The Spare

ANGELS

Through the glass of my bedroom window

In the bushes far below

I thought I saw an unfamiliar shadow

Among the ones I so clearly know.

I've been sleeping with the nightlight unplugged

With a note on the rocking chair

That says I'm dreaming of the life I once loved.

So wake me if you're out there...

-Angels, Owl City

I stand outside a familiar building. Red brick walls dominating the scene of clinically precise high rises. I move closer to the door pressing a white button on the upper right side. I hear a buzz. The door swings open to reveal a face I've so clearly known with time. Wearing a black fitted shirt, ripped faded skinny jeans and black laced army boots, a Cheshire grin plastered on his face. "Hello Michael." I say with a blank expression. His grin widens. "Back again?" He asks more to himself than me. "I heard all about last night. And I must say, I'm amazed you pulled something like that in the face of one thousand dignitaries." I lower my eyes to the ground. My brain started to go back to last night's "trick". My face falters. "He deserved it." Was all I said before I made my way inside, Michael taking my tail.

I sit by the counter and looked at my watch. It was 8:30 am. I look up at Michael who had his arms folded across his chest and still with that Cheshire smile. "What will it be today?" He asks. "Manhattan." I answer. I pull out a stick of cigarette from the back pocket of my jeans. Placing it in between my teeth, I turn to Michael. "Do you have any light?" Michael raised an eyebrow and continued making my drink. Pointing to a nearby wall, he says "No smoking." I grit my teeth. That sign sure is new. It wasn't there yesterday morning. I take the cigarette from between my teeth and place it back with rest inside its packet. Michael hands me my drink and stares for a while. His bar isn't full yet. In fact there were only a couple of people besides me who are inside. "Come on kid. Talk. I'll listen." Michael says dropping his elbows on the counter top and placing his face in between his palms. I sigh. "He was 63 years old." I begin to say. "At first it was just his hands sliding up and down my bare arms. Then he touched the small of my back and leaned in to whisper dirty things in my ear. I was reaching my boiling point but I held on a bit more thinking, he'll stop because there were so many people there. But he didn't. And when he ran a hand from my shoulders to my chest grabbing my ass at the same time, I lost it. I kicked his balls and shoved him head first in that tower of champagne filled glasses." Silence. I started to stare blankly at the cherry in the bottom of my Manhattan. Michael sucked in a breathe. "You should've done more to him kid." A bitter laugh. It came from me but I didn't realize it until I began forming words filled with venom. "I told them. I told him the truth. He didn't listen. He never listens. Because every time he looks at me, all he sees is a trouble making drug addict and a murderer." The tears never come now. I wait but they're not there anymore.

Michael hands me another glass of Manhattan. He smiles showing perfectly white teeth. He pats my head. "You did good kid." He pushed a lighter towards me before leaving for the back storage area. My eyes dart towards the lighter. Taking out a cigarette and placing it in between my teeth once again, I grab the lighter and started to ignite the end of the stick. As soon as fire touched my cigarette, I suck in deep. Blowing out the smoke from both my mouth and nose. I suck again. Someone grabs the stick from my hand. I stare at him as he kills my cigarette on the marble counter top and throws it at a trash can. "That was mine." I say to him. He looks at me.

Obsidian.

I'm drowning in the endless blackness of his obsidian eyes. My heart skips a beat. No, two. "You shouldn't be smoking." He talks. I was pulled deeper into those eyes. He places a hand in between us. "My name is Lucas. You can call me Luke. Everyone does." He smiles. I drop back to reality. My eyes moves to his outstretched hand. I don't debate taking it. I do. I shiver from the contact. I grabbed a handful of composure from within me. "Tyn." He held on to my hand a while longer. I suddenly felt sick. My hands started sweating. I felt embarrassed and tugged my hand gently off from his. He blushes. "Sorry." He says. I blush too.

Luke. His name feels good in my tongue. Were both nicknamed with one syllable. I like that idea. He looks at me. "Tyn." He says, and I know were both thinking the same thing. "I've never seen you around here before?" It came out as a question rather than a statement. "I don't go out a lot." He notices my drink. "Do you usually order a Manhattan this early?" My eyes dart back to my drink. The red liquid still half filling the Martini glass. Shame. It's disgustingly creeping in my insides. My brows knit. Luke notices. He takes the Manhattan and drowns all of it. "I'm hungry." He says. I look at him with curiosity. He pulls something from the breast pocket of his jacket. A wallet. Fishing a hundred bucks, he places it under the now empty Martini glass. He takes my hand entwining it with his. "Let's get out of here."