EPISODE 11

'a drink or two'

LEON COULD NOT hold his drink.

The bubbly nerves that waved off him despite his impressive look - make note that Leon Song looked ridiculously good with his hair pushed back - should've been the first clue.

But after the second shot was down, the mojito he was cradling emptied out — he smiled and wound his arms around me, his neck stowed low. As if his head was barely hanging from his shoulders.

He sighed. Content.

"I'm starting to remember how alcohol is so freeing despite it being incredibly disgusting," he murmured, whispering as close to my ear as he could, his warm breath raising hairs on my shoulders and arms.

It was a very intimate moment, and if I hadn't plied myself with a couple of shots whilst nursing a rum coke, my soft heard would've melted. But my head was clearer and my heart more confident this way. Leon was not an exception from this magical bravery borne from alcoholic consumption.

Of course, with confidence borne from alcohol — this could lead to a different disaster entirely.

Me and confidence has a long standing, rocky relationship.

But I couldn't help it. I leaned into his touch, squeezed him back for assurance, then unraveled my arms and smiled, tilting my head up at him. We need safe spaces, and with this new distance, I pushed aside whatever confusion I had in my chest and instead, marvelled at Drunk Leon.

He was half a head taller with his neck craned, his eyes droopy, almost half shut, and his lips, moist and pink. No doubt from the substances and what the 35% alcohol content entailed.

I was a good drinker, but it was obvious Leon was not.

"We have to keep our heads together," I said sternly, unable to keep the grin in.

The music finished. Appreciative shouting ensued.

He tilted his head. "Pardon?"

I pulled him close, hands to his face. He shivered from the cold. "Sorry. I said we have to keep our heads together. We haven't even infiltrated the private section of the club where Cassandra is at." I turned to the enclosed booth with two bodyguards flanked on either side. Cassandra Bernault—Arjenios sat in the middle. She was crowded over with the same pretty and sparkly A-Listers, but she was not engaging with anyone. As a matter of fact, she was half bowed over her seat, her legs crossed, and her sparkly lips sipping occasionally sipping a bright green drink that hardly seemed replenish.

And yet, she was the sole focus. Though they pretend to be occupied with each other, heads bobbing to the beat, conversations bouncing across heads in half shouts and carried giggles, every single person on that table — and even those with close proximity enough to it, dancing idly just outside the distinct line, was aware of her presence.

Their eyes darted every few seconds. Every small movement she made, they took note of. Every sip, every inhale, everywhere her eyes landed whenever she wasn't having a staring contest the table, her drink, or her diamond-filled fingers. Cassandra wasn't exactly the most interesting specimen in the room by my account; she sipped, sat, and need even strayed her eyes away from her general eye view.

But they watched her; is aware of her.

"This is harder than I thought," I said, still string. We were a good few feet away, still by the bar. Truth be told, with the music and alcohol, it reminded me too much of when I sneaked out to clubs in fake IDs, heavier makeup to help it, and heels higher than my hopes and dreams. The sensations, the situation, brought memories that felt like another life. An old lifetime.

This wasn't just pre-Leon. This was pre-Quinn. Pre-my stepmother even. This was the time after my mother was gone. Not dead, not yet. But when she was locked up in the nuthouse after my father and the doctors had enough.

This was Angry Me. Lost Me. This was a Wendy I thought was buried ten feet under with my mother's decaying body.

The emotions, strange and strong, knocked me over like a tide that I gasped.

Warm hands found my exposed shoulders. I turned. Leon was there. I exhaled. He tilted his head.

"This isn't that hard."

I made a painful smile. I hope he could see it as frustration and not for all the unpleasant memories running wild in my head. "We can't even go near her."

He checked the booth with pursed lips. "True. But..." His voice drowned at the sudden spike in the beat. The crowd of dancers cheered.

"Come again?"

He gave me a look, as if a question, then held out his hand. I took it without preamble, and he pulled me closer. Then he was guiding us to the enclosed, wriggling bodies. I stumbled but he kept me upright by my elbows. "We could always let her come to us."

Cassandra was barely even noticing the people she was sitting with. She had to be seduced with something that will definitely make her want to stand, much more look. I couldn't come up with anything.

So I asked. "How?"

"Easy." He pulled me close again, closer, bringing me up to his height to whisper, "Stay here for a moment."

As he left me spinning in the middle, I called after him, "But you're drunk, you dolt!"

He was already gone. The pressed bodies enveloped me. I was confused and worried, tethering at the sudden claustrophobia. The fool was tipsy. Just as I started to push through against the writhing crowd myself, the song of heavy beats and loud drums that matched the pounding of the vibrant lights suddenly ceased — replacing a slow song. A sweet, soft beat. The heavy lights turned softer, the fast movements slowly brittled.

After a murmuring of complaints, some people left the dance floor but a few with partners stopped and began slow dancing.

At the disperse, Leon was there, standing shakily, a drunk smile on his face as he offered me a hand. One foot back, his right arm outstretched. Rings glinted as the spotlight turned white and zeroed in on him.

So much for being lowkey.

I choked down a laugh and at the thrilling of my heart. I started to shake my head, but my legs moved forward, wanting this, and accepted his hand. His palm was warm compared to mine, and he shivered again at the contact. But his grip was sure and he pulled me closer.

"You're cold," he said gently. "And you know how to dance." He fixed us into position, a standard waltz, and began leading. I followed. I know the basics but I was still baffled despite the smile stretched out on my face.

"You can't play a waltz song, a song for slow dancing, in a club. This is ridiculous."

"Whoever said that was a rule?" He giggled. Dear god he was so drunk. "There is music and lights and people dancing. It's practically a ballroom."

I snorted. "How'd you even convince the DJ to play this song?"

"I told him my name."

I reared back, but he deftly spun us around. We worked quite slow, his inhibitions compromised, but his body knew what to do. My body followed to his rhythm, completely trusting.

"You're joking," I finally choked out.

He laughed. "Of course I am. I told him Cordelia's name. Hers hold much more prestige in hotels."

"The DJ believed that?"

"No. I called the manager of course."

We stumbled a little, obviously my leading man wasn't as well adapt when his veins were swimming in alcohol. But he straightened himself, his determination almost funny, and we kept moving. Despite the shaky balance, his grip was strong and his movements were slow but swift.

"You still haven't told me what we're doing," I said after a while. He stumbled again and I sighed, pulling him close and holding him much more than he was holding me. He raised an eyebrow and I raised my own. He was getting shakier and I was getting the upper hand more and more. I didn't mind. As long as we were both upright.

"Deduce," he finally murmured. He welcomed my lead and leaned his body weight.

"Alright," I said, more aware he was slowing down. "But don't fall asleep on me."

His giggle was softer now. "Alright. Deduce, Wendy darling. Marvel me."

I was good at this, I have been learning about this. So I didn't hesitate. I let my mind wander through the natural order of my thoughts. I deduced.

"You want her to know you're here. Who you are. You want her to see you. You cause a ruckus, you make a ripple in an otherwise stagnant situation. And what's something that will catch people's attention in a club so loud and fixated in the mood? Tone down the music, play a slow song. Disrupt the setting." I turned just in time for me to watch our target disappear from the couch... and stalking towards us. "She's coming right here. Her eyes are on you."

"Us," he whispered. Then he exhaled. "Can't she walk any faster? I'm getting sleepy."

I turned to him, frowning. "You're wicked. You get drunk and leave me to pick her apart myself. Wait, wait. You got drunk intentionally, didn't you?"

He laughed. This was softer, more under his breath. Then he kissed my temple, not giving me a chance to absorb. "Not intentionally. I was trying to keep up. You're too fast for me to catch up. But it is my pleasure to watch you grow. Now, Wendy Cain." He spun me around with a strong vigour that made my head rattle. He cradled my elbows as I came face to face with an approaching model and our suspect number two.

"Deduce."

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NEXT EPISODE

EPISODE TWELVE

DAISY'S CONFESSION

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And I thank McDonald's Sweet Black in regular for helping me write this chapter that I had to cut in half. It grew to 3k of words. I will double update like a champ. My heart is still racing. I also thank my candle in the scent of Gingerbread. It helped. 

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