Meet Me In The Hallway

Red Eye

Chapter 11

I am red.

I'm wearing red and feeling that way too.

I feel foolish and ignored.

I've painted my Lips crimson, and borrowed shoes with soles to match.

I feel like I'm screaming "look at me! Look at me! Damn it, please look at me."

And the people are. Michael about screamed when I walked out to go to this tour gathering.

"What's that?" He'd pointed at me, gesticulating a bit wildly around.

"What is what exactly?" I tried for nonchalance as I reached down to pull the heel I was stepping into, like someone else's skin, over the back of my foot. I was well aware that I did not look like I usually did and that my big brother would not like what he saw when I suited up.

That's what it felt like to, like I was Superman ducking into a phone booth and putting on a part of me, a secret identity. One that I didn't share, hadn't really wanted to. But, tonight I slid the slinky red dress over the body I usually covered with days-old jeans and pilfered t shirts like it was a spandex scarlet speedo. I wanted to rock like I had a capital S on my chest that stood for sexy. Hester prynne and me wearing the badge like a brand.

"What the fuck are you wearing?" He trailed after me as I breezed by him to the mini bar already helpfully supplied with the alcohol I had determined I would imbibe tonight.

I desperately needed the social lubricant I usually scorned. Harry had told me ages ago I could let go with him. It had been months, months ago, that we had gotten close. It wasn't close enough. I wanted more than his secrets inside of me. I had tried my best to be his best friend, but I was sick of that role and tonight I was determined to play another.

I poured the whiskey already open over the last melting ice cube I had fished out of the bucket. It was brown grained leather on the outside, but the inside was just as inadequate as every ice holder at any level of hotel ever. I stared at it for a second before I decided I was projecting. I pulled the skirt of my sheath down a little and ignored the accompanying shift in the neckline while I answered Michael.

"A dress," I took a big sip of the brown fluid and coughed. My brother pulled the tumbler from my hand.

"I'm not sure that counts as a dress." He scoffed and shot the rest of my drink. He grimaced, "and since when do you drink whiskey straight?"

"Since now?" I poured the last of the bottle into my cup and took a gulp. Forcing myself not to react.

Michael blinked at me. "Listen, I knew you were upset when you came in earlier, and I was an asshole and decided I'd ignore it figuring it was some girl shit and you'd be fine by tonight." He looked me up and down. "But, your current game of dress up makes me think I should have stopped you to talk then. What's up?"

"Nothing, I'm fi—"

"Fine," he finished for me. "But I'm calling bullshit, because you just used the words nothing and fine within seconds of each other. Where were you last night?"

I laughed. That was a question he probably should have asked before we left the UK, the concern was too little too late. His concern was also the source of my irritation in about a million ways.

Harry and I had been cirque de soleil level acrobats lately based on the skill with which we had been walking the tightrope of friendship over the abyss of more. I wanted to dive in and trust that a blanket of feelings would rise up to catch me, and that he would follow me down. I'm not sure what he wanted; so I walked the line.