Just Tryst:
~La Chat Noir. The neon sign flashed the name into the blackness of the night. Greens, reds, pinks, blues; topped by a large pair of animated cat's eyes; irises colored bright gold, they blinked randomly over the edge of a giant martini glass. Tryst closed her eyes against this electrified assault, but her fragile and bruised lids failed to shut out the garrish display.
She still sat in the front seat of her car, as she had been for the better part of an hour. Hands still gripping the steering wheel, white knuckled, the palms slicked with sweat; trying to find the shreds of her tattered courage. She knew she should go in, try to pick up the threads of her life as it had been. But there was no doing that, even as she tried to coax herself to open the car door, move her feet; in the back of her mind was the goading, mocking voice. He's gone, he's gone, he's gone...and.he.will.never.be.back.
At that moment Tryst fought down the overwhelming urge to slam the car into drive, screech her tires as she peeled out from the parking lot, and drive over the nearest avaiable ledge. Death would be so much easier, so much more peaceful. And then out of the corner of her eye she caught movement. Someone entering the club by the side door. Black suit, white shirt, cigarette jammed jauntily into a corner of that sardonic grin; Dark hair that looked as if it hadn't seen a comb as long as it had topped the head it currently occupied.
How cruel the mind could be. It played tricks with pain and heartache, cackling gleefully when hopes rose and then were dashed upon the jagged and windswept cliffs of dispair.
Tryst's eyes clung to that visage with more interest then she had shown in anything in the two months since regaining her senses (such as they were). Even her pale and drawn face hinted at the beauty it once held, her cheeks flushing slightly, a hint of color returning to her sallow skin. Small hands flew from the steering wheel to clutch at the base of her throat. Clawing, leaving small red welts and scratches, as if she sought to free a name that had lodged stubbornly within that slender passage. He was moving away, heading inside! If she didn't do something he would be gone!
The car door was flung wide, banging against the body, chipping the paint and leaving a dent. The woman inside scrambled out and nearly cashed to the gravel of the parking lot. Finally she found her feet, her head turning frantically this way and that. The dark ribbons of her unruly hair flogging her cheeks. Medusa reborn, risen from myth and mystery, ebon snakes hissing and writhing about her goddess cursed face.
God damn it woman, scream! Still her hands shredded her throat, clawing frantically, seeking to release the one name that could free her from this earthbound hell!~
"Nat"!!!
~The cry of a damned soul calling into the careless night. Begging, crumpling to her knees, pleading for redemption and the arms of her savior to carry her away. Take her from this death in life and deliver a kiss of salvation and love to her cold, unfeeling lips.
He turned, and for one moment more she could sustain the illusion. The gold light from the neon sign in back of her caught in his gaze and a thousand golden suns rose in her cimmerian abyss.~
"Nat"...
And even as the last letter faded from her lips...even then she knew. It was not Nat, didn't resemble him at all. Bitter gaul rose from the depths of her soul and spewed dispair on the gravel before her. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her once again sallow cheeks. The agony tore at her with fresh teeth and claws, ripping her fragile frame anew. Leaving her weak, spent, without hope, without life, without...Him.~
"Hey, Lady, what the hell ya doing there. You okay?"
~The voice was gruff, uneducated and without one note of genuine concern. He felt obligated to ask, but was all too eager to just leave this wreck of a woman in her puddle of vomit and be off about his business.
Tryst had enough pride left, just enough, to raise herself to a sitting position and scrub uselessly at her soiled cheek and clothes. Dead grey eyes, those very eyes that used to hold a million moons and stars above a storm tossed sea, looked at him with something that was closely akin to hate.
She hated him for reasons that were beyond his control. The first and foremost of which was, he was not Nat, had never been Nat, could never be Nat and how dare he try to fool her into thinking he was! It was a very good thing for the reluctant hero standing before her, that Tryst did not have her gun. That cracked, dead pool gaze of her's fell right at crotch level. It wouldn't have been the first time she had blown some would be stud's balls off for affronting her delicate sensibilities.~
"I'm fine"
~Such a fucking lie! But what else could she do? He was shifting from foot to foot, anxious to get into the club and get drunk. Anxious to leave the presence of this woman, who sat on the ground like a tattered and soulless skeleton. And let's tell the truth boys and girls, he was more than a little frightend when he got a good look at her eyes.~
"You sure, lady, cause I could like, get some help from the club. yeah, I could do that!"
~He clung to that last idea like a downing man going for a life preserver that was floating just out of his reach. The fear in his voice made a corner of Tryst's mouth twist into an unlovely grimace. Only adding to the desolation of her gaze and demeanor. His feet started moving before the last word had left his lips. More running than walking toward the side door of the club.The hollow sound of her dead laughter following him on the wake of the night. Spuring him to move his fat ass probably faster than he had in years. His fingers were coated with sweat and he swore brilliantly as he tried to thumb the latch that would open the door and deliver him into the sweet safety of the smoke filled room beyond that golden portal.
Once again she was alone. Once again hopeless. She sat there, a pool of rancid vomit congealing beside her...laughing. Every sound of her was tinged with madness. And her eyes were only a horrible reminder of what they had once been. In the last of her extreme she lowered her head and cried. Bitter tears that burned her cheeks as they flowed from her in an uninterrupted torrent. There was nothing left for her in this life, nothing. What was she doing here, here in this place where a bullet shattered her heart and soul and cruelly, left her alive. Where all that mattered to her ended the moment his strong arms lowered her to the floor and left her there without his warmth and protection. Her life's blood running in red rivers out onto the parkay floor as the black tide of unconciouness closed above her head.
The neon sign was an uncaring witness to this scene. And the crickets buzzed in unison with the low thrum of electricity that kept it alive.~
"What the fuck am I doing here?"
~Hissed from between lips that were drawn to a thin hateful line. She gained her knees and crawled back to her car, struggling to get into the drivers seat. Finally she shoved the keys into the ignition, her hand trying to gain purchase on them to turn the motor over. Perhaps fortunately for her, her hands were wet with the bile of her churned stomach and tears. Trembling fingers slipped from the metal over and over again. Foul language flowed from her in a stream of obsenities that would have made a sailor proud. She pounded the steering wheel in utter and complete frustration...Feet angerily kicking at the useless gas and brake pedals. Within the storm of her tantrum, her wet hands slipped on the wheel and her head banged foreward with a loud, THUMP.
There was peace once again, blessed darkness, his visage appeared before her. His arms opened, beckoned her to come to him...to leave her life behind...
And as she lay there. Her face turned toward the uncaring gilt of the neon sign above her. Her lips, once again soft and full, whispered a name...one word, eight letters. All of her heart and soul in them.~
"Preacher".
~Her countenance was beautiful in it's repose. With the lids drawn over her hellish gaze, the hateful lines smoothed out as her soul deep hurt and broken heart receded into the black mist that overtook her. For now, peace belonged to her tortured spirit. For now she could rest. For now...until she was forced to open her eyes and re-enter the world.~
Thus does the story of Tryst re-open.
She still sat in the front seat of her car, as she had been for the better part of an hour. Hands still gripping the steering wheel, white knuckled, the palms slicked with sweat; trying to find the shreds of her tattered courage. She knew she should go in, try to pick up the threads of her life as it had been. But there was no doing that, even as she tried to coax herself to open the car door, move her feet; in the back of her mind was the goading, mocking voice. He's gone, he's gone, he's gone...and.he.will.never.be.back.
At that moment Tryst fought down the overwhelming urge to slam the car into drive, screech her tires as she peeled out from the parking lot, and drive over the nearest avaiable ledge. Death would be so much easier, so much more peaceful. And then out of the corner of her eye she caught movement. Someone entering the club by the side door. Black suit, white shirt, cigarette jammed jauntily into a corner of that sardonic grin; Dark hair that looked as if it hadn't seen a comb as long as it had topped the head it currently occupied.
How cruel the mind could be. It played tricks with pain and heartache, cackling gleefully when hopes rose and then were dashed upon the jagged and windswept cliffs of dispair.
Tryst's eyes clung to that visage with more interest then she had shown in anything in the two months since regaining her senses (such as they were). Even her pale and drawn face hinted at the beauty it once held, her cheeks flushing slightly, a hint of color returning to her sallow skin. Small hands flew from the steering wheel to clutch at the base of her throat. Clawing, leaving small red welts and scratches, as if she sought to free a name that had lodged stubbornly within that slender passage. He was moving away, heading inside! If she didn't do something he would be gone!
The car door was flung wide, banging against the body, chipping the paint and leaving a dent. The woman inside scrambled out and nearly cashed to the gravel of the parking lot. Finally she found her feet, her head turning frantically this way and that. The dark ribbons of her unruly hair flogging her cheeks. Medusa reborn, risen from myth and mystery, ebon snakes hissing and writhing about her goddess cursed face.
God damn it woman, scream! Still her hands shredded her throat, clawing frantically, seeking to release the one name that could free her from this earthbound hell!~
"Nat"!!!
~The cry of a damned soul calling into the careless night. Begging, crumpling to her knees, pleading for redemption and the arms of her savior to carry her away. Take her from this death in life and deliver a kiss of salvation and love to her cold, unfeeling lips.
He turned, and for one moment more she could sustain the illusion. The gold light from the neon sign in back of her caught in his gaze and a thousand golden suns rose in her cimmerian abyss.~
"Nat"...
And even as the last letter faded from her lips...even then she knew. It was not Nat, didn't resemble him at all. Bitter gaul rose from the depths of her soul and spewed dispair on the gravel before her. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her once again sallow cheeks. The agony tore at her with fresh teeth and claws, ripping her fragile frame anew. Leaving her weak, spent, without hope, without life, without...Him.~
"Hey, Lady, what the hell ya doing there. You okay?"
~The voice was gruff, uneducated and without one note of genuine concern. He felt obligated to ask, but was all too eager to just leave this wreck of a woman in her puddle of vomit and be off about his business.
Tryst had enough pride left, just enough, to raise herself to a sitting position and scrub uselessly at her soiled cheek and clothes. Dead grey eyes, those very eyes that used to hold a million moons and stars above a storm tossed sea, looked at him with something that was closely akin to hate.
She hated him for reasons that were beyond his control. The first and foremost of which was, he was not Nat, had never been Nat, could never be Nat and how dare he try to fool her into thinking he was! It was a very good thing for the reluctant hero standing before her, that Tryst did not have her gun. That cracked, dead pool gaze of her's fell right at crotch level. It wouldn't have been the first time she had blown some would be stud's balls off for affronting her delicate sensibilities.~
"I'm fine"
~Such a fucking lie! But what else could she do? He was shifting from foot to foot, anxious to get into the club and get drunk. Anxious to leave the presence of this woman, who sat on the ground like a tattered and soulless skeleton. And let's tell the truth boys and girls, he was more than a little frightend when he got a good look at her eyes.~
"You sure, lady, cause I could like, get some help from the club. yeah, I could do that!"
~He clung to that last idea like a downing man going for a life preserver that was floating just out of his reach. The fear in his voice made a corner of Tryst's mouth twist into an unlovely grimace. Only adding to the desolation of her gaze and demeanor. His feet started moving before the last word had left his lips. More running than walking toward the side door of the club.The hollow sound of her dead laughter following him on the wake of the night. Spuring him to move his fat ass probably faster than he had in years. His fingers were coated with sweat and he swore brilliantly as he tried to thumb the latch that would open the door and deliver him into the sweet safety of the smoke filled room beyond that golden portal.
Once again she was alone. Once again hopeless. She sat there, a pool of rancid vomit congealing beside her...laughing. Every sound of her was tinged with madness. And her eyes were only a horrible reminder of what they had once been. In the last of her extreme she lowered her head and cried. Bitter tears that burned her cheeks as they flowed from her in an uninterrupted torrent. There was nothing left for her in this life, nothing. What was she doing here, here in this place where a bullet shattered her heart and soul and cruelly, left her alive. Where all that mattered to her ended the moment his strong arms lowered her to the floor and left her there without his warmth and protection. Her life's blood running in red rivers out onto the parkay floor as the black tide of unconciouness closed above her head.
The neon sign was an uncaring witness to this scene. And the crickets buzzed in unison with the low thrum of electricity that kept it alive.~
"What the fuck am I doing here?"
~Hissed from between lips that were drawn to a thin hateful line. She gained her knees and crawled back to her car, struggling to get into the drivers seat. Finally she shoved the keys into the ignition, her hand trying to gain purchase on them to turn the motor over. Perhaps fortunately for her, her hands were wet with the bile of her churned stomach and tears. Trembling fingers slipped from the metal over and over again. Foul language flowed from her in a stream of obsenities that would have made a sailor proud. She pounded the steering wheel in utter and complete frustration...Feet angerily kicking at the useless gas and brake pedals. Within the storm of her tantrum, her wet hands slipped on the wheel and her head banged foreward with a loud, THUMP.
There was peace once again, blessed darkness, his visage appeared before her. His arms opened, beckoned her to come to him...to leave her life behind...
And as she lay there. Her face turned toward the uncaring gilt of the neon sign above her. Her lips, once again soft and full, whispered a name...one word, eight letters. All of her heart and soul in them.~
"Preacher".
~Her countenance was beautiful in it's repose. With the lids drawn over her hellish gaze, the hateful lines smoothed out as her soul deep hurt and broken heart receded into the black mist that overtook her. For now, peace belonged to her tortured spirit. For now she could rest. For now...until she was forced to open her eyes and re-enter the world.~
Thus does the story of Tryst re-open.