Crushed Glass

red vixen

Cold glass meets his lips as the harsh taste of whiskey enters his mouth and burns his throat.

Zayn resided in a secluded part of the English countryside, living a fairly reclusive lifestyle. It was not often that he would need to speak to others. He didn't need to, nor did he want to. When he needed groceries, or when he ever decided to go out for a drink, he would do so with the company of himself while shutting off the world around him. People stared at him, uttering words amongst themselves, but he did not pay them any mind.

As he sat on his sofa, his mind replays the night before. He furrows his eyebrows, pictures of her ever present. He didn't know her name, or anything about her really. Just what she looked like. Her face was soft and round, with light caramel hair that framed it. Her features almost seemed pure, if not for the darkness in her eyes that seemed to suggest otherwise.

In a room full of people, she didn't seem to notice the eyes that bore into her. She simply sat on the barstool, distracted by something else that occupied her mind.

Something drew Zayn to her mystique. He noted the red dress she wore, the slit that crept up along the side to reveal part of her thigh. He had never seen her there before, and he couldn't understand why, but he couldn't take his eyes off her.

Once he finally averted his eyes, he stared at his hand that was adorned by tattoos and rings, gripping his drink tighter. It didn't change anything, now that he was instead consumed by the image of her even when he looked away. He found himself wondering what made her different from the rest? He never cared for anyone before, so what is it about her that filled him with the sudden intrigue in a stranger?

As he turned his head once more, his eyes were met with hers. Her eyes lingered, almost as though she was staring into his soul. Neither of the pair uttered a word, or even offered any form of acknowledgement. It was like they were playing a game of poker, where neither he nor she could read the other's expressions.

Zayn knew that if he were to stay any longer then this mindless encounter with the stranger would turn into something he regretted, so he got up abruptly and left. To fantasise about what could have happened appeared trivial in his mind. She was just another girl.

Yet when he returned to his place of residence, there she was in that red dress and those dark eyes, plaguing his mind.

Pouring himself a drink, he wondered whether it was just his own intoxication that possessed him to become so encompassed by her image. This was unlike him; no one had intrigued him as much as the nameless red vixen that sat two barstools away from him had.

Maybe that was why he threw the now-empty bottle at the wall. Shards of glass scattered the floor, earning a muttered cuss under his breath.

I'll deal with that tomorrow, he thought to himself.