A slow fall

Chapter 17 - Lucas

    I didn't dance. I mean obviously my body could move, but it was stiff—meant for sports that required a lot less grace and rhythm. I'd watched as Caleb danced though. Elegant. Graceful. Beautiful.

Last time we were at this club, in search of escape and life, my eyes found him slightly too much for it to be coincidental.

I could help it, like a moth to a flame burning so effortlessly bright in the room shrouded in darkness and possibility.

His body swayed in time to the beat, movement like liquid, fluid and free.

I wanted to rush after him, to join him on the dancefloor even if my legs refused to cooperate and my body was stiff in comparison. No one could compare anyway, what did it matter.

I remember hearing someone in college once saying how white people can't dance well because they tend to have no rhythm. The way I saw Caleb dance proved her so very wrong.

I wanted to be the person he danced with and not the stranger that pressed close to his body like he belonged there. He didn't.

"God they're so drunk." Bates said, voice laced in humour, as we watched Caleb and his friend stumble inside. "Should we suggest they leave, or just keep an eye out to make sure they're okay?"

They were still coherent enough that I wasn't overly concerned right now. Since I knew Caleb was here, I'd just make sure to look out for him. I always would. I told Bates, for now, that was enough. We'd step in if and when they might need it, but I didn't want to overstep.

I let out an amused huff, my mind pulling me back to Caleb, his slightly hazy eyes, the dopey grin on his face and boundless energy that felt contagious. The way he hesitated, somehow confident and shy at the same time, asking me to come join made my heart flutter. Cute.

Many-a-nights my friends and I had been in the same situation, stumbling around a crowded room, words slurring and our minds and bodies moving out of sync. Alcohol was an unreliable companion, the bringer of both joy and disaster.

Our group had only got here twenty minutes ago, coming to the club a spur of the moment decision.

Drinking wasn't part of our plan for the night, but having a full house—all my housemates being home together a rare occasion—the atmosphere sparked.

When our mutual friends turned up, alcohol joined and laughter followed in abundance. The urge to dance guided us into the cold autumn night; A search for music commenced.

I was tipsy, there was no doubt about it, my head felt fuzzy, there was a noticeable sway in my movements, and a giddiness that filled me up, causing laughter to bubble randomly and smiles to frequently grace my face.

I'd decided now was the time to progress onto water, a welcome reprieve for both my liver and bank account.

It was smart, I thought, switching over early. It meant by nights end I was close to sober and my following hangover never felt too extreme.

"What are we looking at?" Ollie asked, half a cigarette in hand and lipstick smudged across his lips.

"Caleb an-"

He interrupted, a knowing smirk on his face as he turned away from the vacant spot they once stood in to look at me.

"Ah, say no more."

"What is it with everyone?"

Ollie discarded his cigarette, wiped his lips and straightened his shirt slightly in an attempt to look presentable, "Because we know you dude. Just admit it already."