Smoke Filled Room (A Carmilla AU)

Painted on Lipstick Red

     Laf made me do it.  If anyone asks, it's all Laf’s fault.  I was doing just fine before that weekend, until they guilted me into going to the bar and pulled out last minute.  To be honest though, I should probably be thanking them now instead of bashing them, but at the time, I was livid.

     I was in town that weekend more for business than pleasure.  Mrs. Cochrane, my old boss, mentor, and journalism professor, called me back to Silas' local newspaper for the week to help train a few fresh-out-of-college hires.  She figured since I was from Silas and “made it big” that I could share some insight about chasing your dreams and never giving up .  I was honestly ecstatic.  I got to see a couple of my old college friends on an all expense trip back to my home town and I got to help shape the careers and future lives of kids just as eager to do some good in the world as I was back then.  The news station back in Toronto even gave me permission to pick a candidate for an internship, if the new hire was up for it.  This trip was a big deal.

     That was my mindset on Friday morning when I flew out.

     Saturday, I had the night off to gallivant around and do my own thing before meeting the kids on Monday morning.  Laf told me there was a new bar in town that I should definitely check out while I was there.  Apparently the bar was known for its live performances from local talent.  They had bands and individual artists perform on the weekends and comedy and poetry nights during the week.  The guy that played on Saturdays was supposed to be incredible.  Laf said he did a lot of covers of songs from the 80s and that I should invite my dad.  He's a huge Journey fan.  Well, I did invite him.  He couldn’t go, said he was too busy with a new case at work to go out for a night of drinking with his only child.  (Passive aggressive undertones intended.)  So, I went alone.

     Laf ended up having to stay late at the lab at Silas U, working on some bio...thing and Perry was busy doing something else, but they promised to have a proper catch up on Sunday when they were supposed to come over to my dad's for dinner.  Kirsch had moved back to his hometown after university when he got a job at his old high school as a coach of some sport with a ball, and Danny was teaching English Lit at some university in Chicago the last I heard, so their company was definitely off the table.  I didn’t know anyone in this town anymore, not like I used to.

     I put myself together as much as I could.  I slid into a black dress, put more effort into my makeup, wore lipstick, curled my hair, found an old pair of my mother’s heels from the back of my dad’s closet.  I wasn’t looking for a hookup, but if one presented itself, I wasn’t going to refuse the chance to play around for a bit.  I had been doing that a lot lately.  I found it slightly amusing.  I would see how far I could get into the night, how many drinks I could get in me, before I actually agreed to go home with some random girl.  99% of the time it was only a quick, one time deal.  I never let them touch me.  I never got their number.  I never saw them again.  After they were done, I would gather my clothes, if they had even been taken off, call a cab, or Uber, and leave.  That 1% was the time I drank so much that I woke up naked and sore and I knew I let her do things to me that no one had done since my last relationship.

     The bar was a lot less crowded than I had anticipated on a Saturday night at nearly 10 o’clock, but maybe that was because this was Silas and I was used to the bars back in Toronto where everyone seemed to stay up until they were kicked out at 2am.  Either way, I was tempted to just leave and go home to watch Netflix in my pajamas with a mug of hot chocolate and an unopened box of cookies.  Instead, I indulged in Laf’s request and had a shot for them and Perry and settled onto a stool at the bar with a glass of whiskey.  I never did lose the taste for it after... someone …  But that has nothing to do with anything.

     I never finished the glass.

     I heard her voice first.  That low, sultry, husk, almost a growl, almost her bedroom voice, but not quite there yet.  It was intoxicating.  Even more so than the two shots of tequila and half a glass of whiskey I downed less than five minutes ago.  At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me.  I hadn’t heard that voice in almost 10 years and it was like music to my ears.  An unwanted, yet beautiful symphony of chords in the back of a siren's throat.  I didn't want to turn around.  I didn't want it to be her.  I wanted her voice to be another one of my vivid dreams (nightmares).  But, that wasn't the case.