Blood for money (open)
Posted: 02 Jan 2019, 19:12
Ice crackles in a highball glass of Gosling's Black Seal rum and ginger beer. It's the loudest sound in the bar as far as he's concerned. His tongue is locked tight behind his teeth while chatter and rock music float somewhere behind him. His eyes fix a stare on the amber liquid sloshing on ice cubes like waves against rocks; the lime wedge bobbing quietly like an upturned boat. The glass is cold and wet against his palm and fingers, but it's better to keep his hands visible; distracted. He can feel the anxiety in his shoulders, carving rocks out of his lean flesh, but it's impossible to relax. She leers at him over an espresso martini with lips curled into a scarlet smile.
“So. Tell me your story,” she implores.
He gives her a sheepish look and murmurs, trying her patience. She leans across the bar to grip his wrist and her nails scrape the leather of his jacket.
“What's your history and why are you here?”
“I. Well. I'm here for you.”
She laughs. “I know that, stupid boy. I was thinking more along the lines of where you're from, how you grew up, how you got into this… line of work.”
"Oh.”
"So. What's your story, Eli?”
"My family's from Australia originally,” he begins.
"That explains the accent,” she grouses.
"But we moved here when I was six."
"To Harper Rock?”
"Just outside the city.”
"Do you have any siblings? Are your parents still together? Are they all still alive?”
"Yes. They've been married 30 years, I think. They still live in the house I grew up in. I'm the youngest of three. Two sisters. We had a dog too.”
She pauses and for a moment he watches her black eyes squint, making her face age. It suits her somehow to look older than the twenty-something brunette that she was. She lets go of his arm to strum her fingers along the dark oak bar.
"What kind of dog?” she asks, peering into her drink as she takes a sip. Long lashes shadow her face attractively.
A smile prickles his lips. "A retriever. Big, stupid thing he was, but loyal as time.”
"Time isn't loyal,” she guffaws. "It's cruel and spares no one.”
"Really? No one?”
She looks at him a little shocked before giving his arm a soft slap. "Don't try to be cute. It's unsavoury. Finish your story.”
“Larry. We named the dog Larry. He died last summer. It's probably the last time my family have been together in years.”
"Not a close family then…” she grumbles.
“We used to be. Now my oldest sister lives in New York as a journalist and the other moved off to Sweden to be with her fiancé. They met online and now they skii a lot according to her Instagram.”
"You see, Eli. Time is cruel.”
“I guess.”
He's never really thought about it that way. His sisters used to say he was very simple in the way he looked at things, but not quite as clear-cut as seeing everything in black and white. It wasn't an ideal situation, the one he was living in, but he was getting by. Some might say that he was doing very well for himself all things considered. The only difference being that it wasn't an ordinary job he was working. Eli watches the surface of his glass as he thinks on this, before his attention is caught by two water droplets racing down the side. They break on his skin crossing the finish line.
"You said you were 22.” Her voice thrums.
“Yeah. Do you need to see my ID?”
She squints at him again and he's figuring out that it means he's annoyed her. "No,” she replies short and sweet. "I've just noticed that you haven't touched the drink I bought you.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
He takes a long gulp, neglecting to stir the spirit into the soda, so the dark rum grazes the inside of his mouth before he swallows. Hard. Truthfully, he's not much of a drinker, but he can't really say no to her request. It's not up to the chef to deny the diner some extra salt for their meal.
"That's better,” she purrs, her teeth showing through a smile. "Rum warms the blood so well.”
He forces a smile and thinks about stirring his drink before the next mouthful, but supposes it's probably easier to just gulp it down as is. Meanwhile she takes another slow sip of her martini, skimming the foam from the inky liquid as her black eyes bore into his soul.
"Do you have a lover, Eli?”
"Uh. No.”
The pause suggests that not only that she didn't believe him, but she didn't approve. Protesting wouldn't help, so he remains quiet. "So you live alone,” she infers.
“More or less. The walls are so thin that it never gets lonely.”
“And… Your job?”
“At the gym?”
"Yes. Is that the career you've always wanted?”
“It's just a job.”
"I see. And this. Is this just a job for you too?”
"I couldn't call this a job.”
"Oh, and why not?” she asks, leering at him again.
"It's… more personal than a job.”
There had been many to ask the same question and his answer is always determined by what would make them feel better. Eli wasn't an expert on reading people or anything, but he was proud about being able to provide a bespoke service without being told exactly what to do and what to say. Of course, there were some who just straight up wanted a controlled environment with no surprises and Eli felt like he catered well enough for their tastes too. From all the chatter between them, Eli wasn't expecting the woman to laugh in his face when he leant on the sentimental angle. Her laugh rings so loud in his ears that he washes it down with another gulp of rum.
"I told you not to be so cute,” she growls, disguising violence under a chortle.
Her hand reaches forward and grips his bicep so sharply that he could swear she's sheared through his jacket and shirt, getting straight to his skin. Her strength is cold and as unnatural as steel and he pushes back the urge to struggle as he's jerked closer. Unfortunately, he's still holding onto his drink and the sudden, sharp movement causes it to spill. The ice cold liquid floods the counter between them and falls into the lap of her black dress. Surprised, she leaps backward and unlatches her grip on him, seething.
“I'm sorry,” he gulps and reaches for some napkins, offering them to her.
At first, all she does is glare at him; torn between the embarrassment of her mistake and shifting the blame. Then something snaps and she snatches a few of the napkins from him.
"Stay. Here,” she commands. “I'm to freshen up in the ladies room. Then we leave.”
Eli nods his head; relieved to know it is still attached to his shoulders. However, there is no way of knowing how much longer that will be the case. A sense of dread washes over him as he watches her disappear behind the door to the lavatories. He's never run out on a date before, but with his head in his hands, he genuinely starts to consider it.
“So. Tell me your story,” she implores.
He gives her a sheepish look and murmurs, trying her patience. She leans across the bar to grip his wrist and her nails scrape the leather of his jacket.
“What's your history and why are you here?”
“I. Well. I'm here for you.”
She laughs. “I know that, stupid boy. I was thinking more along the lines of where you're from, how you grew up, how you got into this… line of work.”
"Oh.”
"So. What's your story, Eli?”
"My family's from Australia originally,” he begins.
"That explains the accent,” she grouses.
"But we moved here when I was six."
"To Harper Rock?”
"Just outside the city.”
"Do you have any siblings? Are your parents still together? Are they all still alive?”
"Yes. They've been married 30 years, I think. They still live in the house I grew up in. I'm the youngest of three. Two sisters. We had a dog too.”
She pauses and for a moment he watches her black eyes squint, making her face age. It suits her somehow to look older than the twenty-something brunette that she was. She lets go of his arm to strum her fingers along the dark oak bar.
"What kind of dog?” she asks, peering into her drink as she takes a sip. Long lashes shadow her face attractively.
A smile prickles his lips. "A retriever. Big, stupid thing he was, but loyal as time.”
"Time isn't loyal,” she guffaws. "It's cruel and spares no one.”
"Really? No one?”
She looks at him a little shocked before giving his arm a soft slap. "Don't try to be cute. It's unsavoury. Finish your story.”
“Larry. We named the dog Larry. He died last summer. It's probably the last time my family have been together in years.”
"Not a close family then…” she grumbles.
“We used to be. Now my oldest sister lives in New York as a journalist and the other moved off to Sweden to be with her fiancé. They met online and now they skii a lot according to her Instagram.”
"You see, Eli. Time is cruel.”
“I guess.”
He's never really thought about it that way. His sisters used to say he was very simple in the way he looked at things, but not quite as clear-cut as seeing everything in black and white. It wasn't an ideal situation, the one he was living in, but he was getting by. Some might say that he was doing very well for himself all things considered. The only difference being that it wasn't an ordinary job he was working. Eli watches the surface of his glass as he thinks on this, before his attention is caught by two water droplets racing down the side. They break on his skin crossing the finish line.
"You said you were 22.” Her voice thrums.
“Yeah. Do you need to see my ID?”
She squints at him again and he's figuring out that it means he's annoyed her. "No,” she replies short and sweet. "I've just noticed that you haven't touched the drink I bought you.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
He takes a long gulp, neglecting to stir the spirit into the soda, so the dark rum grazes the inside of his mouth before he swallows. Hard. Truthfully, he's not much of a drinker, but he can't really say no to her request. It's not up to the chef to deny the diner some extra salt for their meal.
"That's better,” she purrs, her teeth showing through a smile. "Rum warms the blood so well.”
He forces a smile and thinks about stirring his drink before the next mouthful, but supposes it's probably easier to just gulp it down as is. Meanwhile she takes another slow sip of her martini, skimming the foam from the inky liquid as her black eyes bore into his soul.
"Do you have a lover, Eli?”
"Uh. No.”
The pause suggests that not only that she didn't believe him, but she didn't approve. Protesting wouldn't help, so he remains quiet. "So you live alone,” she infers.
“More or less. The walls are so thin that it never gets lonely.”
“And… Your job?”
“At the gym?”
"Yes. Is that the career you've always wanted?”
“It's just a job.”
"I see. And this. Is this just a job for you too?”
"I couldn't call this a job.”
"Oh, and why not?” she asks, leering at him again.
"It's… more personal than a job.”
There had been many to ask the same question and his answer is always determined by what would make them feel better. Eli wasn't an expert on reading people or anything, but he was proud about being able to provide a bespoke service without being told exactly what to do and what to say. Of course, there were some who just straight up wanted a controlled environment with no surprises and Eli felt like he catered well enough for their tastes too. From all the chatter between them, Eli wasn't expecting the woman to laugh in his face when he leant on the sentimental angle. Her laugh rings so loud in his ears that he washes it down with another gulp of rum.
"I told you not to be so cute,” she growls, disguising violence under a chortle.
Her hand reaches forward and grips his bicep so sharply that he could swear she's sheared through his jacket and shirt, getting straight to his skin. Her strength is cold and as unnatural as steel and he pushes back the urge to struggle as he's jerked closer. Unfortunately, he's still holding onto his drink and the sudden, sharp movement causes it to spill. The ice cold liquid floods the counter between them and falls into the lap of her black dress. Surprised, she leaps backward and unlatches her grip on him, seething.
“I'm sorry,” he gulps and reaches for some napkins, offering them to her.
At first, all she does is glare at him; torn between the embarrassment of her mistake and shifting the blame. Then something snaps and she snatches a few of the napkins from him.
"Stay. Here,” she commands. “I'm to freshen up in the ladies room. Then we leave.”
Eli nods his head; relieved to know it is still attached to his shoulders. However, there is no way of knowing how much longer that will be the case. A sense of dread washes over him as he watches her disappear behind the door to the lavatories. He's never run out on a date before, but with his head in his hands, he genuinely starts to consider it.