World of Make-Believe: Chelsea's Story

A Drink and A Dance

Bored.

Her soft brown eyes darted around the room; goal already in mind. There was her ex-fiance playing tonsil tennis with his "she's nothing" secretary he left her for, visible through the slats of the office blinds. No, bored wasn't the right word for the tightness in her chest, the swelling pain rising up and choking her. Desperately she tried to find someone to distract her, something - but that was the danger of an office party.

No one wanted to actually be here.

No one to distract her from the searing pain racing through her body; consuming, fiery, demanding her every attention immediately. Her gaze, traitorous, found its way back to the darkened scene hidden behind bamboo slats. Glaringly she watched as her ex, Alex, slid his fingers up the other woman's thigh, whispered something in her ear; their flushed faces and the promise of a far more entertaining evening in their eyes made a mixture of rage and ache surge through her veins.

God! Look away! The tears blurred her vision as she slammed another gulp back, the liquid burned though it barely registered.

She sank her head to the cool bar top.

No. She decided, letting her eyes stay shut, fighting off the cruelty of the world around her. Bored is certainly not the right emotion.

For a moment she just lay there, in the darkness behind clenched lids, alone. The sounds of the the party around her suffocating. As the alcohol burned its way into her brain the noises morphed from irritating and overwhelming to calming. Chelsea found herself trying to identify all the different sounds, singling them out. A silver giggle of a tipsy woman, the purplish tendril of whispers, the golden crush of ice swishing and clinking in glasses. She wound herself up in these sounds; losing herself in the task of finding each one and identifying it- when a loud white splash jolted her from her trance. She growled, opening her eyes slowly. The world glared back into focus, as did an ugly off-white wash cloth.

The bartender grunted as he dragged his rag over the space by her head. Chelsea moaned as she pulled herself off the cool bar top, allowing him to wipe the surface down quickly. She watched him with a horrendous scowl on her face. Her forehead was pressed to the coolness before the sanitizer had a chance to dry. She took a deep breath of the cleaner and frowned again.

I don't like this smell. She had the strongest urge to tell someone that random thought but knew it was just the alcohol and refrained. Instead she shifted her gaze to her ex. An elbow intruded on her line of sight, a curled sleeve exposed a dark swath of tattoos. Chelsea didn't bother to look at the interrupter.

"Office parties suck." He offered, leaning down further into her line of sight.

She could hear his smile but it wasn't enough to summon her eyes from being glued, with the obsession only a drunken mess could muster, to Alex and his new toy.

"Come, Love. Another drink?"

Startled she yanked her head off the table, bewildered brown eyes met kind green ones. As he smiled his hand stretched for her glass. Chelsea felt the wind knocked out of her from the strength in that grin; lopsided, wide, unguarded with just a hint of trickery tucked away in that single dimple.

"Yes," she relinquished her still cool glass, then dissented, "Valentine's Day, sucks; this office party blows. I, uh," she breathed slow, feeling the effects of drinking all night, "I don't remember you behind the bar earlier."

"Ah, don't you?" His voice was flat but there was something in that smirk of his as he tossed a bottle of rum to a coworker. "Just got on."

Chelsea watched him and once again she was breathless; he smiled as his hands tossed bottles, flipping them around with practiced skill. She shook her head, sure it was the alcohol. A beautiful dimple, sparkling green eyes, jet black hair with tips fading to green... impossibly good taste in old school punk fashion. Normally she wasn't so taken by a stupid grin.