Amelia kept her head down, buried in yet another drink. The sweet pour of discount malt whiskey on the rocks stung her throat. Should have been smooth going down. But this was cheap booze. Girls don’t drink whiskey. Her dysphoria nipped at her ear. Girls don’t wear chokers at this ageor wear this much makeup. Nah, her reflection smudged in the glass. You’re pretty. Shut up, she mumbled to herself, touching up her lipstick.
The bartender offered to close out her tab, curly hair, soft eyes. Ten years younger and so much more put together. Lacquered black nails drummed on the edge. Amelia had always wanted to get her nails done. She was just afraid, and the bartender’s eyeliner. Perfect wings. How did she get the right eye to match the left?
“Thank you, but I’m... fine,” she said, cringing slightly. Voice training had not been kind but she was getting there. Probably not. “Maybe some water,” she smiled careful not to show too much teeth. Even she knows I’m a mess.
The bartender nodded.
“Vodka sprite with lemon,” a small voice said and Amelia felt the slight trace of someone’s fingers just on the back of her hand. Had she imagined it? She glanced at the girl next to her. Dark, shoulder length hair with a streak of green. Puppy eyeliner. Hazel eyes behind rounded glasses. Freckles peppering her face. Cute. The next sip went down a little quicker, the burn tickling her throat, and she coughed, her voice dropping a bit. The girl next to her didn’t seem to notice, and then she swore a slow warmth started to travel from the back of her hand to her shoulder, and then she felt a sharp pain in her thigh.
Amelia flinched and she didn’t mean to, but her glass went flying, ice cubes rolling across the bar. I need to leave. I need to get out of here.
There were angry barks that rose up around her. Shouts about some bitch not being able to hold her liquor. Amelia rose, asking if she could get some paper towels, help clean up, but it was too loud. The bartender was giving her an odd look and the girl next to her was slightly soaked. Black A-line slightly strapless dress. Ruined. Freckles dotting her shoulder. Stop checking her out. Now is not the time. Instead, she stood up languidly, gently. Her eyes fixed, breathing calm.
“Well, that’s not the first time I’ve fucked up,” she said, and Amelia wasn’t sure if she had heard her correctly. “I can buy you another,” she said. “Want to get a booth? Too many assholes up here.” Four star piercings nestled in the cartilage of her right ear. Her eyes glowing with flecks of gold.
“Ah, sure.”
Chatter seemed to dim. The woman tried not to glance at her, but she was sitting very close. “You’re um…very pretty. I would ask you to go dance, but this isn’t really the place.”
Amelia snorted and then laughed. Her own cheeks coloring with the flush of alcohol and warmth. This was so so dumb. They had just met and she…
“I just got out of a long term-relationship,” she said, hating herself for saying it. I barely know you. And you’re coming on way too strong.
It was already giving red flags, and yet…
“Now I’m really fucking it up,” the girl stammered as she took a swig. “I haven’t been so lucky myself. Lucky’s not the right word? Just, when it ends and you put your whole self out there it can be hard to open yourself up again.”
A random stranger is consoling me by trying to convince me to let my walls fall again. How quaint. Maybe it was time to leave.
But despite it all her eyes held a certain sincerity or maybe it was the whiskey talking, or the fact that she had called me pretty. Damn it all. And most of all Amelia wanted to forget the hurt, and make mistakes.
“Let’s go dancing, but only if you do a shot with me. Only one.”
“How daring,” she teased, and Amelia could have sworn that her breath was hot in her ear. Must be the whiskey again.
The night blurred and Amelia found herself bouncing from one bar from the next, the night life blaring, the streets wet with rain-water. At some point, the girl dragged her along, her nails sunk into her fingers like talons. So we’re already at handholding. The girl laughed loudly and slightly skipped again. Amelia’s head blurred, and felt heavy. She stopped, at the edge of a rock, light glistening off her face, and behind her the city glowed, reflected in the water. How far had they gone. Central Park? Oh fuck. How had she, but the girl sat and leaned her head back, sighing, and Amelia noticed that her hands had never left hers.
“So, tell me about him,” she said. “What’s making my girl so sad.” Mine. It should not have sent a gentle thrill through her, but it did. It shouldn’t have happened so quickly.
"Not a him. They were...it's too early to talk about. I just can't if that makes sense."
"Hurts too much, I get it."
“Hold on now…I don’t even know your name,” but it came out weaker than intended as the girl’s fingers danced around the back of her hand.
“It’s not important,” the girl said, her voice falling as if lost in the bottom of a bottle. “You won’t remember me anyways.”
“I don’t understand.”
The girl’s voice was breaking. “I don’t usually do this, but I could tell that you were hurting, and I thought that I could help, but your scent. It would be wrong of me to fix something that is your own to heal. But the rest of you...is hard to let go,” she nuzzled up against her shoulder, breathing heavily. Amelia should have felt a certain sense that something was off, and yet her touch was so calming, so entrancing. She wanted to sink into it.
Yep she’s going to murder me. The thought should have sent a jolt through her, but any sense of fear was snuffed out. The girl looked up, trembling. “I think I’m kind of bad at this.”
“I… this is stupid.” Amelia found her moment. The liquor swam in her head and she kissed her, nipped at her lip, tongue trailing across the bottom. Her breath warm, and then she parted. “I’m hard to forget,” she told the girl, not knowing what she meant but wanting to prove that she was not a blip nonetheless.
“Selene. My true name is Selene,” Amelia felt the name whisper in her ear hot, heavy almost, the scent of tantrum vanilla curling around her, and then Selene kissed back. Hard. Her fingers curled in her hair, and her tongue slowly parted her lips, searching. Teasing. Breath heavy. “May I?” She said, and slowly let her tongue trail across her neck. She quivered as the kisses trailed up her neck, and then Selene was on top of her. I fell. Her surroundings were blurry. And Selene, when had she removed her own dress and why was hers still on? Selene’s hands on her, holding her down, her biceps toned, shoulders large. She looked strong, different from the shy girl in the bar. And then her brows furrowed.
“Are you okay?” Selene looked concerned, worried even. Amelia wanted to laugh at how absurd this all was. “Here, it might change the mood, but I’m not like my sisters,” Selene said, and Amelia felt a warmth enter her as Selene pressed her fingers to the side of her right cheek and clarity little by little began to return.
She was lying in the grass in the middle of Central Park with a large girl over her, and she wanted to reach out and those abs, she wanted to touch them. Needed to, but…were those horns?
“I’m sorry,” Selene said sitting up. “I was just trying to make sure you’re comfortable.” She stared straight, hugging her knees, for a second, she looked like she was about to cry. “I’m not made for this line of work.”
“The job market’s tough,” Amelia said, not knowing what else to say, and Selene let out a loud laugh. Unabashed. Unafraid. It suited her. A pale pink rim around her iris. It might have winked at her. Cute. “I…uh…like your horns. They make you look regal.” Well that was a dumb thing to say.
“Thanks, my sisters have larger ones,” she mumbled. “But my tail is the largest.”
“Did you just say tail?”
“Hmm, you might have already felt it my dear,” Selene’s voice took on a slight huskiness, as Amelia felt something slowly pass over her thigh, a little sharp, wrapping around, teasing. She wondered what it would feel like to have it closer. She felt it flick up her thigh and…
“Stop, I—it’s a bit too much for now.”
“For now?”
“For, now.”
Sweat poured down her back. She really wanted it, near her, around her, inside her, but things were moving a bit too fast. Her voice came out shaky.
“I don’t think I’m ready yet.”
“Yet. Hmm…” Selene stared out at the skyline reflected in the water. “Your scent is so alluring. I could refuse.”
“Could?” Amelia’s breath was caught in her throat.
“If we meet for coffee?”
“Ah, coffee.”
Her heart beat heavy in her chest, and then it struck her. Slightly from earlier, as Selene rested a hand on her thigh almost possessively. No, calming her. Was that part of her touch or something else?
“I thought you said I wouldn’t remember you.”
“Ah, so you do remember that? There might be an exception to that rule. Since we’re not just treating this as a one night thing. Maybe it will be different.”
“And what if I forget.”
“Then I’ll find you.”
This was all just one cruel joke. Just because she couldn’t be brave. Let her walls down. Let herself go. Her partner had once seen a similar pattern. Everything I touch turns to ash.
Selene held her, her breath hot on her neck, and then she gently kissed the top of her head. A small smile tugged at the edges of her lips, and then Selene kissed her once more, lingering, passionate, on the edges of wanting to let go, but not quite ready to. Her lips parted, “I’m taking you home,” Selene said, “If that’s all right.”
Amelia nodded almost shyly but didn’t expect Selene ready to sweep her off her feet into a princess carry. “I’m not gonna let go. Central Park is dangerous, my dear. But maybe not to demons.”
And despite not knowing her, Amelia didn’t want to let go.