Linger (Azriel)

Linger

   Another day, another night at Rita's. Feyre and Rhys had, once again, passed on coming out with us because of Nyx. Who could blame them when they still had an infant? Mor danced as usual, rarely stopping long enough to chug a drink before getting back to the dance floor. Nests and Cassian stood and drank, not paying anyone but each other any attention. Hell, even Azriel was dancing, although with a bit less enthusiasm than Mor. I couldn't help but feel bitter. Dancing had no longer been fun, even after the centuries where I would've killed to have the freedom to be in a place like this. I felt bitter that I dragged myself out here, if only to remind myself that I needed to leave my apartment. I don't think I would if not for the bi-weekly family dinners Mor drags me to. I love my friends, and Mor is like the sisters I wish I had, but she doesn't understand why late nights of drinking and dancing have lost their appeal.

   No, my friend couldn't understand the pain of only being able to watch as the one male you desire more than anyone enjoys himself, not even noticing your presence. I adjusted my wings, earning stares from the patrons around me. I was one of the very few Illyrians in Velaris, let alone one of the few females with still-functioning wings. I had narrowly escaped my own wing-clipping years ago, only from the help of Mor and Az. It's ironic, how they risked it all to save me then, and now they don't notice how withdrawn I am. I can't stand it, watching everyone find their happy endings when mine will never want me back, no matter how much I hope for it. I love that they're happy. I just wish they noticed that I'm not. So they have a great night, and I sit, cast away to our treasured corner booth near the bar, cursed to watch them dance and laugh and smile until their faces hurt while I feel nothing but contempt.

   I sipped my drink, trying not to succumb to my hearts desire to chug as much alcohol as my body can hold. Mor and Az grinned at each other from across the dance floor, each having the time of their lives, oblivious to my stagnant misery in the corner. I didn't blame them, I wanted them to have fun, but Cauldron I wished I could be right there with them. So I drank my drink and guarded the table for later, when they would remember I'm here and feel partially obligated to check in on me. I didn't resent them, just myself.

   I tugged at my dress, uncomfortable with how snugly it clung to my curves. It was something Mor had convinced me to buy weeks ago, and I half regretted it now. It was very low cut and short and tight. I could hardly stand the music at this point, half tempted to leave early, something I've never done. I had always stuck it out until I had to half drag Mor home. My eyes found my friends among the crowd again, always checking to make sure they were still there. They stuck on Azriel, who's chatting animatedly with some female near the bar. He was pretty, nearly so pretty it hurt me, his hazel eyes bordering on green in this lighting, his dark hair and sharp cheekbones and beautiful wings. She was pretty too, a petite redhead with big blue eyes. He looked so happy, and he looked at her like I looked at him.

   It's at that moment that I realized I was done. I was done sitting here and sulking. I was done watching what I can't have. All I wanted to do is lay in my bed and never get up. I didn't feel good enough. I tarnished their fun with my misery. People will never look at me the way the look at my friends. I stood up, leaving my whiskey half-finished, leaving the corner I lurked nearly every night. It couldn't have been earlier than one or two in the morning, and I was done. My eyes watered just a bit, knowing my absence wouldn't be questioned. Nobody payed me any mind as I left, my dignity clinging to me like my dress. I couldn't stand another minute of being there and being reminded that I was not whole, not anymore. My heeled shoes clicked against the stone road outside of Rita's. Small tears escaped my eyes, smearing mascara around my eyes. It was cold and I had no jacket, it was a long walk but I couldn't fly tonight.

"Hey, where are you going?" footsteps sounded behind me, and a familiar deep voice called after me.
"Home," my voice wobbled a bit, just enough that it was clear I'm crying.
"Are you alright?" Azriel's hand grasped my shoulder, turning me to face him. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying desperately to cover myself.
"I'm fine," try as I might, I couldn't meet his gaze.
"No, you're not. Tell me what's wrong," his large hands hold me still, making it impossible for me to leave.
"I just want to go home, Az," I kept my head tilted down, keeping my tears out of his eye sight.
"Tell me what's wrong Lilith," my thoughts went to the pretty redhead he was talking with.
"Who is she?" I blurted out before I can think better of it. He looked so confused and concerned.
"Her name's Gwyn. She one of the priestesses, and one of Nesta's friends. Why do you ask?" he didn't understand why I asked that. He looked so confused before it clicked.
"You're jealous," it wasn't a question, and he knew it was the truth, or at least partially.
"I am. I'm so fucking jealous of her. I'm so jealous that she can enjoy dancing. I'm jealous that she catches your eye. And most of all, I'm jealous because you look at her like I look at you," he looked shocked at my confession, nothing but resignation in my tone.