Bare Her Soul (James Patrick March x reader )

Fifteen

The elevator doors pulled apart with a groan, revealing the seventh floor. Your stupid dress seemed to rise higher up your thighs with every tread through the hallway and you yanked at the hem of it.

As you neared the end of the long corridor, the subdued tones of familiar jazz music entered your ears. You stopped infront of his door and gave yourself a few seconds to breathe. You were going to be cool tonight, and James was going to forget the crazed, pitiful little mouse that had near enough begged him to sing her to sleep last week.

It was after your third knock that you realised, embarrassingly, that the door was already on the jar. You pushed it open slowly, met with the upbeat tones, louder.

James' suite was dimmer than usual. The electric lamps hung dark from the ceiling. The room was lit by a number of tall, Victorian-esque candles dotted in every corner. Spooky you thought as you moved into the small entryway. A word that was quickly replaced when you caught sight of the dining room.

His long table was ladened in a velvet green cloth, several embroidered lace placemats designated before each chair, a candle beside each one and bottle-glass vase containing a bouquet of red roses so dark they appeared black, sat as the center peice. His suite was even more elegant than usual.

You should have expecteded that pumpkins and cobwebs weren't exactly James' taste.

"Hello."

You startled at the masculine voice to your right.

"James said you were pretty."

A tall man, blonde, in his thirties stood before you. It wasn't a compliment, he'd spoken the words matter-of-factly and he inspected you with lifeless, grey eyes.

"Hi, crap - sorry I didn't even see you there, I'm Y/N" you smiled.

"I'm Jeffrey" he mumbled a little reluctantly, like a child whose mother had just warned him to play nice.

A film of grey spread across your field of vision then, like smog from a chimney. Somewhere in your chest, an oppressive heat slid downwards, pitching when it reached your stomach. For a fraction of a second, it felt as though you'd swallowed acid.

"Y/N!"

A woman, half a head shorter than him, practically shoved Jeffrey aside.

"I can't tell ya how good it is to have another chick here" she snarled happily in a thick Southern drawl and a tad too close to your face. "Even if it is jus' for tonight."

You blinked rapidly and she scrutinised your expression "Yeah..." she buzzed "Jeffrey's creepy as shit. But he's a sweetheart, especially if you ain't a boy! The name's Aileen by the way."

The first thing you noticed about her  was her skin, mottled, and dirt-flecked, then the threadbare, denim two-peice she wore. You weren't sure which redneck she'd dressed as, but you were relieved you weren't the only one in costume.

"Hi...err, nice to meet you guys, you're friends of James' then?"

"Ha! No, I mean, we love the guy but - he's no friend man - he's our frickin' messiah!"

"I feel so generic in this now" you gave a nervous laugh, gestured to your headband "you look great."

At your compliment, Aileen leaned back on her heels, tilted her pointed chin up and her hands dug casually into the back pockets of her jeans. The yellow of her teeth showed as one side of her mouth pulled up into a grin.

"Ya think so huh?" she husked.

Another man appeared behind her then. He slapped a hand on her shoulder and she jumped out of her exaggerated stance.