Chapter 1.
“Affrodeeseeya.”
Well.
You see, you have your “Roxy’s” and your “Crystal’s”: the standard ‘sexy’ names. Then you have your “Rosie’s” and your “Lola’s”: the standard ‘good girl gone bad’ names. Sometimes, you even end up with your unique yet classless, “Candy’s” and “Starr’s”, which, if you had any sense, you would politely place a five pound note on the table, chug down the drink, and make a quick exit, before ‘Candeh Starr Baybee’ lays her claws on you.
But this? This was something else.
The rain pattered down the boarded up glass window, acting as an atmospheric setting to the golem mood.
It was a sleazy, run down place, without a sand grain’s worth of class.
Well, it’s no mystery why it’s my favourite addiction, then.
Sat in the backstreets of downtown Liverpool, I could easily understand why this was popular amongst us Premier League types.
Everyone round here has enough going on in their own lives.
They didn’t have time to sit and judge. They didn’t have time to stare at you open mouthed, and stutter a few words of compliment. And they certainly didn’t care enough to sell an ‘exclusive’ to the tabloids about the extra marital deeds involving famous faces.
However, that didn’t mean that they didn’t know.
Still, that was more than enough for us. Everyone knows what “Downtown” is. It’s almost a way of life.
Stubbing out what was left of my cigarette, I was frustrated. I didn’t need this. I was wasting precious time, for something I could’ve already gotten easily and earlier in the city center.
Aphrodisia.
That was the one and only word that kept me sat, to be honest.
She was nothing special. Actually, I would go as far as saying she was the least special.
In my fair share, I had seen and have been seeing, way more beautiful and talented girls compared to her.
But, she had a hold on me. Some gut wrenching hold that had me imprisoned.
Like a drug, she had me addicted and craving.
More. And more. And more.
Swigging back the drink like there was no tomorrow, I ran my shaky fingers through my tousled hair.
I had promised myself that I would stay sober tonight. I had promised.
In all of my handful of visits to Downtown, I had gone in with the same optimism of staying sober, and actually remembering her.
And, as always, the bottles of liquefied drug placed on the tiny black table, had gotten the best of me, and I ended up in the same king sized bed upstairs, with nothing more but the smell of her perfume firmly etched onto my anatomy.
With a long sigh, I fumbled with my second pack of cigarettes; a rare delicacy in my line of work.
Frustrated mutters escaped my mouth, as I tried to peel open the pack, with my glazed view and shaky hands to match.
A warmth spread all over my chest as suddenly, a well groomed hand removed the packet from my hands.
“Oh Sir…” her words were drawn out, as her breath lingered on my skin. Within a quick second or two, she placed a cigarette in between my chapped lips and gave a small sigh.
“Not good for you, is this?” her soulful voice smothered as she clicked the lighter.
The bright orange flame ignited in between our two profiles.
She was nothing special. Pair of brown eyes, a nose, a mouth with a full set of teeth, long mane of dark hair. She was nothing special.
She arched her left eyebrow as she lit the stick of death in between my lips and clicked off.
“So are you, but I’m still here.” I slurred, blowing a puff of grey substance followed by a chesty cough.
With alcohol fully embedded in my bloodstream, I cockily slouched back, ready.
Her sky scraper heels cat walked back to the ovular stage, before she turned back and gave an empty glance.
A slow mixtape echoed in the empty hollows of the VIP lounge, as Aphrodisia grabbed the pole of steel.
She was nothing special. I’d seen miles better.
Her dark mane swung in opposite unison with her toned physic. Staring, open mouthed at the way her hips moved, a guilty smile appeared. The hazier my vision got, the more eccentric her moves got.
She was nothing special.
She was nothing special.
She… was… nothing… special…
