Created By

irwinwe

Rate this Story

Embed

I was still smiling in memory when I looked up and saw the quintessence of hell staring directly into my eyes.

***

"Quite the dancer ye are, apparently" Kane said to me over his glass of whiskey, that all-too-familiar wry smile playing upon his lips.  

I eyed him peripherally, sardonic expression on my face, and then told the bartender that I wanted a water and a whiskey.  I had changed my mind at the last minute, and the decision had been dependent upon the company.

"I wasn't aware that I had admirers, sir" I said patronizingly, with as cordial a smile as could be possible externally.

He grinned widely then, dimples appearing through his dark stubble, either softening or sharpening his perilous looks.  There were no women with him, which would have surprised me had I not known him in person before hand.  He was perhaps the most attractive man I'd ever seen, but also one of the most remote and sour.  I raised my eyebrow and chin at him in aloof silence and turned toward the bar again.  My mother claimed that when any man tried to approach me in a way beyond friendship, I gave him the same reaction - the eye-brow raise and the shoulder.  Thus she had always told me that I "exuded go-away".  Perhaps she was right.  Perhaps I did "exude go-away".  But so did this man.  It struck me then that he and I were very much alike. 

I furrowed my brows, suddenly in quandary over my epiphany, and turned slightly to look him in the eyes.  His were fearless, and held my gaze.  Moments passed before I realized his smile had left him, and the feel of my cold drink being placed abruptly by my palm on the bar table tore my wavering consciousness away from his realm and completely back into mine.  Did he realize how unnerving he was when he stared at people?  Did he stare at everyone like that or was it just me?  Why couldn't I just...ignore him?  I gritted my teeth, and for my inability to disregard him, I turned to face the bartender in aggravation, paid him his money quickly, and then grabbed my whiskey.  Daddy didn't raise me to drink Shirley Temples, I told myself as I downed the sizeable amount in unstoppable gulps, finishing the glass with not so much as a cough, but merely a raspy exhalation of exasperation.  Then I realized exactly why they call Scottish whiskey "the water of life".  The fire within me began to spread, my blood began to boil, and my breath quickened, making my chest rise and fall slightly in bellicose fashion.  Why was I letting him drive me to ridiculous ends?  I inwardly chastised myself, then made every invisible effort to control myself as I turned back around to face him.  I still had my eyebrow raised I'm sure, for I'm afraid I've never been able to control its intrinsically rebellious inclinations, but I was able to encage the rest of my emotions.  He smiled again faintly, this time not in wry fashion.  I thought I saw a glimpse of awareness in it, or of respect, his eyes fleetingly wistful.  He broke eye contact with me to glance down at the whiskey he swirled in his hand.  Then, as he looked up at me again, his eyes were replaced by a wrath I could not determine.  As if I had never noticed the change in him at all, his cynical way had returned, and I felt I was a child being punished, but for something beyond my understanding.  If I had been intelligent in that moment I perhaps would have realized that his sudden adopted cruelty was a facade.  But my short-fused temper, as it usually was, got the better of me.  

He let out a huff of cynical laughter, raised his glass of whiskey, and toasted to me in darkly derisive fashion, "I never said I was your admirer, Ellen Irvine, but the fact tha' your behavior repeatedly seems to win ye an audience repeatedly enthralls me."  

"Audience?" I huffed.  I had no idea what that cutting comment mean until after I had rolled my eyes at him and begun to walk away.  Several people, mostly other students that I recognized from our class, had apparently been following me as I had left the dance floor, and were now gathered around us, listening to all they could of our curtailed and very pointless conversation.  Their raised eyebrows and choked laughter were like a gunshot to my gut.  I thought I heard a girl in front of me say "What an ass", but I was too exposed already to get any angrier, so it did not stir me.  I turned around to face the professor again, my expression expressionless, and he looked away from me.  Did he feel sorry?  He turned his back to me then, and leaned against the bar.  I guessed not.  I saw Andy in the crowd, and as his eyes met mine I caught a laughing sympathy in them.  I walked quickly to him and grabbed him by the hand, dragging him away from the scene.  When I was certain that we were out of view, I turned to him in desperation.

"Andy, holy crap did you see all that just happened?  I just made a complete fool out of myself!  And now I have to go to class on Monday and remember that altercation I just had with my professor in front of everyone in my class!  What am I going to do?  Why is he so mean to me?  I mean, I know it probably seemed trivial and pointless and I could probably blame the whole conversation on the fact that I'm slightly intoxicated...well...actually I'm not...but I could lie...well...no I can't...shit!  I mean shite!  DAMNit!"  I finished, very lamely.

I looked up at Andy to find him trying very hard to hold back his laughter.

"Oh go ahead, dumbass, just let it out.  I'm a great source of entertainment, I know, you can't take me anywhere, just..." and then I couldn't continue, humiliation rising to heights I had not realized in a while.  I had trained myself to become accustomed to embarrassment, as I very often performed deeds that were outside the box.  But this, to me, was outright humiliation, and he had caused it.  Teachers weren't supposed to humiliate their students.  Or perhaps he treated everyone like that, and I was making it worse than it really was.  Perhaps Kane was just the kind of man that crawled under my skin in particular, physically, emotionally, and intellectually, and it was killing me that I felt defenseless around him.  I was just going to have to get over it.

Andy reached out to embrace me, seeing that I was visibly upset and breakable after all.  "I'm sorry" he said, "I wouldna 'ave laughed at ye if I'd known ye were serious."  

"I don't want him to see me cry" I said, trying to prevent my voice from sounding shaken.

He understood my need for seclusion, and led me outside, a better seclusion in its limitless form, paradoxically, than the undersized pub we had graced moments before.  I did not allow him to hold me, and pushed away from him when I felt I could stop my tears.  He did not stop me, just watched me in slight confusion and worry.  He was a good friend but he did not understand me.  After moments of silence he finally spoke, "I doona believe I 'ave ever seen a woman shoot whiskey like tha'."

I smiled, trying to laugh a little.  "Dire circumstances" I said.

"Must 'ave been" he said with a half-smile.  His brows furrowed then, "Who was tha' man?"

"Not important" I said quickly, locking my pain inside as I always do.  

"Alright" he answered.  

A moment of silence passed between us, and a cool gale rode through the city and dried the sweat at the nape of my neck.

"Did ye want me to take ye home, then?"  Andy asked softly.

I looked at him.  "Aye" I said, immitating the Scottish tongue, "I'd be indebted to ye sir."

***