Smoke Filled Room (A Carmilla AU)

Little Dove

     I usually only performed Friday nights at The Lustig, a pretty well-known bar in the small college town of Silas, home of Silas University, my Alma-Mater.  This weekend, though, the owner talked me into playing Saturday night as well, saying his normal guy couldn’t make it and that I was next on his list.  I couldn’t refuse, nor complain, I was making money while doing what I loved, working an extra night wasn’t hurting anybody.  Anyway, I needed the stage time for the potential tips.  I had a three year old I was supposed to be raising at home.  Tonight, I left him with a babysitter, an old college friend that still lived in this godforsaken town.  And thank Hermione for that because I didn’t trust anyone with the little guy but myself, and that was a stretch.

     Saturday night started off like any other night.  I was offered a complimentary beer, but declined.  I hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since the kid came into my life and I didn’t plan on starting now.  Taking a seat at the piano, a mic set up in front of me, I led the audience through a few well-known songs, ones they’d probably heard on the radio, just slowed down and with my own twist, then I went on to the list of requests from the bar patrons, took a short break, called home to make sure the house wasn’t on fire and that the kid was fast asleep, and did a few more requests before I started playing my own music.  I started off with a couple slower songs, sped it up a bit towards the end of the night, and just before the DJ came on at 10, I played my newest songs and a few of the crowd’s favorites.

     It was around 9:45 when my fingers found themselves moving across the baby grand on the stage and the spotlight dimmed, creating a haze in the small room through the cigarette smoke, and I started singing a personal favorite of mine.  It was a slower song so when the first notes rang out and it was unfamiliar to the weekend crowd, people paid attention.  I was well known to the regulars there and they were always eager to hear new music.

     I don’t remember when I noticed her or when she noticed me, but when I looked up into the crowd and unexpectedly met her gaze, everything stopped.  I stopped singing, I stopped playing the piano, time stopped, my heart felt like it stopped.  It probably did.  She looked so different, yet I’d recognize her anywhere.  Her eyes gave her away.  Those honey-brown orbs with little flecks of gold here and there, I could never forget.  I’d notice them anywhere.  Her hair was darker, she wore red lipstick and dark makeup around her eyes, and her heels made her a couple inches taller, but it was definitely her .   Her , just more, I don’t know, grown up .

     It must’ve been almost 10 years since I last saw her and nearly three since I last heard anything about her in the small town gossip.  Apparently she was a big shot reporter for some big shot news station in Toronto.  Apparently.  Because I definitely didn’t watch her on the evening news when I could and I definitely didn’t google her every now and then just to see how she was doing.  She had her dream job.  I honestly didn’t expect anything less, she got what she wanted because she worked hard for it.  She was always like that.  Ambitious.

     She grew up incredibly well, matured.  She was the most beautiful woman in the bar and everyone around her knew it, but somehow she didn’t.  She was only looking at me, her eyebrows knit together, her head tilted at a slight angle as she watched me watch her, her lips were turned down in a slight frown, all while the index finger of her right hand absentmindedly traced the rim of the half empty glass she was holding.

     I was only brought out of my trance when I noticed shock and recognition flit across her features, then hurt, then anger.  I couldn’t blame her.  I felt the same way at first.  But then she turned to the bar, placed her drink down, and left.  She just left.  She didn’t turn back around, she didn’t acknowledge anyone else in the bar, she just left.  So, naturally, I followed her.  What else was I supposed to do?  She was the one that got away.