A Glass Winter 5

An orchestra of clinking glasses and wine being poured. The basement bar was dark, but in that warm un-menacing way. A bonfire in the middle of a dark forest. Black tiles, oak tables, candlelight bouncing, fire hissing. Vanessa stood in the bathroom, examining her reflection in an ornate mirror. There was a sense of importance to the night, a pull of things to come. Glassy eyes stared back, not masking a deep satisfaction. The forceful delight of something dark, something like vengeance. Just hours before she had given in to a baser urge of cruelty, her predisposition to apathy. Its seductive just how much one can achieve by disregarding all commonly held standards of decency. Looking down at her phone she see’s six missed calls from her mother. Wiping her dewy eye’s, she stows it back in her purse; swapping it for a hip flask full of vodka. She didn’t feel like flirting for drinks tonight. All her cards would’ve been cancelled by now anyway, her mother was never more efficient than when acting out a fit of rage.

Her feet were starting to hurt, so she rustled up her hair and pulled down the neckline of her white dress. Fuck she thought, I look hot. One more smug glance and she made for the door. Before she could grasp the handle however another girl burst in. She was clearly a mess; makeup scraped across her face like a scar; tangled hair; holding one heel in her hand despite both being missing. She was crying hysterically. Vanessa let her stumble past, looked back, and then walked calmly out the door. Untouched, with the most imperceptible smile.

At the bar, its mottled surface holding the rivets of a thousand heartbreaks, she languished. Drunk on the thought of her own beauty. Intoxicated with the arrogance of it, the unyielding confidence.

“Vodka martini” she didn’t wait for him to ask, but he smiled all the same. His firm torso and thick arms casting her furtive glances as he mixed the drink with the fervour of a child pleasing his mother.

“Put it on my tab”, he had sat down next to her without invitation. Tall she thought, the liked tall men. But he had a pampered look; black slicked back hair; his beard trimmed to a sharp line on his plump cheek. He didn’t look at her right away, instead checked his phone with an airy coolness, his grey eyes illuminated and ever so slightly sunken in his angular face. Gay she thought, perhaps. Then he turned to look her in the eyes, his whole body facing her. A glint in those stony eyes. Perhaps not she thought.

“Austin” he said, offering a large hand. She liked men with big hands.

“Helen”, She gave him a quick smile before preceding to down the martini placed in front of her.

He gave an approving nod. She glanced pointedly at him; her eyes then drifting down across his blue shirt, down to his polished shoes.

“Not seen you here before” he smirked.

Is that really the best you can come up with she gritted her teeth, rapidly losing interest. But she entertained the idea of this being the sort of night she had not anticipated, after all, she had embarked onto a reckless path already.

“How unfortunate for you” she jested.

He rested one large hand on the bar and leaned forward; perhaps it was the vodka but he looked much more appealing from this angle. Thick bushy eyebrows and full lips. Her thin white fingers edged towards his.

“This bars too crowded” – it wasn’t – “I’ve got a room upstairs if you’d like another drink”

Unfeeling, transactional. She was now quite sure she would sleep with him.