The Lure of Adventure

One Last Time

We danced to a few more songs, each one carefully hand-curated by Sam. He showed me a few more of his favorites, and we enjoyed the empty dancefloor to ourselves.

"I'm surprised that no one has carded us for being in here yet." I say, eyeing the patrons at the counter.

"They'll only card us if we try to make a purchase... And we will, just not here."

"What do you mean?"

"I know of a busier club, it's a few blocks from here. It'll be too crowded for anyone to care that a few teenagers just came in. And if they do card us, I got some convincing fakes made." He gives me a sly smile, entangling his fingers with mine. "Ready to go? I've got lots more to show you."

I nod and we make our exit. We were crossing the street to get back to the bike when I speak up again. "Why didn't we just go to that club to begin with? Was there some significance of coming to this one?"

"It would have been too crowded to really enjoy the private dance... And they don't operate on a jukebox audio system. They have a DJ that plays whatever he wants. Coming here just allowed for a more intimate experience." He replies with a little shrug.

It brings a smile to my face and joy to my heart to know he'd thought through everything that went into making tonight special. 

We climb back onto his rental bike and cruise the streets a bit more. The warm air feels sticky on my skin, blowing out my hair behind us, undoubtedly working the long waves into a mess of tangles I would have to deal with later. 

After a few more stop lights, Sam pulled off into the small, cramped gravel parking lot outside the building all lit up in neon. From out here, I could hear the rumble of the loud music playing inside.

"Get ready to be deaf." Sam warns as he pockets the bike keys and approaches the building by my side.

We walk in, and immediately, I get the feeling that our presence there will go completely unnoticed.

The social scene in the club is far different than it had been in the bar. These people are scantily-clothed and stumbling. Many of them look like they are having the time of their lives.

Sam's arm snakes around my waist, securing me close to his side as we navigate through the sea of thrashing bodies to the bar.

If he had spoken to me, I am certain that I would not have heard it. The music is a deafening, bass-dominated pulse.

Many slimy, sweat-coated limbs brush against us as we wriggle through, sometimes having to sidestep through the tiny gaps in the bodies. No one paid us any mind, no one cared that we were dressed like orphans.

I find myself scanning the crowd, looking for any of the familiar faces of the displaced youth from Dolfrey's home.

I worry for them. Where are they now? Are they okay? Did Dolfrey have plans in place that would ensure that those in his care would be taken care of after his passing?

He most likely had things set up in Leah's name, that she was would end up taking over the estate after his death. I doubt he anticipated them both dying in the same night, though.

I notice only now that a deep forlorn frown has carved it's way into my skin. I relax my face before Sam can notice the look of distaste. I don't want to offend him or make him think that I am not having fun with him... I am, I'm just having a hard time battling my thoughts.

Sometimes our brains are our own biggest downfall.

"Take a seat." Sam yells over the music, gesturing toward one of the stools in front of the bar. I do so, watching him with wary fascination. He looked down the bar at the bar tender, a scrawny kid in his mid-twenties who is too busy chatting up the pretty blonde to care.