Bound to Earth

40: First Date

There were worse things than going on a date with heels and a dress, much worse things. All the more reason I was glad my mate thought I was beautiful regardless of what I wore. Though, that didn't stop him as he dragged me through the endless aisles of outdoor shops.

A date, he said. We were to go on a date. 

This was not a date. This, this was torture. 

My feet had tired long ago. Valentino dragged me from shop to shop for hours now. Maybe I should've left him in the hotel room to mope his feelings away and joined the others for a hunt. 

That was a real date.

Excitement had finally begun to pour off of him. His lingering sadness vanished while I strolled through the mall with him. It was then I decided I'd suffer the rest of my life through this if I got to see that bliss on his face. Even if it was for a small moment, an eternity of pain was worth it. 

The bags were bundled in my arms, Valentino needing little constriction to shuffle through racks of clothes. Every shop, he'd push me to the dressing room, and folded himself in there with me and at least a ton of clothes to try on. 

My closet wasn't diverse enough for him. A few jeans and t-shirts weren't enough, and sweats didn't count as real pajamas apparently. I didn't give a shit about what was considered real pajamas. Sweats and t-shirts were my life. But I couldn't tell him no as he threw in matching cotton pajamas with a smile.

I drew the line when he shoved me in a swimsuit shop and tried to get me to wear every single two piece bikini. Leggings and a t-shirt weren't good enough either for swimming. Who gave a shit about what I wore? I sure as hell didn't.

We argued for at least 10 minutes—the workers looking between us with concern—before I finally conceded and tried on the least flashiest bikini. The store didn't have any one piece swimsuits for me to wear.

Valentino bought three different pairs, then the one I tried on, while I had been changing. It didn't matter, I wouldn't ever wear them anyways. I'd use not shaving as an excuse. But knowing him, my unshaven legs and other parts would be the least of his concerns. 

And when my arms ached from all the bags, I'd convinced him to take a break from shopping. He only agreed when I mentioned the ocean and my numb arms. 

But there was no beach where we went, only a rocky ledge that dropped straight down.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ignored my hair dancing in the wind as I sat on the ledge. The ocean clashed against the rocks far below my dangling feet. 

"Talk about what?" He laid back, his hands tucked beneath his head, and gazed at the clouds. 

"Whatever's going through your head." I couldn't take my eyes off the waves. Underneath the water's clashing white power, lay the calm shadows of the deep, slowly shifting.

"It's not important." He hummed casually. The way his eyes darkened told me otherwise.

"I still crave it," I whispered the offer—my thoughts, for his. "The alcohol. Sometimes I'll smell the bitterness walking down the streets and I have to hold my breath, chug an entire can of soda to help the cravings cease." 

I swallowed the thickness in my throat, as if feeling the acidic burn flowing down. "When I was in my 30's, I opened my first casino. Back then, the alcohol wasn't enough to get me through the days and I hadn't discovered Liquid Gold yet. There were a few kids playing poker in my private gambling room, smoking and snorting crap. "

Valentino sat up, entwining our fingers. I didn't have to say it for him to know. "How long were you on the drugs?"

"A few weeks, tops." I laughed, it was more dry than anything. "I walked into a meeting crossfaded. Diane took one look at me and literally dragged me out of there. That woman was a force to be reckoned with. I almost shit myself while she lectured me."