Chapter 5: I don’t like this feeling
Chapter 5: I don’t like this feeling
Zoe
I hate school. Did I happen to mention that? I mean, I’m good at it. But I can’t wait for it to be over. Right now, I’m running down the hallway trying to make it to my music class because I woke up late. I blame Azazel for this. If it weren't for his sexy, gorgeous, smoldering looks, I’d have gotten a good night’s sleep and woken up in a better mood. I know that it’s unfair to blame him, considering I barely spoke to him. I just don’t care. I spent most of the night thinking about his gorgeous smile and deep husky voice. It’s infuriating. And when I did finally go to sleep, I dreamt about him. I just can’t escape him.
It also didn’t help that Bree woke up screaming at the top of her lungs in the middle of the night. Bree, Ailana—Lana for short, and I share a room. Bree and Lana have a bunk bed, and I have a little twin-sized bed next to hers.
Waking up in the middle of the night this way is really nothing new. Ever since she went missing a few months back, she’s been having nightmares. The first week she’d wake up screaming like a banshee, then after a while, it became a little more sporadic. Sometimes it would be weeks before she’d have another nightmare. She would never tell us what it was about, though. She said she couldn’t remember.
Last night was the worst, though. She shot up in her bed and screamed about monsters with red eyes, then fell back to sleep. It was crazy. Lana simply shrugged her shoulders and went back to sleep. I guess she has become accustomed to Bree's night terrors too. She and Bree look very similar to each other, with their multicolored blond hair and dark eyes. Bree’s hair is wavy, though, and Lana’s is straight with long bangs that make her look like a doll. They both have hazel eyes and a creamy complexion with high cheekbones and bow-shaped lips. Bree is a little curvier than Lana. Lana is tall with long legs and small breasts, a tiny waist, and a curvy bottom. Bree has larger breasts and rounded hips. Lana reminds me of one of those boyish runway models, where Bree is a pinup girl.
Bree is not the only one who has been having weird nightmares, though. Over the past year, I’ve been having terrifying nightmares too. It happens every few weeks. And every time it happens, I’m afraid that I’ll never wake up. It is the most terrifying of all. It always starts out the same…
I don’t know what woke me up. I’m lying still in my bed. Sweat is pouring down my neck and back, nearly soaking through my nightgown. The room I'm in is completely dark. Not dark, where you can see the shadows of your furniture. It is pitch black. Almost as if any light in the room has been sucked out. That’s when I feel it. At first, I can hear heavy breathing. I open my mouth to call out to Bree or Lana, but my vocal cords are frozen. The feeling starts at my feet. It feels like claws grinding against my sheets. My heart is beating wildly in my chest. My breathing hitches as it begins to travel from my ankles to my knees. Goosebumps gather throughout my body. I'm frozen with fear. The terror nearly chokes me. I close my eyes, trying to gain some control of the nightmare by repeating a mantra in my head. “…wake up Zoe. It’s just a dream. Wake up!” But it doesn’t work. My eyes pop open when the claws finally reach the soft part of my stomach. A silent cry escapes my lips as the claws begin to dig painfully into my stomach. Tears fall down my face like raindrops. I want to scream. I want to move, but my body won’t cooperate. That’s when the glow appears. It spreads in every part that the claws touch. The temperature drops and my breath creates a fog in front of my face.
The glow begins to pulse over my body like a malevolent spirit. My vision blurs and fades, and a terrible weakness overtakes me. It feels like all the energy in my body is being drained. The oxygen in the room begins to wane. I feel like I’m drowning. I try to reach for every bit of air that I can, but it only gets worse. I’m suffocating, and there’s nothing I can do. The glow intensifies, nearly engulfing my whole body. I take one last life-sustaining breath and gaze into the flaming eyes of my nightmare. The eyes gaze at me in an almost penetrating way. If I can name the emotion coming from the shadowy form, I’d say it's hate. Then, as soon as it comes, it disappears. It’s as if it never happened. I shoot up from the bed, taking a few deep breaths. My lungs burn painfully as I look around the quiet stillness of the room. I can see Lana and Bree’s still forms lying in repose beneath the glow of the light coming from the nearby window. Nothing seems disturbed. There’s no malignant darkness with glowing eyes and sharp claws ready to tear me to pieces. After a moment, I lay back down on the bed and take a deep breath. It was just a nightmare.
Unfortunately, every time I have one of those nightmares, I wake up weak and empty. Sometimes I can barely get up from my bed. The only time I feel energized is when I write a song or sing. Unfortunately, when I do that, bad things happen. That’s why I don’t sing anymore. It’s like I’m a poster child for catastrophes. Bad things happen when I sing—terrifying things. But I don’t want to think about that now.
Needless to say, I’m not in the best of moods this morning. The rest of the evening drags on just as badly. Sahara asked me to work at her new club tonight. Unfortunately, I’m running late. So I grab my things and make my way to the bus stop.
The weather is definitely not cooperating with my mood, either. My string top and short black skirt stick to my body like a wet blanket. I hate dressing like this, but the Sahara demands it. Sweat glistens over my chest and arms, and my hair is sticking to my neck like a vine. I don’t think I’ve ever been so miserable in my life.
My bus shows up half an hour late. Of course, that’s how my night would go. Sahara is tapping her foot impatiently by the time I walk through the door. “You’re late. Where have you been, Zoe?” I rush up to her, gasping from fatigue. “Sorry, Sahara. My bus was late.” She raises her palm up, interrupting my explanation. “Whatever.” She snaps her fingers to someone behind me and yells out, “Christoph!” A delicate young man with pale skin and bleached blond hair hurries forward. He’s wearing a black suit with a white bowtie. “Yes, Sahara.” He says with a melodic voice. Sahara gestures to me with a disgusted sneer. “This is Zoe. She’s here to serve drinks in the ring. Get her ready and send her to the back as soon as possible.” Before I can ask what she means about getting me ready, she turns around and walks away. Christoph turns to me with a wide smile. “Hello there. Come with me.” I follow behind him as he makes his way past the bar.
We eventually come to a stop when we get to the women’s locker room. Christoph moves forward, opens a locker, and takes something out of it. “Here.” He says, handing me a small piece of sheer material. I look at the material in surprise and almost faint when I realize it’s some kind of see-through, short, black toga. I extend it over my hands and turn it over. It’s most definitely sheer. I look up at an expectant Christoph. “Um…what’s this?” He raises an eyebrow suggestively. “It’s your uniform doll. And you can’t wear a bra with it.” Nausea collects in my throat. “Are you serious?” I ask, trying not to let my hysteria overwhelm me. It’s worse than my uniform at Dusty’s. Christoph nods. “Yes, it is. Is there a problem?”
I want to tell him that there is a problem. That there’s no way that I’m wearing this uniform, but I know it’s futile. Sahara knows, and I know that I’m at her mercy. If I refuse, I will lose my job. So I take a deep breath, grip the uniform tight, and step into the locker room’s dressing room. The toga is as revealing as I imagined. I can almost see the nubs of my nipples through the sheer fabric. I definitely regret not wearing a bra today. It’s a short halter style toga that clings to my breasts and molds to my hips. Thankfully, my body is fit from all the walking and lifting I do at work. My stomach is flat and firm, and my hips are rounded. I loosen my long hair and spread it around my shoulders in hopes of covering as much of my chest as I can. Then I turn to look at my back and grimace when I see that it plunges to the curves of my hips. I look further down and nearly vomit when I see the arcs of my ass nearly sticking out of the seam of the dress. I won’t be able to bend down in this unless I want to show someone my ass.
Christoph knocks on the door. “Knock, knock, Zoe. Are you ready?” I slip on my high heeled shoes and take a deep breath before I respond. “Yeah. I’m ready.” I step out of the dressing room and stand before him with an expectant look as he runs his gaze over me and smiles. “You’re perfect. Let’s go.” I follow behind him, trying not to cover my body self-consciously, and nearly turn back around when I pass by a few men who give me sly winks.
Thankfully, we finally make it to the gladiator ring. He walks up to the bar and hands me a tray with champagne flutes, and says. “It’s a big night tonight. Sahara is introducing her new fighter. All you will need to do is, make sure that everyone gets a drink. Most of them are big spenders, so make sure that their glasses are always full. Any tips you get, you keep. We expect you to be as hospitable as you can. Therefore, if they get a little-overexcited, let Doug…” He says, pointing to a big burly bouncer near the door. The bouncer is the same one from the night before. His bald head shines under the light, and his face looks harsher. “…know, and he will take care of it. Do not insult the customers. Try to let them down gently. Any questions?” He asks expectantly.
I look around the ring, hoping to see him, but he’s not there yet. From what I gather from my conversation with Sahara the night before, Azazel is the new champion she’s going to introduce. I bite my lip feeling anticipation at the thought of seeing him again. Then I remember the woman who ran to him, and my excitement dims. Unaware of my train of thought, Christoph gently shoves me towards the waiting crowd. At first, I’m a little nervous, but then I see all of the other waitresses are wearing the same thing and relax.
Within an hour, my confidence is restored. I have to rebuff a few strong advances, but it’s nothing I haven’t handled before. It’s after midnight when the announcer stands up in the middle of the ring to announce the club’s new gladiator. I lay my tray down and move to a shadowed corner of the room to watch Azazel walk into the ring. He’s wearing black leather pants and combat boots. His honey chest is completely bare, except for his tattoos. There’s a long gleaming sword in his hand and a shield in the other. His golden hair curls becomingly around his ears. He looks like a modern era gladiator.
His opponent is not nearly as impressive in the looks department. He’s big and muscled with a beat-up face. Azazel looks like a gorgeous fallen angel next to him. Hell, Azazel will always stand out no matter who he stands next to. It’s just something magnetic about him. The battle begins. Both men are very skilled. Their bodies clash like two mighty warriors. I flinch every time the other man’s sword brushes Azazel.
It looks like a close call until Azazel knocks the man down and disarms him. It’s like watching a beautiful, graceful but deadly dance. The crowd erupts into loud cheers and chant his name in homage as Azazel gives a humble bow and steps out of the ring. He’s almost past the crowd when his eyes meet mine. At first, I think he’s going to walk up to me, but then he shakes his head and continues to walk towards Sahara’s table.
My shoulders deflate from the tension that I didn’t know I was holding in. I feel almost defeated. Tears gather in my eyes as I look around the room to see if anyone has noticed his obvious snub. But everyone is drinking and celebrating Azazel’s win. I’m the one who is feeling a painful knot in her stomach. I feel like such an idiot.
I turn startled when a hand lands on my shoulder. “There you are. Can you take this to Sahara’s table? All of the other girls are busy, and I have to run to the back for a few bottles of whiskey.” Before I can decline, Christoph hands me the tray and steps around me. I look down at the tray, feeling trepidation. I don’t understand why I feel so crushed. He and I barely spoke to each other. I know I’m being stupid. Mustering up all the courage I can, I straighten my shoulders and make my way to the table. Sahara is once again sitting in the middle of the table, playing court to her people. There are at least five men sitting around her. I have to snicker at the thought that John has no clue what Sahara does when she’s not home. I’d like to think that it’s poetic justice.
She’s wearing a long sheer golden gown that molds to her body from head to toe. There are what looks like heartshaped pasties covering her bits and pieces, and her long red hair is down to her waist. She looks beautifully wicked. Azazel is carelessly slumped next to her with a bored look. He looks like a young boy as he does something on his cell phone. He’s probably sexting his girlfriend.
Damn me if that does not depress me a little. Trying to distract myself from thoughts of Azazel, I look around the table and almost stumble when my eyes catch sight of the man next to him. I have to correct my statement from earlier. Perhaps there is one man that can compete with Azazel in the looks department. The man is tall, muscled with pitch-black hair, crystalline eyes, and firm lips. He’s eerily striking with long lashes, arched brows, and razor-sharp cheekbones. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and pants that mold perfectly to his muscled body. Like Azazel, he has this aura of mystery and magnetism around him. He also looks bored as he keeps his eyes straight ahead.
I look at the other men to find that they are average looking. There are two men in designer suits across from her, and another that I assume is a gladiator is sitting on her other side. He’s in obviously good shape but also average in appearance.
I step in front of the table with a generic grin and think about using my best hostess voice. “Good evening, everyone. Here is your champagne Sahara.” I say charmingly as I place a flute in front of her. The men in suits sit up with sly smiles and bump elbows. Azazel freezes, and the gorgeous man next to him narrows his eyes at me. As careful as I can, I reach for one of the drinks and extend it. “I have a bourbon on the rocks.” One of the men in the suits raises his hand with a leer. “That would be me, honey.” I move towards his side and rest the glass on the table. Then I turn to the other man and flirtatiously grin. “You have to be the one who ordered gin and vodka.” The man smiles and nods as he runs his lecherous eyes over my nearly bare breasts. “Oh yeah, baby, that’s me. Thanks.” He says with a lascivious growl. I wince when I feel a warm hand rest against my ass and squeezes it painfully. But I keep my cool and extricate myself without incident.
As I’m placing three dry whiskey shots in front of Azazel and the other two men, Azazel gives me a harsh glare before he throws back the drink. I’m about to turn to leave when one of the men in suits pulls me into his lap. My back stiffens as his hand makes its way up my thigh. Sahara simply sits there, pretending that I’m not being assaulted. It’s almost infuriating. I gaze at her in hopes that she’ll stop him, but she simply laughs and takes a sip of her champagne. “I should go,” I say as calmly as I can, but he simply laughs, pulls me closer, and slurs out drunkenly. “Oh, come on, baby, stay.”
My chin trembles. I don’t know what to do. Thankfully, the decision is taken off my hands when Azazel stands up and sets his glass down with a loud thump. “Perhaps you should let the lady get back to work, mate. She doesn’t look too comfortable.” The man’s lips flatten into a tight line as he speaks to Sahara. “Sahara darling. You should talk to your fighters and inform him that he is here to be seen and not heard.” Sahara’s face heats as she turns to Azazel. But Azazel is not intimidated. Instead, he steps towards us and offers me his hand. “Get up, luv.” I hesitate before I take his hand and make to rise, but the man does not release me.
Azazel narrows his eyes, looks beyond me to the man and says through gritted teeth. “Sahara, tell this wanker to let the girl go before I rip his bleeding head off.” Sahara is about to reply when the other gorgeous man rises from his own seat, pulls out a knife and places it under the other man’s chin. The table goes quiet then. You can almost hear a pin drop at the look of anticipation of what will happen next. The suited man’s partner grimaces and tries to defuse the situation. “Let the lady go, Brady. You’re being rude to our hostess.” Brady's eyes go wide with horror as if now realizing that he doesn’t have the upper hand and releases me. I stumble into Azazel’s arms clumsily and turn back to the man. His face is pale, and his eyes are bulging. Thankfully, the knife is no longer pointed at his throat.
I stay in Azazel’s arms a moment longer, enjoying the solid feel of his male chest. Seeing that things are getting out of control, Sahara rises from her chair with a loud scraping sound and coldly utters. “Boys, please. It looks like Zoe is fine. Azazel dear, why don't we put this silly moment behind us and get back to business.”
Azazel doesn't answer. He simply stands there looking wildly intense as he glares at my aggressor. The gorgeous man with the knife places his hand on Azazel's shoulder and gives him an intense look as if silently communicating something. After a second, Azazel gives him an imperceptible nod and turns back to the men, completely forgetting my presence. His face relaxes into a charming grin, and he backs away. A hollow feeling forms inside me when he releases me from his grip. It's almost like I'm missing a limb. Azazel goes back to his seat, places his arm around Sahara’s shoulder, and states with a grim look. “Apologies, sir. I'm sure you meant no harm to the lady. I guess I got a little overzealous.”
The man rubs his hand over his throat with chagrin and utters. “Please don’t; I should be the one apologizing.” He turns to me with a wrathful glare and mutters, “Please pardon my behavior. I guess I had more to drink than I thought.”
Unable to respond, I nod my head and step away from them. I almost gape in shock when the conversation resumes as if nothing happened. I guess I’ve been dismissed.
A bereft feeling overwhelms me as I turn my gaze to Azazel. He doesn't look at me. It’s as if I never existed. Picking up my tattered dignity, I turn around and walk away.
Thankfully, Christoph does not send me back with more drinks, so I’m able to avoid the table for the rest of the night.
Unfortunately, my respite is short-lived. I'm walking out the door when Sahara stops me in the parking lot. She grips my elbow tightly and roughly ushers me to her car. Before I can say a word, she extends her hand and strikes me hard across the face. My head snaps back from the impact, and my cheek throbs and stings painfully. But I don't cry. That’s one pleasure I will never give her.
“How dare you humiliate me like that?” Sahara squeals out heatedly. “Those men were investors, and you almost made me lose a client with your stupidity. You’re lucky those men didn't take real offense, or you’d be out of a job and living out in the streets. Let this be the first and last time you shame me in that way. Do you understand?” I bow my head in submission and nod in agreement.
This seems to appease Sahara because she sniffs loudly and walks to her waiting vehicle without another reproof. I don't know how long I stand there, seething with anger. I wish I could have slapped her back and told her to go to hell. But I'm at her mercy, and Sahara knows it.
Rubbing my stinging cheek, I step out into the street and make my way to the bus stop. I stifle a cry of alarm when a shadow appears before me. It's Azazel. He stands before me and runs his gaze over me in concern, then lifts his hand and strokes his finger over my injured cheek.
“That looks painful, luv. Are you alright?” My throat goes dry as I try to respond, but no sound comes out. As if understanding my confusion, Azazel moves closer, places his hand around my waist, pulls me close, and mutters. “I'm sorry I didn't check on you beforehand. I get the feeling that you and Sahara are not on good terms and that if I showed some interest, she would make things worse.”
I don’t know where I find the courage. Suddenly, I run my palms up his covered chest and whisper. “It's okay. I didn't thank you for helping me, so I guess we're even.” He licks his lips and tilts his head in contemplation. “Did he hurt you?” I shake my head, never taking my eyes from his. “No, he just scared me a little. Why…?” I stammer out. “…why did you help me? I mean, Sahara could have fired you.”
He snarls at me with disbelief then backs me into a nearby SUV. A gasp of surprise escapes my lips when he pushes me gently into the vehicle’s door. My breath hitches at his proximity as Azazel leans his arms over my head and looms over me with an intimidating glare. “Call me old-fashioned, luv. But I'm of the mind that men should treat women with respect. What kind of git would I be if I had simply sat there and watched that man molest you?”
I feel shame surge inside me at his words. I'm such a bitch. I can’t believe I asked him that. His jaw hardens as he makes to pull away, but I don't let him. Instead, I sift my fingers through his silken hair and press my mouth to his.
He stiffens at first. But then, as if a floodgate of emotion explodes, he wraps his arms tightly around me and kisses me hard. Our tongues entwine invitingly, and our bodies lock thigh- to- thigh. We both moan in unison at the pleasurable feel of the kiss. A heady feeling engulfs me as I taste the tangy flavor of alcohol on his tongue. My body throbs painfully at the feel of his chest and hips grinding firmly into mine.
His hand moves up my waist and rests on my shoulder. The string of my top slips down my shoulder to pool around my breasts and my nipples bead as they rub enticingly over his muscled chest. A tingle of heat moves through my nipples until it sparks inside my needy womb. I want this man. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, and it scares me.
We’re out of control at this point. Our bodies strain and our mouths feast greedily on each other. Lowering my hands down Azazel’s chest, I slide my hands under his shirt and sigh with pleasure. His skin is warm and tight with muscle and sinew. I want to rip our clothes off and mount him. I’ve never felt this way before. I feel like my body is ravenous after being without sustenance for so long— and he’s the feast. Our ragged breaths mingle, and our wandering hands trace every nook and sinew they can reach.
His mouth travels down my mouth to my neck, ending at the top of my breasts. My top pools down my chest to land around my waist, leaving my breasts bare. I sigh and arch my back, raise his shirt high across the unyielding bends of his stomach and chest to claw my nails sharply over it. He groans sensuously and moves down to envelope my nipple into his mouth. I close my eyes feeling an intoxicating pleasure flood my body. As he suckles over the rigid bud of my nipple, he places his hand on my thigh and lifts the skirt to my waist. All of my control slips when his hand comes to rest over my covered folds. All I can’t think about is satiating the aching fire that is simmering inside me.
Unfortunately, the moment is ruined when a loud ringing echoes through our ears. We both jump back in alarm and blink rapidly as if waking up from a dream.
We’re both standing there aroused, and our chests heave with our exertions. A sharp breeze makes me shiver with cold reminding me that my dress is down to my waist. I look down and cover my naked chest hastily, just noticing that I’m nearly naked. Embarrassment overwhelms me as I try to slip my shirt back on. I gaze over at Azazel, who looks as dazed as I feel. His mouth is swollen, and his hair is in attractive disarray. He runs his hands over his rumpled shirt and shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts. The ringing resounds again, snapping him out of his haze. Azazel looks down in surprise and reaches into his pocket. It’s his cell-phone. He looks at me again and licks his lips as if savoring the last taste before he visibly stiffens and looks down on the screen.
He loses all expression and takes a deep breath before he puts the phone back in his pocket. It must be his girlfriend. The thought is almost crippling. I can’t believe I kissed a taken man. I feel like such a slut as I stand there with my arms wrapped protectively around my chest. Azazel runs his hands through his hair and lowers it to rub his kiss-swollen lips. A look of resolve shadows his eyes. “Listen, Zoe…what we just did was a mistake. I just can’t do this right now, especially with one of Sahara’s waitresses. I want to focus on my fighting skills, and I can’t afford to be distracted. I hope you can understand that.”
The color completely drains from my face. I want to rail at him for saying the one thing that is guaranteed to cut me to the core. But I don't. If there is one thing that I’ve learned in my life is never to give anyone ammunition to hurt me more. Instead, I back away and bury the pain deep in the vault with the other painful things I've endured.
“You're right, Azazel. This was just a spontaneous moment caused by the gratitude I felt over you defending me from that man. We don't even know each other like that.” I look around the empty lot and give him one last grateful smile. My cheeks hurt from feigning indifference. “Thanks for the help,” I say as casually as I can when, in reality, all I feel is gutted.
He gives me a tight smile and takes another breath. “You're welcome, Zoe. Perhaps I'll see you around?” I nod my head in compliance and start to make my way to the bus stop. I can feel his penetrating stare, but I never look back.
It's strange because what I said was true. I've only seen this man twice. And twice, I've felt a deep feeling of loss whenever we’ve parted. I imagine what my psychology teacher would say about this. Maybe something along the lines of me having developed an unhealthy infatuation with a man I barely know as a result of my abandonment issues with my father. I cringe at the mere thought.
Regardless of the inner workings of my lonely mind, I don't regret the kiss. That was the most incredible encounter I've ever had, and we didn't even get past second base. I try not to think about the dreams I've had of him before we even met. I’d like to imagine that it’s strictly coincidental.