Chapter eleven: Danger Eyes

The night was slightly cold and nippy out, the leaves were browning and the sky was cloudy and greyed but with no chance of it raining, due to the dry and humid weather that came with the season. Rowland stepped out of the shower with a vague joyous pep in his body language as he was extremely ecstatic due to the past days' events.

Two weeks had past and Rowland finally had a car. Once Nick paid for the rough sketch, he thought the best way to spend his first earnings as an artist, was on a car, not truly knowing what it means to be an artist. He was so excited that he made any and every excuse to drive it; that is, until he realised the cost of gas by the gallon and figured he should take a bit more care for his wallet's sake.

And though the car was economic itself, it was a classic vintage none the less; he now drove a 1991 BMW 325i cabriolet in black. He was in love and admittedly excited for,

Rowland believed he was also almost done with his first painting prior to his mixed media art display that he has been planing for, for the longest time.

Rowland walked past his living room area, which had now been turned into a makeshift work station of his design, and paused to look at the painting to see of what he liked before, stays the way he had liked. Tilting his head a bit to supposedly change his point of view from where he stood as he thought.

It was similar to the sketch done at the poetry slam, but it was brought to life by oil based colour. As he took note of the new found philosophy based upon the colour that which Nick brought to light, staring at the 'onimino' blue that was more red based but not enough to be purple, yet a light shock blue-ocean foam white, it made him squint as it was truly more than two colours that were undefined, he didn't really mix the paints. He gazed at the impasto flower backed by a fairly dark background that he deliberately painted haphazardly to create a form of movement, which also highlighted the tiny stark white skeleton that which sat within the glass; glistening by an unknown light source. Rethinking having not completely mixed the colours and leaving streaks of the original oil paint hues in which he used;

"You uproot me from my soil to light your four walls with my colour despite how much it pains me...", he recalled the poem, he snapped out of it. But held on to that thought, knowing he could use it.

Now preparing to go out in the Autumn night, which brought with it, the dry air, chilled winds and patient zeros of the flue.

While shops and malls alike stocked candies, obscene amounts of pumpkin flavored everything in all varying sizes and stuck plastic witches on windows along with stringy tattered cotton as fake cobwebs (with added bats and spiders for maximum effort).

While others went the extra mile and completely changed the face of their stores as if it were another Christmas. That holiday being Halloween, and one thing Rowland loved about this country was their attention to detail when it came down to the holiday spirit and although it was not the holiest of holidays, it was a holiday non the less and one of Rowland's favorite; as he got all dressed up for the night's expedition.

He and Charlotte were on their way to her friend; Yaya's new club. He would rather it be called a night out, rather than a birthday present for, if it ever came down to a choice, he would have chosen a PlayStation over spending time with strangers; but, Charlotte was right about it being the only excuse to get him out of the house, not to mention now that he had a car, he himself wouldn't want to miss the fun on this day, having bought special weed specifically for this weekend.

The streets were filling up with people as Pride was as well, on the same month as Halloween. And what a month to be proud it was, as all kings and queens of psychon and drag race slayers sashayed the streets in leather, costumes of luxuriously flamboyant fashion and larger than life wigs with attitudes and gusto to match.

(finger snap.)

People of all creeds and colours flooded the streets, waving their flags of rainbow colours and

lighting the streets with life that ordinary people would make a spectacle of, a beauty that only few knew as an everyday excitement as they all made the streets theirs for the night, along with the freaks and geeks of horror and gore as they all found common ground within this candy fueled, drug pumped, day of uncensored magic.

Rowland; being more of a freaky geek, dressed as the ghost of a dead and tortured, crooked son of a preacher. Having been shot in the head twice; each time with a different weapon. (He really thought about this...)

And as Rowland gazed upon himself in a mirror attached to his bedroom cupboard while he groomed, having thought about this costume since the day he was told about the party.

Having practically thought about Halloween all year and now feeling that this was his time to shine, for Rowland has always seen it as a sort of second biggest day of his year as exciting characters come out of the wood works not excluding himself.

He did take the opportunity to dress a bit like Nick (although he wouldn't admit it), having been reminded of his Gothic, polished and tasteful sense of fashion and the colour palate of Rowland's wardrobe had changed and darkened.

Rowland tried his best to dress stylishly dark with faded torn denim jeans rolled up and folded, revealing his yellow socks with pink bananas printed on them, along with a draping shirt. Stepping out of the room with his black and white Chuck Taylors unlaced and placed a pair of squarish or rectangular rimless glasses with a dark crimson tint to the shades.

Rowland then stepped back into the room and took a second look at himself as he tied his laces and realised how universally complimentary the colour black was on him, he never bothered before with colour coordination and felt that he could start dressing up like this or that rather a bit more often.

He put on a savored cologne as he looked at himself and believed that the extra effort suited him. Rowland believes himself to be a secure man with some moral ground and so, he never cared much about how he looked or appeared to strangers although, he did make an effort at times when he felt it necessary, sometimes feeling rather over dressed. But now, he believed that he needed to adapt into Nick's circles of professionalism and to at least look the part. Or, he believed they would eat him alive; for, he didn't see himself as one to lead, he so firmly believed that, for him, setting a trend would be hard even though that was not the main reason he was doing this... He truly didn't know, he knew he had the talent but no real compelling drive.

'Most of them are just detailed doodles, I guess.' he thought.

Hoping that his lack in personality will be made up for by his art and not his reason for it. He thought as he finished fluffing his scruff yet luscious dark African hair.

And though he didn't care at all about the current trends of the present day, he still felt like an aimless sheep, for if one cannot lead, one must follow, and so he needed to adapt and become a sheep in wolves' clothing. Or a wolf plain and simply.

He walked out feeling dressed to kill if he didn't say so himself. Wearing a large black drench coat that had been sitting in the back of his cupboard for the longest time that he never knew what to wear with until now. He walked down to the parking lot while fixing the very gold cross his mother gave him as a finishing touch as he tucked it's shiny chain under his collar and wore it like a tie, swinging his car keys with one hand in his pocket.

Many passers by gave him hoots and hollers as many males and females whistled as they past the entrance of Rowland's apartment where he stood just outside the gate. One of the drag queens in a group of four; driving a soft top Mercedes Benz, momentarily slowed and started singing son of a preacher man as they honked at him. Shouting things like 'come here, sexy' and 'danger eyes' as they drove by. Not a lot of places were flashing with the lights of the Pride march and Halloween-hopped up club's road strips, but Rowland couldn't help but notice how many young people and students that which he recognized, resided within his area, and how they all brought the streets to life among many that which he didn't recognize, at least for the night before they lurched back to hiding.

'Pfft, Whatever that means.' he thought as he tried to humble himself as he unlocked his car door, swaying his body bashfully while flashing a flattered smile, taking his hat off to the ladies in the Mercedes as they drove by.

He would admit that it was all flattering to be seen in somewhat of a light, quite similar to the one that Nick seemed to constantly have on him, that Rowland couldn't comprehend.

He sometimes felt out of jealousy, that the holes in Nick's jacket were from bar fights and misplaced blunts or women trying to claw his clothes off, seeing as Rowland has come to know Nick as this glorified sex symbol.

It gave Rowland some extra incentive to further carry out the idea of him being dressed in this certain way, for, he believed that that contributed to Nick's saex. With the added bonus of finding out how comfortable it was to be seen that way, his mind was made.

Rowland didn't bother to comb or brush his afro but rather poofed it, he was actually wearing a large and lately fashionable hat that was originally worn by Amish countrymen, it was burned and torn by the edges with a faux arrow running 'through' his head by Rowland's design.

He also made a big red dot on his forehead with fake blood that ran down his face and between his green eyes, as a last minute resort as he has not acquired the specific set of skills to do make up.

With his collar popped to brace the back of his neck from the wind as he waited for Charlotte downstairs for, she knows the directions. With his camera hanging around his neck, he lit a cigarette as he stood to keep his hands busy. Neatly placing the camera on the passenger seat.

And when Charlotte finally showed up, she quickly stepped out of her car and flashed her outfit;

It was a witch costume, but the dress was rather short, with thigh high black stockings held in place by lacy waist suspenders. She was also wearing a thick black choker, with a large pointy hat and a draping black kimono with little pink cherry blossoms embroidered on it.

"Hey there, sexy.", Rowland said as they hugged, they looked fitting as two characters with one story, both wearing dark black clothing and accessories; once they hugged and greeted with a kiss:

"Damn, you look edible tonight.", Charlotte giggled whilst looking Rowland up and down and biting her lower lip, they kissed again.

The second kiss felt like a guilty pleasure for Rowland as he closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, because he, or, they hadn't really talked about what he said that Monday morning. She hadn't even mentioned it or brought it up at all,

'Is she ignoring it..?'

'No.' Rowland thought,

'I should have stayed...' he battered himself for the split second thought that had lead to all this.

But if she would be ignoring it, then it would be just as much as he was, or; as much as he wanted to. Or it was as if it had never happened;

'Maybe she didn't hear me...'

That he said he loved her...that seemed a bit unlikely. But possibly;

And yet, Rowland felt the need to chase the notion that Charlotte simply didn't hear him. Using fake calculations of vibrations and sonic interpretations of the apartment in order to stump any further investigations of the matter. Yet still, an itch about this situation quickly turned into a burning sensation as Rowland silently stood there, while Charlotte went on about something else that had happened when she was changing into her outfit before she got here; that she was probably telling him as a joke as she bubbled and giggled in his arms. But in his mind... Ever get the sense of an ending, as if something is coming to a close? Or if something is coming in general?

Time doesn't exactly slow, it doesn't exactly speed up either, but there is still a noticeable difference. It was something that he took note of.

And for some reason, the thought ate at him until he was raw and raked with the guilt of not knowing or for, what he believed as having ruined his own relationship by using that simple word, that simple yet confusing word:

A word Rowland found so puzzling at times, that it somehow felt algebraic.

You think you get it...

But no.

'Shit. Dude, talk. Say something. ' ,he pushed himself.

Now in a delusion of denial, he thought that maybe, just maybe, the door had closed just seconds before he uttered the words. Or maybe, he suddenly thought; that the door was actually closing on their relationship.

'Do I wanna know..?' ,Rowland thought, taking two steps back before he took one step forward in his mind as he couldn't turn back or stop time, he just had to find out somehow. Or never, he didn't want to decide.

"Hey, can we talk, for a sec?", Rowland pulled her close with a serious and yet patient look in his eyes, slightly tightening his hold on her as if it was the last time they would stand like this ever again. His glasses sat low and she took notice of the solemn expression behind them, the song 'Baby come Back' blasted out of a far-off car radio as people parked and tailgated while a police car siren could be heard in the background catching his ear and slightly rattling his nerves.

He couldn't figure out if it was as if warning him of something, like a siren of an immanent danger approaching, or if it was just a natural reaction to hearing a police car anywhere near by.

"Yeah, what's up?", Charlotte slightly pouted with concern. He hesitated before he spoke, his heart caramelized at the sight of that face;

"I...I just wanna- ", he started, but before he could finish his sentence, someone in the backseat of Charlotte's car rolled down their window and shouted out after her. Charlotte quickly turned her attention to whoever it was that was hidden from Rowland momentarily, not noticing anyone was there until he fixed his eyes on the bloody head of a blond haired young lady dressed as; what appeared to be a mutilated diner waitress, that which popped out of the vehicle's window and then in again.

And with that, along with a sharp head turn as her body moved in the direction of her stationary car, Rowland knew that that was all it would take for her to be out of his arms, along with the opportunity of confession or confrontation.

'You gotta be kidding me...', he thought, slouching a little as his his melted heart hardened with anxiety, he sighed.

"C'mon, let's go!", Charlotte said with excitement, Rowland saw the irony of Murphy's law, knowing very well that he had plenty of chances to ask her, plenty of chances to talk about all of his feelings about this or how she felt about it... Or didn't feel about it. The last time they spoke, all he talked to her about was that he got a car, and apart from some ego shattering jokes that she had made, they spoke no further of any other touchy subject matter. Wishing he could somehow bottle his courage.

Though Rowland felt defeated, he also decided that it was for the best and to let the thought go with her as he followed Charlotte to her car. Hoping to God that she didn't hear him, it would be better to know that she didn't lie.