ii

I'm dragging it out. The zombies will make an appearance, I swear, but it's...you gotta build it up, you see?

ii.

Tonight’s gonna be a good, good night

 

The music unfurled against his skin like a caress, and he could hear the start-up beat pounding up through the floorboards, the bass rising and rising until it jarred through his bones and marrow. Bodies were pressed close, like salty, sweating fish trapped in a human-sized sardine can. He was jostled here and there, an elbow poking him in his side or a foot landing on his sneakered toe, but he didn’t react in anger or annoyance. The DJ was a master, letting music flow from one beat seamlessly into another, and even while others drifted on and off the dance floor, Warren Nichols kept up the steady movement of his arms and legs, the sway of his body to the music, and drowned out everything else that didn’t matter. It was New Years’ Eve, the hours trickling down and down and down until they struck zero and the whole year started over again. It was supposed to be a time for new beginnings, new resolutions, old ideas and old habits cast away to make way for the “better luck next year” times. He was supposed to be happy. Part of him was. Another part of him, one he didn’t want to acknowledge, but still had a nasty habit of rearing its ugly head, wasn’t.

He didn’t want to say that he couldn’t put his finger on the source of his unhappiness. He could, and it didn’t make it any easier to get over it. He didn’t want to think about the events of the past couple of weeks, he didn’t want to feel the roll of turmoil as it made mincemeat of his gut and frazzled his nerves. He wanted to think of the good that had come out of the chaos, even when the chaos was still warring deep within his soul. He wanted to think of the soft eyes of his new girlfriend, Zara Nazeem, and the way her lips felt pressed against his and the flutter-flutter that his heart danced when she stared at him with lusty, dark eyes. He wanted to think of her coffee-colored brown skin and the way it contrasted his and yet seemed to fit despite the light-and-dark difference. But most importantly, he wanted to forget the way Mileeka looked at him when he broke her heart and told her it was over.

Her face came, unbidden to his mind, replete with the tear stained cheeks and blood shot eyes that he’d left her with nearly three weeks ago. When she’d come to meet him, a broad smile on her face, she’d been wearing this white sundress and the necklace that he had given her for Christmas, a basket of nameless food and drink bumping at her side, but quickly dying away to apprehension when she saw his serious gaze and down turned lips. He’d told her he needed to talk to her about something important, but had purposefully left it vague as he couldn’t tell her what he really wanted over the phone. He wasn’t a coward; when he broke up with someone he at least had the decency to do it to their face. But when he had sat her down and told her... It was the heartbreak in her eyes that nearly did him in, nearly made him take everything back and tug her into his arms and apologize for being a fool. But he forged on ahead, forged forward like the stubborn Ram that he was and told her it was over.

Finito.

Finished.

And now he found himself at his buddy Ramirez’s party, wanting desperately to forget the past few weeks, remember the good times and bring in the New Year right. He let the music lap over him like a deluge, carrying him away on the currents of crashing notes and jarring sound, so much so that he didn’t see the slender form of his girlfriend, Zara Nazeem, as she stepped onto the dance floor, her dark eyes searching for him in the sea of bodies or the grin that lit her features when she finally caught sight of him dancing to the pounding beat or realize that she was grinding into his pelvis until the woman got annoyed with his inattentiveness, grinned wickedly as an idea came to her, and circled around to his back, standing on her tippy toes, and whispered seductively in his ear, “C’mon, boy, show me your teeth.”

It had the effect she was hoping for as Warren registered her voice in his mind and the blaze of heat the coursed through his body at the feel of her near him, all thoughts of Mileeka Hill and heartbreak and chaotic emotions scattered, and when he turned, a broad grin covered the expanse of his lips, stretching his face until it hurt.

“I wasn’t expecting you here until later!” he called over the crashing beat of a drum and the mournful pang of an electric guitar. Her grin was wry.

“I wanted to surprise you!” she called back, winding long arms around his neck, curling spiderlike fingers through the soft strands of his black curly hair, and settling her elbows on his shoulders. “I got Sal to take the rest of my shift so I could be here when the ball dropped and the fireworks lit the sky!”

If possible his grin got broader, and he circled his arms over hers, peeling her hands from his hair and wheeled her around until her back was facing his front, and his hands trailed down her sides. She was wearing a combination of sugar and vanilla, the tantalizing scent of a perfume that he enjoyed, and even if it pulled at his memories’ heartstrings, a familiar brown-skinned, hazel eyed face drifting up from the depths of his mind that he didn’t want to think about or remember right then and there, he didn’t let the emotions show on his face. He just dipped his head low, let his lips grace the skin of her neck and breathed the scent of perfume in, forcing his mind to imprint another face, another association, to that scent than the one he was used to. He heard her giggle, and that ghostly face from memory was chased away by the tinkling sound of her laughter.

“Dance with me,” he whispered in her ear, and she answered, hungrily back, “I’d love to.”

Her body moved in synch with his, she shifted when he shifted, she curled when he curled. She took the lead when the tempo of the music grew furious, grabbing his hands in hers and playing them up and down her sides, tantalizing and enticing all at the same time. It was the most exquisite torture for the both of them and by the time the music had finally died down and everyone had drifted off the dance floor, he was breathing hard, panting like a dog in heat, warmth pooling in the seat of his pants like rapid fire. He bit his lower lip before releasing it and nibbling at her ear. He heard her laugh again and grinned himself, grabbing one of her hands in his larger ones, turning to lead her off the dance floor. He hadn’t meant to let his eyes drift towards the door�"Ramirez only had two exits and this was the other man’s loft; it wasn’t Warren’s job to know who came in and out, but he let his eyes wander out of curiosity, and paid for that curiosity dearly.

The grin on his face froze as the bottom dropped quite suddenly from underneath him.

Mileeka was walking in through the door, dressed in this lacy white tunic thing that made his eyes travel from the top of the tangle of her very curly, very dark hair and down, down, down the length of the tunic where it ended enticingly at the middle of her thighs, hinting at the dark, warm secret that lay underneath. Memories, unbidden, came to his mind of another time he saw that tunic, bunched and rumpled, pushed up over the swell of her hips, of her giggling and squealing as he parted her legs, dipped his head low and plundered those inner depths with all the skill of seasoned conqueror, his face pressed close to that slick warmth and her wriggling in panting ecstasy. And then the vision was lost and he was brought back to harsh, harsh reality by Zara’s voice, so close, but sounding so far away, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

He gave a start, glancing at Zara first, but not answering her question, and instead sought out Mileeka’s eyes, meeting hers for a breathless moment as they widened and her mouth parted in a slack-jawed ‘o’. Warren’s jaw clenched and Mileeka’s look turned suddenly grim.

Happy New Years, he thought with an inner sigh.

x8x

“I need a drink,” Mileeka said, suddenly breathless, but didn’t wait for Rebecca to catch up to her, only fled to the nearest bar setup she could find�"and thankfully, Ramirez’s loft (and she was going to kill Rebecca for bringing her here) came fully stocked with the man’s personal brewery of beers, wines, liquors and gins. She stopped at the bar, looked at the bartender with a wild, desperate look on her face and choked out, “Gimme the hardest you got.”

The man�"he looked like a bodybuilder (or Arnold Schwarzenegger’s kid brother, a dim part of Mileeka’s mind supplied frenetically, and she hiccupped back a sudden laugh of hysteria)�"looked her up and down like she’d grown a second head or had told him the sky was purple before giving a shrug and setting about fulfilling her request.

“Geez, can you at least wait until the ball drops?” came Rebecca’s complaint from behind, but all Mileeka could do was spare her friend a very unhappy glance before turning back to the bartender as he set before her a shot glass of some brown, murky liquid. She gave him a grateful smile before taking the glass and knocking it back quickly. It burned on the way down like someone had switched her drink for battery acid and she choked as the vile stuff traveled down her throat and sloshed heavily in her stomach. She pounded her chest with a fist as her eyes began to water and she handed the man the glass back.

“Another,” she croaked, and the man raised an eyebrow at her, perturbed. She shot him a look, pointed at the glass adamantly and said, stronger this time, “Another!”

He nodded, taken aback by the adamant response from the smaller woman, and went to fulfill her request. Rebecca came to stand beside Mileeka, alarm written across her face.

“Hey, girl, what’s gotten in to you?” she asked, concern coloring her tone. Mileeka waved airily as the bartender returned and she snatched the drink from his hand, knocking that one back as quickly as she had the first. She choked harder this time, the burning sensation more intense and shook her head, feeling the bubbly effects of the drink immediately as her head felt lighter and her eyes felt like they wanted to float outside of their sockets.

“That’s enough for her,” Rebecca commanded, attempting to snatch the glass away from her friend’s slight digits before Mileeka could turn back to the bartender and demand another. Mileeka shot her a ‘you’re-no-fun’ look before relinquishing the glass, hiccupping and heaving a loud sigh. Rebecca turned her, eyes wide in disbelief.

“You know you can’t hold your liquor,” the other woman chided, taking her hand and giving her a little shake. “What’s up?”

“Why didn’t you tell me we were coming to Ramirez’s New Years’ Party?” Mileeka hissed, glaring at her friend. Rebecca gave a baffled shrug.

“I didn’t think it would matter,” Rebecca replied, puzzled. “He caught me on campus one day, passing out the flyer. I thought it would be fun.” Rebecca shook her head, her look turning to one of concern. “But that doesn’t tell me why you want to drown yourself in liquor. C’mon, Millie, we haven’t even gotten on the dance floor yet. What’s gotten into you?”

“Warren,” Mileeka choked, her ex-boyfriend’s name heavy on her tongue. Her face was flush with heat and she shuddered as Rebecca blinked in surprise.

“What does he have to do with anything?” Rebecca asked, perplexed. Mileeka swallowed and pointed off somewhere near the dance floor. Rebecca turned and by her sharp intake of breath, Mileeka knew that her friend had found the source of Mileeka’s sudden relapse into turmoil.

Warren Nichols.

That m**********r.

Mileeka turned reluctantly to look when Rebecca made a noise that was a cross between a strangled growl and an indignant ‘hhrmph’. She saw him, underneath the kaleidoscopic rainbow of lights that Ramirez had rigged to cascade over all of his party-goers in this psychedelic dreamscape of colors, embraced quite possessively in the arms of… of some woman that Mileeka couldn’t quite see nor wanted to. Her heart stopped as Mileeka gave a sharp intake of breath and looked away.

Was she so easily forgotten? So easy to be cast aside like she didn’t matter, had never mattered at all? Mileeka held delusions about Warren’s ability to forgive and forget, and maybe that should’ve been her first clue because when she’d met him he had just gotten out of a relationship that he himself had called ‘unsatisfying’. But she had thought that maybe, just maybe, he was feeling the same heartbreak and anger and sadness over their break up as she had. That he lay awake at night, tossing and turning because the world seemed so empty and dark and lonely, and that clutching his pillow was just too much torture so he got up and paced instead of falling asleep because when he fell asleep, he would dream, and dreams were the worst. But then again, that must’ve just been her because here he was, shacking up with someone new and she was the one seeking refuge at a bar, wanting to drown her sorrows in shot glass after shot glass of battery acid liquor. If he felt that way at all, he would’ve been with her, right?

It was bad of enough to be trapped in her own hell of memories, swimming tauntingly close to the surface of her mind before dancing just slightly out of reach when she tried to grasp at their intangible forms�"memories of when she had first met Warren�"surprisingly enough at one of Ramirez’s parties�"all dark hair and dark eyes, smiling wide, sumptuous lips as his brows knitted together to form just this small, tiny line on his forehead, laughing at the first real joke she had ever told him; memories of his voice as it caressed the expanse of her skin, whispering softly along her thighs, along the skin of her neck, his teeth skimming the breadth of her collar bone, before he sank into the soft darkness between her thighs and they made love until the dawn light flooded her room and the birds sang to wake them to the morning; memories of picnics and walks in the early evening, star-watching after a long drive outside of the city and the smell of him just after a long shower�"but when he was so close, it was like the most exquisite torture was dropped, danced and hung tauntingly in front of her, daring for her to grasp at it. It all came tumbling down through her mind�"the memories, the break up and now this: him and, and, and some other woman that Mileeka couldn’t quite see, wrapped around each other like there was no one else in the world but them.

Okay, that was a lie.

He had seen her when she came in and he was darting these furtive little glances her way every now and again, but that didn’t stop the sick feeling of betrayal as it wormed its way up through her gut, rolling and frothing as it went, and left her breathless with the white-hot anger pulsing through her veins. She swallowed thickly, breathed and tried to calm the sudden jerky movements her nerves wanted her to make. She turned swiftly back to the bar, wanting so desperately to order another one of those choking, battery acid burning drinks, but knew that Rebecca would probably snatch that away from her.

“I can’t do this,” she said aloud, feeling her chest constrict.

“Do what?” Rebecca asked, alarmed. “ Be here? Party? Mileeka, he’s a jerk and you shouldn’t let him get to you.”

The smaller, slender woman shook her head adamantly as the world seemed to crowd in around her, pressing claustrophobically close. It was suddenly very, very, very hot.

“I have to get some air,” Mileeka gasped, and fled, walking swiftly across the makeshift dance floor, leaving behind a dumbstruck and perplexed Rebecca. She sidestepped an impromptu game of beer pong, a gathering of guys and girls playing Guitar Hero, trying to find the fire escape exit that she knew was somewhere along Ramirez’s wall. She ducked a rowdy bunch of guys who were in the midst of a rousing story about some “chick with bunny ears” on the corner of “such-and-such” and who was “down for anything”. Mileeka wanted to screech at them, “PIGS!” but didn’t, knowing that it wouldn’t due to take her anger out on a bunch of guys that she didn’t know and were only having a good time. She searched the wall frantically for the exit and when she saw it, ran headlong towards it, nearly hollering in relief. She pushed the door open and tore out of the loud and oppressive atmosphere of the New Years’ party, her chest heaving, a sob strangled at the back of her throat.

The cool air of a city alive and brimming with excitement was what shocked her for a moment, and she paused to get her bearings before scaling the rickety, rusting metal steps of the fire place, clambering up to the rooftop, where she stood on top of the world, on top of everything and was able to look across the expanse of the metropolis she called home, at the city lights like earth bound stars and the steady stream of traffic that traveled to and fro below, of men and women going about their busy, little lives. Mileeka sighed, breathed deep and sighed again.

It was a mistake leaving her apartment; she should’ve known better.

The pain was still too new, too raw, too fresh to have trusted herself to the wilds of the city, and on New Years’ Eve no less, when all the excitement and laughter would have only served to make her remember what a pathetic loser she was. Mileeka swallowed again, familiar pangs of anger and sadness twisting through her, making her body feel heavy and strange, as if her limps didn’t belong to her at all and she was only borrowing the space until the real Mileeka Hill came and took back the life that this pitiful Mileeka Hill imitator was occupying. She hugged herself tightly and turned, sitting lightly on the ledge of the building, facing away from the brightly twinkling lights of the city and faced the dark drudgery of the rooftop.

She knew that she and Warren were bound to run into each other, it was a near impossible what with her sharing friends of his and vice-versa; she just wasn’t expecting a run-in with him so soon, and despite the amount of people at Ramirez’s party, it was still a tight, enclosed space and she was bound to bump into him, and physical contact…

Mileeka shuddered at the thought, something white and hot bubbling underneath the surface of her skin. She wouldn’t be able to handle physical contact with him, even if it were just a simple brush of her shoulder against his. She breathed and ran a hand over her face, scrubbing it lightly and trying to banish from her mind any thoughts of Warren or the woman that she saw, but did not quite see, breathing in the air of a city alive and poised on the edge of a new year, a new Millennium. She took in large gulps of air, steeling herself for the night ahead, not willing to abandon Rebecca just because of her momentary lapse into sorrow. She squared her shoulders, breathed one last time, went the fire escape and descended the stairs.

Author's Note

Well, really, honestly, just tell me what you think. I have to develope a thick skin, but don't tell me something that's obvious because chances are I've already spotted it. Wow me! Thanks!