Tragedy On Silverdale Road

Linger

"Quit ignoring me." Ignore. "I love you." Ignore. "C'mon, babes. Let's get you home." Ignore. Sip. Ignore. "Fuck you."

Evan tosses the towel in and leaves the tavern. The place is in full swing: couples dance, buddies laugh, social alcoholics drink. Then there's me-- alone and high.

The marijuana makes everything go so much slower. Fast paced songs are becoming more of a sad slow song.

"Dance with me." Sylvia's nineteen year old son, Steven, smiles down at me. With a loud burp I jump up from my seat, giggling, and take his out stretched hand. He drags us to the middle of the dance floor. In any other state I'd stab him, but when I'm gone it's the last thing I care about. "You're looking better."

I snort. If only he knew. My arms drape over his shoulders. "Never better."

Sylvia hangs around the bar, a raised eyebrow and a drink in hand. The old woman has been trying to set me up with her teeny bopper son since I turned twenty. When I was twenty he was like fourteen or something . He's a little brother to me, absolutely nothing else.

A loud, grumbling throat clearing brings me out of my thoughts. Steven stops swaying at the sound. I turn to see the monster that haunts my dreams at night: Bryson Jones. His head glistens in the artificial lighting. He's so sexy.

"Can I have a turn?" Steven shrugs and walks off to the next pair of tits he sees. Bryson sweeps me into his arms, my chest against his. "Look at you flirting with a teeny bopper." My arms barely wrap around his neck, as he's a fucking giant.

"Didn't know I was flirting."

He chuckles. "Nice knowing you're still as quick as ever."

"Fuck off." It's followed by a small chuckle. We smirk at each other. He doesn't know the amount of pain I feel in this very moment. My heart jackhammers against my chest and my brain is on overdrive.

Bryson Jones still has an effect on me.

We sway to the song, our bodies grinding against each other. His hands roam my body all while our steamy moment. Suddenly my back is to Bryson and my ass is grinding against his crotch. We both groan at the friction we've created. It seems like we're in our own little world, like it's just me and him against the world.

As the song comes to an end I realize our situation: everybody stopped dancing to watch. My usual stoney expression coats my face. Bryson releases my hips and we part ways without a single word to each other.

I sip on my scotch and watch as people trickle back into dancing sexually. A very hyper looking Twon makes his way back to his job.

"Midnight Violet! You're absolutely stunning!"

I cringe.

He continues. "Why, you're just something else. You manage to hypnotize the entire tavern just by swirling those hips around. I'm sure you'd find a mighty swell guy if you just tried. I can set you--."

"I don't need a guy. I am perfectly fine alone."

I snatch a cig off a passing man. Collecting my things I drop a ten on the counter top and stalk off.

But a strong, sweaty hand stops me.

Bryson, with his glistening head and ocean blues, grips my arm in an iron fist. He doesn't speak, and neither do I. He pulls me to his chest in a rough motion. Instinctively my arms wrap around his torso, and for the first time in years I linger behind.

The feeling doesn't last.

Because as soon as he becomes a fraction more relaxed I dart out the tavern.