Chapter Two

I follow her to the bar, where some people sit and chat, and others enjoy their solitude with a drink of their choice. No one notices us there, as if the alcohol is the main attraction and not the rest. I concentrate on Jessie's silhouette, outlined by the bright reflection of the combination of the vivid exterior lighting and the purely mysterious interior lighting, and I cannot see exactly what is in front of me. I feel the alcoholic aroma and smell of printed money penetrate my nostrils, I feel dizzy, but the sensation causes me to blink numbly.

My vision is blurred, not because of the warning of fainting, but because there is no longer a specific focus, everything is new and seductive at the same time, there was a time when I used to reproach myself for feeling this way. I see the blurred back of a male figure, the black jacket covering the tall figure standing alone. I can't see his face, but his hair is all gray and shiny, touching the back of his neck in the dim light. The man stands, his movements decisive but elegant. In his right hand are a few dollar bills, his fingers leaving them on the counter like wet and useless papers. I hear those lips utter a single word in a foreign language I can't hear very well, but the voice is deep and hoarse, and it is enough to make my mouth dry.

The figure turns with the clear intention of leaving the place, his face a mere blur as I don't take my eyes off his hands, there is something confident or even indifferent about his steps that makes me stop. The man's footsteps move toward me and I suddenly realize that I am an obstacle in his path. Notes of masculine scent and whiskey quicken my perception, giving me the ability to notice the casually open jacket and a white shirt, oh my, two undone buttons were enough for me to see a few hairs on his chest. His shoulder bumps into mine, the rude act waking me from the illusory fantasy I believed possible.

He doesn't say a word, the silence of this figure is a message to me, but I refuse to accept it. I feel anger and all I do is turn my head towards him, I see the tall silhouette in his urgency, the black jacket moving with his steps. I don't give in.

"Excuse me?" My voice leaves my lips, loaded with cynicism and a small rebuke. The man stops, his head partially turning until I can see the presence of a well-groomed beard and trimmed mustache. "There's plenty of room in this bar, don't you think?"

"Yes, but you seemed to want it all to yourself." He finally turns, his reaction not exactly what I had imagined. His body moves, the steps coming slowly to me, though it didn't take much on his part. I see white skin, and expression lines that indicate years of hard expressions like the one he was making now. He was cold and in a way rude, I imagined that whatever his lifestyle, he was sure to be in the place of power. His height intimidated me, as did his deep voice and slight accent, he was pure ice. My irises are confused as to where to look directly, but I see the gray of his eyes, a great focus.

"Maybe people like you think they are the only ones who can have everything for themselves. Does it scare you to be thwarted?" I bite my tongue in satisfaction, feeling the power burning inside me. Anger is no longer the main driver of my mind, but the mixture of it and the fire I feel touching every part of my body makes me dangerous and out of my comfort zone. Maybe it is this place, maybe it is me, or maybe it is all because of this man. I notice that his face remains hard, but a deep breath leaves his nostrils and warms me. I feel too close to him and find myself madly free. My red lips open wide for air, my stomach swaying in a mixture of pleasure and rage.

"No. It just makes me cruel sometimes." My eyelids blink slowly in response. The hoarse words come out naturally with the force of his second intent. Other men would say something like that with a triumphant smile on their lips, but this man had said it with the seriousness of one who was speaking about an undeniable fact. His face was like stone and ice, his eyes were as cold as cloudy days and as intense as thunder, and everything about him was bigger, he was powerful, but not in the way younger men boasted and made a part of it, in him there was a mystery and the seriousness of one who knew the power he had. Something in me wondered how he would be able to wield his power without asking too much. I may have gone many seconds without a concrete answer, for his second sentence was as surprising as the first. "Come."

His arm does not touch mine this time, but I feel the friction of his cloth against my bare shoulder. I follow him with my eyes, following his steps to the other end of the bar. He seemed to be in his comfort zone and that made me want to be as safe as he was. Maybe I already was. I feel curious but angry. Curiosity is sometimes stronger than anything else, that was the case.

I look away from him to Jessie, who looks at me with a doubtful expression. I point with my chin at the silhouette of the man who had already ordered two drinks, Jessie notices him and her eyes widen with a surprised and malicious expression, she seemed to be gesturing at me, which somehow worked. I sat down next to the man, noticing now in a brighter light his broad shoulders and lean but strong silhouette. His hands were white and had small sunspots that showed his maturity, but there were silver rings on his strong and long fingers, large and calloused from the repetition of manual labor at some point in his life. A bottle of dry, refined red wine is served to us at the same moment I wake from my reverie, I deeply hoped he hadn't noticed.

"So that's it? Wine in exchange for my forgiveness, it would be more practical to apologize than to enjoy my company." I say this but pour myself a glass, the deep, strong gulp of alcohol scraping down my throat. I close my eyes and get used to the taste. My eyelids open and I notice those gray eyes watching me as if I were a curious relic. I lower my shoulders and return the same gaze to his face, the masculinity of his features urging me to endure my analysis. He doesn't seem moved.

"You don't like dry wine." His voice is low, an affirmation on his lips.

"I want to learn to like it." I run the tip of my tongue over my lower lip, sipping the poison from the goblet I left there.

"What else do you want to learn to like?" God, his eyes were penetrating, intense, as if they wanted to see my inner nakedness, to expose my soul. I stare at him hypnotized, with purple desire and lust rising in my belly. I long to breathe, every word from that cursed mouth a test of my sanity. I take a long sip from the cup, knowing full well that this is not the best way to taste wine, but the warmth of the alcohol embraces me like a confidant.

"I have experience in wanting to learn to like things, but sometimes I can't, or I go too far. That is my sad truth." My words flowed out like honey, easily, I feel I took the direction of the conversation to a side that was not his intention or the intention of this place. Everything in me was sad and deep, and that fact spoiled any attempt on the outside, any attempt on my part to finally live. I stand up before I can hear his answer and take a deep breath, a mixture of nervousness and desire. "I need a few minutes...excuse me."

I couldn't let my guard down, I couldn't rationally deal with those eyes, so I used my common sense to escape from that man, at least for that moment.