|
Writer
Join Date: Dec 2007
Location: in the deep end of nowhere
Gender: Male
Posts: 48
|
Beauty and the Beast
The club was half-lit by the pale strobes, pulsing and beating like the ragged breath of a dying thing. The atmosphere was thick with the mixed odors of perfume, alcohol and sweat, as they oozed from the bodies closely packed.
Couples and groups performed what could not be called dancing anywhere else. Bodies rubbed against each other, their skin as lubed by sweat as their minds were by vodka and champagne. Men groped at women, boys groped each other, in what could not compare to even the basest animal gatherings.
I sat at the bar, nursing my drink. My breathing was heavy from the dense atmosphere, which was now clogged further by the new arrival’s cigar smoke. The lack of breath had forced me to abandon the melee on the floor.
I looked at the source of the smoke. I know their type.
Sharks, that’s what they are. Foreigners, who come to enjoy their money here, or locals who made it good, all eager to take huge gulps of Life, to lose themselves in the bliss their money can buy.
And tonight it had bought them much. I couldn’t look away as one of the girls made her way from the dance floor, and sat down next to one of them. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, flicking his wrist to flash his Rolex under the silk sleeve. He held her like he would put his arm on the roof of a prized car.
Why did she come to him? Even through my vodka-numbed mind, I could guess. She wasn’t impressed by his money. Some girls were, naïve little things who thought such men were husband-material, or who wanted a bit of innocent fun. Of course, it was rarely innocent.
No, she knew well what she was getting herself into. A drink with him was never just a drink. It was a contract, an agreement that he would get what he wanted.
He leaned over to whisper something in her ear, grinning in what he thought was a predator’s smile. He could not see her face, with his buried under her long dark locks, but I could. He wasn’t as smooth as he thought he was. And yet, she managed to laugh, revealing rows of gleaming pearl-teeth. I couldn’t hear her laugh, but I know it would’ve sounded too loud, too forced.
But he didn’t notice anything. Why would he? Why would he care, anyways? He knew he was getting what he was interested in.
He kept his head buried in her neck, while his hand groped for her thigh. There was no hesitation, no pretense of gentlemanliness in his touch. Her body meant more to him than anything else about her. He knew it, she knew it, and he made sure everyone would know it.
She looked straight at me. Even through my half-drunken haze I noticed how she looked at me. Her wide eyes, her slightly parted lips. She wasn’t enjoying his attentions; he was being too forward for her. But there was no way for her to back away now. She was begging for someone else to take her, to offer her what she wanted. Just someone who would treat her a little better than he did.
His hand clawed her thigh again and she bit her lip. He was not the predator he thought he was. Just a savage, who would take what he wanted from her and pay her for it later, as he would pay for a new watch.
No, I thought bitterly. A watch would last more than a week with this guy.
I did not tip my glass at her; I did not return her look. Even if she didn’t deserve what was coming to her, she had made her choice. And anyways, I couldn’t offer her what she wanted from him.
So I looked back at her, tipped my head and downed my vodka, before staggering out of the club.
Tonight, one room of the hotel would see her in bed, acting like he was the greatest man to walk this earth. And who knows, maybe he was actually skilled enough to please her…but he would not. Tonight, just like every other night, would only be about him.
At least, until he found another toy…or she found another man to lose herself with.
I walked out into the cool winter air outside, the drink inside me keeping me warm as I staggered up Monot Street. Her face kept staring at me, with that silent cry for help.
Sorry honey, you’re in Lebanon now, where the angels’ wings are stained in mud.
|
