he hurried them onward to their endpoint with the skill of a calculated planner.
She glanced over at one of the packed clubs named Spectacular-Spectacular, which nightly erupted with people. Emma paused, trying to get a better peek into the club. She was mesmerized. The big red sign, which topped the doorway, had elegant, giant letters, each ten feet tall, reading Spectacular-Spectacular in spectacular flashing neon.
In a momentary preview, Emma saw inside the main door of the club. Showy laser lights blasted forth, moving and changing colors from red to blue and then green before back to red again. Confetti showered from above onto the dancing crowd. Elbow to elbow they partied. The music was fast, weighted with heavy bass, and it shook the building all the way out the door until it rumbled under Emma’s feet. Then Killian, with Emma reluctantly in tow, marched toward the opposite side of the spectacular club, and down a tiny, dark alleyway. This was familiar ground for him. He looked up at the sky, and said, “We haven’t much time.” Emma tossed an odd squint at him, so Killian reformed his words. “You know, before I have to get you back to the hotel, so let’s hurry up, we’re almost there.” He took her by the wrist and roughly hauled her along.
After many blocks of neglected buildings packed tightly between curbs,
and tiny, empty lots where houses once stood, Emma and Killian reached an unkempt, old city park.