Freedom is Learning to Let Go

Chapter 8

The meaning of love differs from person to person. It depends on where you came from, who you know and the way you live. It is an undeniably strong force that forever weakens those who are vulnerable enough to fall under its spell.

Love, in its endless endeavors, ends in one of two ways: happily ever afters or shattered hearts. Still, the very nature of it is unpredictable. Perhaps, this is where an irrational fear of the concept stems from. Some come to find love as a curse, while others find it a blessing.

Of course, this open-ended notion tends to affect each individual in diverse methods. It can cause one's stomach to ache or turn, brewing a storm within the confines of your soul. Soon, this inescapable sickness consumes you.

As in every situation, there are the lucky ones. For them, love comes in therapeutic waves, tugging their heart strings as if it were a harp. The sweet tune of their romance radiates inside of them like a warm summer day.

David always knew he was a lucky one, in most senses, that is. Fortunately, love happened to be among these sweet treats.

The adoration spirling through his veins was comforting and warm. A perfect temperature. Not enough to burn, but heated enough to eliminate the chills threatening to sweep through his body.

Half an hour had passed since his interaction with Klaus, yet he still felt the aftershock tingling in his bloodstream.

A wonderful ache strung his cheekbones, a result of insuppressible grin that remained painted across his face.

His deep lapis eyes, still gleaming with compassion, rested their gaze upon the remains of his boy's Bloody Mary.

That was when he noticed the tiny glass bottle, filled with a shimmering black liquid, slightly to the left of it. Shit! It was his nail polish!

Soft hands grabbed the bottle, placing it inside one of the pockets of his leather jacket. He'd better find Klaus before the night ended.

At least now he had an excuse- erm..reason- to talk to him without looking desperate. The search for the fallen angel was on once again.

This time, Dave was certain the man was not on the floor. When he went off with his "aquatintence", the party failed to pick up, a dead giveaway he did not remain there.

When a swift scan of the bar failed to turn up anything, the lounges appeared to be the best bet. Besides, if worse came to worst he could ask around. With the popularity the other had, someone surely knew his whereabouts.

Taking a final sip of his champagne cocktail, the model stood up and hastily threw a few twenty dollar bills upon the glowing bar, noting how the white light seeped through the green paper.

"S-sir! Wait!"

He turned around. It was one of the bartendresses, who was clearly blushing, beneath the purple hue that befell on her face.

"Y-you should um...c-call me sometime?"

Her graceful hand placed a sticky note on the bar top, her digits clearly written on it with black marker.