12. What a Night by Rook

rook
Sat, Jan 24th – 2:10AM

Tonight couldn’t have been worse if I had tried to make it that way.

I’m not sure what happened, exactly, I honestly tried to be perfect. True, allowing the streetwalker that we had picked up to touch and caress me might not have been the wisest idea, but I made it well known that I was only interested in one thing from the young man. Tempest understood, at least I thought he did. He didn’t kill the boy, after all.

But the night still ended up in shambles. Accusations, an unconscious drunk sailor, too much expensive whiskey, and the memory of bloodstains on my lover’s chest were what I was left with when the dust settled. Oh, and I was out one ruby and 25 gold.

Settling down on my balcony, I crossed my ankles up close to my body, my arms resting upon my knees as I opened another expensive bottle of whiskey. The rain continued to trickle down steadily. My expensive Gwenethuid Silk shirt was soaked through, the black sheer fabric plastered to my chest like I had melded it out of shadows. I was trying to show off, so the Graymist garder snake skin pants were worn because they were special, and of course, now they were most likely ruined as well. Not that Tempest cared, I believe his words were, “I would rather have you naked, than in some of your clothing choices of late.” Or something like that.

I lifted the bottle of whiskey to my lips and took a sip. I let the harsh, fiery liquid trickle down my throat, and I knew that it would only make me sick were I to continue. Besides, Ravnglade seemed to have become a haven for every gay, overly depressed, drunk sonofabitch out there. Determined to never become a cliché, I upturned the bottle, letting the golden contents gush down past the edge of the balcony. The bottle gurgled for breath as it purged its contents down into the bushes. Hopefully the rain would wash it away and not allow it to murder a bush. Gods forbid I should have to dispose of a shrubbery.

Once it was empty, I passed the bottle to my other hand and then set the bottle down on its side and gave it a gentle spin. It turned, the point at the open door into my bedroom and then eventually slowed so that it pointed at me. My best friend and I used to play this game, to see who could get to kiss the pretty girls. A lifetime ago I lost him, and the pretty girls. And yet I still put the bottle on its side.

Reaching up, I touched the corner of my mask. It fell away with the contact. My jaw and throat were still sore from where Lykos had tried to tear the mask free. He would never have succeeded; his claws would have met bone before they could have scored away the mask from my face. Turning it around, I placed it down by my feet and stared at it. Drops from the sky pattered against the porcelain, some streamed down into the golden filigree. Some of the drops traveled the maze of swirls and curves and wound up at a beautiful gemstone, while others disappeared in some pit of darkness at the end of a wrong turn.

I was suddenly aware of how cold it was. I wasn’t smoking, but my breath was still caught in the air as a tiny puff of moisture. The night was dark, empty and cold. And it was how I felt inside.

Tempest had once wondered if I was one great monument to sorrow. I guess, I never thought of my existence that way before. But, I always ended up here. In the cold and empty dark. How many times I have sat on this balcony, full of destructive self-pity, and considered jumping off? Could it be I was deliberately making myself miserable?

All I knew was that if I had the chance to do one night over, it would be this night. Tomorrow Tempest would be gone, and once more I will be alone. Not that it mattered, I was already alone.

And it was then that I felt something unexpected: a flutter of thought, a caress upon my mind, and a soft footfall upon wood in the chamber behind me. Was that Tempest in my room?

Just as I turned to peek through the open door, he was there. His hand extended toward me and he said simply, “Come inside.”

Despite my half frozen body, I found a way to stand, the joy in my heart warming my body enough for it to move. He gave me this. To my cold, he was heat. To my misery, he was rapture. The ever-present red glow in his eye was a beacon leading me out of the darkness. If I was the moon, he would be the sun. And he makes me want to be whole.

His strong arms embraced me, offered me their warmth, and I felt his heart beating against my chest. The tempo was my song, for it beat for me alone.

Leaving my miseries out on the balcony, I joined my lover inside. The night could not be relived, but it could be repaired. Starting tonight, maybe, I would not be a monument to sorrow anymore.

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It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
~Marionne Williamson