TWISTED

EIGHT; THE POISON'S TRUTH

EIGHT; THE POISON'S TRUTH

I could feel my heartbeat in my toes--and pretty much everywhere else, too. The chaos of the music was a pounding sensation that seemed to take over the bodies of the people around me. I stood among them, lost in a crowd once more, and my figure only a bystander. I felt a small tug at my core by some strange force in the center of the room, but I knew better than to head its call. Instead, I found myself moving toward the kitchen in the midst of all the neon and booming bass. Bruno was there, and California under his arm, the two of them waving me over to them with smiles only victorious warriors could recreate. The situation was almost the same instance in which I had first arrived here. It only proved the Italians ran an extremely successful business.

I leaned against the island--and makeshift bar--in the center of the kitchen, giving Bruno a small smile. "We three have got to stop meeting like this," I said.

Bruno smiled in return, although his was something much more energetic and beautiful. California kept her different colored eyes on me as she slid a drink to me across the marble surface, the corner of her full, pink lips lifting in the smallest fashion. The crowd in the other room cheered as she did so, making the moment almost out of a Fitzgerald novel. She called out to me over the noise, but I only noticed her lips moving with words wanting to come out. I called a question back out to her in response, and it proved that there was no way either of us were getting a conversation over the newfound excitement in the other room. California smiled, a full one this time, then mimicked a drinking movement with her hand to her lips. I took the hint and grabbed the cup she had sent down the counter moments before. After sending her a tiny thanks with a nod of my head, I swept all rational thoughts away from mind and made my way toward the force that still continued to call to me.

The dance floor was a roll of thunder and a beacon of drunken freedom. It was, almost, more interesting to watch the people all sloshed together in a sweat-induced spiral, rather than actually become a part of it myself. I watched for only a brief time before the drink in my hand became empty, and the huddled mass in the room of thunder gained another victim.

Soon, I was a spiraling sailor along with the rest of them, our weak human bodies far less than that of the party's siren call. The lights were so chaotic, I sometimes thought my limbs were flying away from my torso in their crazed dance. A small match lit itself inside me, and that's how I knew to turn around and face the back corner wall. There, stood Vincent Romano, his brooding, Italian glory eyeing me like the dying man's long awaited glass of water. I discovered oxygen through his dehydrated stares, and my flame roared higher in the heat of the music's dark rapture.

As I spun into the crowd, arms caught my waist with a dip, and I genuinely laughed for the first time in--perhaps--years as they brought me back up. Tony smiled brightly, his teeth a strange purple color underneath the black lights. This, in turn, only made me laugh even more. He seemed to glow more so than the lights knowing he could make me laugh.

The fire I felt moments before burned a little more up my spine, causing me to turn my cheek over my shoulder to be caught under Vincent's raging gaze. I knew that to beckon him closer would take a lot more than a dip and a smile. And when the music changed to a more seductive kind of chaos, it was like my brain didn't have a choice in the matter. Decision was all body.

The crowd was jumping, pulsating to the harsh beats of the song, and I was no exception. Tony stayed near my side, but he was a total gentlemen. He presence was more of a watchful one, rather than a predatory one, which made me respect him. During the high of it all, I glanced back one more time to find Vincent, but he was nowhere in sight.