After pouring water all over that jerk who had belittled me, I sat down. Sighing, I decided to allow myself to have another drink. Kamala would still be babysat for a few more hours anyway, I had time to kill before I went home. I love that child, but she takes a lot of my energy.
I called over a young man, and asked for a simple beverage, preferably a house-blend margarita. As I waited, I could feel the leather of the seat sticking to my thighs, and I could feel my hands shaking slightly. It didn't feel like I was flustered at first, but it wasn't every day that I managed to spill a beverage all over a bully like that. Despite my confidence in the act, I felt as if everyone in the club was looking at me.
Maybe it wasn't the best choice to dump the drink all over Nix. They were awful. But me, a Faunus, fighting back, looks very awful in some people's eyes. Some people in this club probably thought that it was me who began to altercation. I let out a breath, and slowly stopped over thinking it. I was right to defend who I am, and remaining idle only benefits the oppressors.
The beat of the song playing at the moment made me feel uplifted, even though I was sitting at a booth alone and having a poorly made margarita.
I pulled out my phone, checking the time. When I pulled it out, I saw someone in its reflection. Before I could turn around, the person slid into the booth beside me.
"What's a lovely girl like you doing at a place like this?" A slightly familiar voice said. My ears perked up, I looked away from my phone and met a pair of dark green eyes.
It was him. I felt my entire body freeze, and then, my face softened. I realized that there was no way he would recognize me. I had changed my entire look for my own safety, and since that time, I believe my personality has flopped.
"Just trying to find an excuse to leave this booth. What it to you?" I told him, pretending as if I don't know who he is.
He lets out a laugh, and takes off his bowler hat, revealing a head of the same bright orange hair Kamala has. "Oh, kitten, you've got a bit of a bite, don't you? I like that."
I allow a small smile to play upon my lips. Maybe I can toy with him, and make him realize that it's me. He was acting like an entirely different person, he was never sultry and slick. He was honest, awkward, and a cute klutz. I can use this to my advantage.
I shift in my seat and take a sip of my drink while making eye contact with him. In my hand, I hold a tiny box of matches I'd pulled out of my pocket. I held it under the table.
With a grin, I ask him what his name is. As if I don't know what it is already. He leans in to whisper it, but lightly pecks my cheek. He's definitely intoxicated, but I won't do anything to him. Then, after pulling away from my cheek, he says, "Roman. Roman Torchwick."
I reveal the matches from my hand and light the candle stick in front of us. I set fire to the candle's wick and watch the flame dance between us. "So you can see my face better. I'd love to see yours." I say.
For awhile he flirts and I pretend to be interested. Through the candle, I see him. His pale skin and green eyes light up with the warm light, the sounds of the club seem to disperse in the moment. I wonder if I should even be doing this. As if I'm sent spiraling, my mind unfortunately goes to think about that night. That night it all began, with dinner at candle light.
Torchwick, Candlewick. I let a tiny laugh escape my lips, and of course, he looks up at me, confused. "Is something funny?"
"Oh, I thought of a joke." I say, looking closely at him.
He stiffens up, he looks very uncomfortable. "Can I hear it?"
My face definitely takes a darker turn as I say, "No. It wasn't a very good joke."
Roman's eyes widen, he bumps the table, causing the candle to fall onto the napkins resting below it. They catch fire. I stand up, tossing my purse over my shoulder.
He looks up at me, I can see him recognizing me. Slowly, as the fire travels around the table, he opens his mouth to speak. "H-Honey?"
When he speaks my name, my heart thumps harder, but I force myself to remain calm. I look into his eyes, and then whisper his name.
I say, "I have to go. My daughter is waiting for me at home. Good thing I don't have to bring home her criminal father."
His eyes widen, and he stands up. He gasps, and begins covering his mouth with his hand. "I... I had no idea... Honey, I can... Do something."
My expression softens and I open my heart to him just a little bit, because, despite everything, I'll still have a love for him. "No. No you can't. But I can tell you something. She... She's beautiful."
As I walk away, he calls out, "At least... At least tell me her name."
Blushing lightly, I turn towards him one final time and admit the name I had given my precious daughter. "Kamala. It means 'red.' Her hair, it's like yours, flaming and vibrant. She's even starting to look a bit like you... Ugh, never mind, I have to go." My sentence at first was kind, but I spat the words at him at the end. I hoped he knew not to follow.
As I left the club, feeling the night air on my skin, I couldn't help but wonder how different my life would have been without these ears. Maybe we could have been...
A family.
