Ever since man could communicate, through wall scratching, body language or grunts, he has grappled with his desires and ego. Thame was no exception, and wrestled with what had befallen him. For years he'd felt he was born for something great and significant; his life had credence, special importance. But now that it was actually staring him in the face he was petrified.
A solitary week passed during which he worked and slept on autopilot, hiding from his truth. Still, the erotic thrill lingered in his mind. Guilt consumed him, trapping his power within. It crept across his deeper consciousness, slowly corrupting.
As the weekend arrived, Thame shook himself awake. Football drew his energies towards a healthy goal, snapping the shackles of his trance. In the evening he, Russ and a few of the lads went out clubbing. This was Thame's first social meeting since Dragan, and it began as an upbeat amorous gathering, the men drinking and bantering all night. Finally Thame felt a semblance of normality, and began to relax.
"Alright lads, my round. Same again?" As he went to the bar, the lads got into deep discussions.
"Is it me, or is Thame acting really up himself tonight?" Russ asks.
"Aye, he is different, like." One of the Northern lads replied, "But I don't know him that well."
"He's cool with us, but I don't know, there's something aggressive about the way he's looking at everyone else." Mused Russ.
At the bar, Thame waited to be served. He gazed around, eyeing up every girl he could; telling himself that if he chose one, she'd be easily his. His eyes stopped on a group tucked into a corner. The women wore masks of make-up; their manufactured look and scent designed to allure men, entrap them. Their stylish garments revealed toned, if a little malnourished, bodies. Breasts were pushed up and enhanced as beacons for their next wealthy snare. One girl, a blonde of arousing proportions, caught Thame's attention. She met his eyes and smiled while sucking on the straw of her cocktail. Confidently Thame smiled back, and nodded.
With a new peacock stride, Thame felt a conquest afoot. All week he'd tried to hold back the flow of this new, arrogant, powerful energy - yet the build-up was getting to him, seeping through; he had to release the blockage, allow the energy to flow. Just as the bar staff came to him, a girl bumped her way through and made an order.
"What the fuck?" Thame reacted angrily, feeling the pressure point obliterated.
"Ladies first." The drunken girl barely looked at him.
"Fuck that, you rude bitch!"
"Woah! Be a gentleman."
"I've been here for twenty minutes; I call for equality." Thame retorted.
The girl handed over money directing a sarcastic smile at Thame. She turned away with her wine, muttering 'wanker' under her breath. Thame stuck his leg out, tripping her so that she stumbled and spilt her glass on the floor. People laughed as she swore and hurried red-faced back to her friends. Holding his drinks, Thame breezily navigated his way back to the group.
The blonde who'd smiled at Thame approached with a couple of friends.
"Hi guys," she said, "I'm Portia".
Her voice grated on Thame's sensitised ears, his temper already up. He looked at the girls contemptuously. They looked like they'd pranced off a reality TV show, mingling their way into the boy's circle. The others seemed delighted, but were under no illusions about the type of women they were dealing with.
"So, how's your night?" asked a Yorkshire brunette, "What do you all do for a living?"
Alarm bells rang in the boy's heads. Anything less than £70,000 a year and those female math whizzes would be gone.
YOU ARE READING
The Illumination
Fantasy*WATTYS2018 Longlisted* He saw a pair of eyes, his eyes. But they were elongated, angled and a deep, angry red... Thame is, on the surface, an average guy. Suffocated by the politics of his city job and his increasingly complicated love life, he se...
