"In Which Reality is a Delectable Case of Kism*t Bullshit"

(Pt. 3)

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2:52 PM

Encontrarse

I didn't bother to face whoever he was pointing at. My attention focused solely on the piece of intricately-carved ornament in my hand.

Tia stares at me curiously, her dark astute gaze darting from the bracelet to my stone-cold expression. "Isn't that the charm bracelet"—

"Uh-huh," I cut her off, trying not to think of  the temper tantrum I threw after I thought I lost it. We had to stay an extra half an hour behind bars for that.

I release the pent-up breath I unknowingly had, clutching the bracelet to my chest in gratitude for the small remains of luck I still had.

Emile wheezes hard, his breath rattling. "Holy Haus of Gaga*, this is destiny!"

I frown, my momentary reverie cut short. "What?"

"It's him! It's really him," he squeals, jumping up and down on his seat and pointing too enthusiastically at the stage behind me like he's about to pee.

"Who's he?" Kiana asks curiously, circling her hands and putting them on her eyes like binoculars.

"The man of my walking wet dreams," Emile sighs dreamily.

"And, mine!" Jhett pipes in, hand motioning over his mouth like a jazz hand. "Without the beard, that is. But, still hot!"

He licks his lips, resembling the textbook definition of a thirsty sex-leech.

"Well, I'll be damned!" Tia exclaims, shocked that she didn't instantly recognize him."Isn't that the hitman we stalked yesterday?"

Emile grimaces, instantly protective of his quarry, and gestures at yesterday's hitman. "Are we still hanging on to that? He's obviously not a hitman."

Jhett nods, his gaze still fixated on the man. The way he stares at him has evolved into that of a devoted cult worshiper.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I turn around to see what the hype was about.

There, on the stage, tuning his guitar was the mysterious guy from earlier. I trace every muscle of his steel-corded body with strange familiarity, a sound of possessiveness rumbling in my throat.

Unaware of his captivated crowd, he strums his guitar and starts to sing in a deep raspy timbre. Just like clockwork, he becomes cocooned in his own world.

Wait, how did I know that?!

https://youtu.be/uPxvvmlkNHw

"I had a thought, dear

However scary

About that night,

The bugs and the dirt..."

His voice resonates throughout the room — exactly like I knew it would. His long nimble fingers pluck each string with such finesse, never missing a single note of the soft melancholic tune.

I straighten my back, every note a feathery phantom caress up and down my spine and neck. I throw my head back, sinking deeply into his siren song.

I blink, eyes wide open as I feel a proverbial bucket of ice pour down over me.

No. Fucking. Way. And, just like that another piece of the puzzle was solved.

"He's like an angel with a voice for church and sex," Emile purrs, not one of them aware of the realization dawning inside of me — nor the apprehension that afflicts my very nerves.

"I'd buy a bible from him," Jhett sighs with a lovestruck expression.

"Bi-i-i-itch, this man is taking me to church... on a Saturday!" Tamieke sobs in ecstasy, his head thrown back while his body sways to the melody of the song.

But then the mysterious guitar man shifts his voice into a subtle falsetto that causes Tamieke to moan — extensively. "Oh, good Lord, give me strength! He is serving me Bon Iver-Realness!* You go sing, my angel!"

"He has such kind eyes," Kiana says with her cam positioned towards the stage, engrossed as well with the damn charmer and his godlike good looks.

Tamieke pats her shoulder in sympathy. "Chile, he's what these" — he gestures to the crowd with a sweep of his hand — "straight pussies and gay dicks squirt praises to. See that?"— he jabs his thumb at Emile and Jhett — "wet."

Yeah, it kinda does make sense for me to sleep with him now.

"I will not ask you where you came from

I will not ask, and neither should you."

Jhett startles in an unexpected jolt, clutching his abs. "Now, my ovaries are singing along with him."

"You don't have a vagina," Tia says differently.

"If he keeps on singing, I might just grow one."

"I swear that singer keeps on looking at this way," Kiana remarks behind her camera, not one to miss the opportunity to capture a moment of his ephemeral beauty.

Tamieke takes a break from his trance and snorts, head shaking in a wary manner. "More like on Ave. He practically can't keep his eyes off her."

"Well, it is Ave," Jhett nods grudgingly.

Emile rolls his eyes. "Uhh—duh, she's the only person here who obvs never heard of a comb."

I rapidly deny it with my head. "That's impossible."

There's no way he can see me here from his side of the room – especially when I'm mostly hidden in the corner.

Tamieke shoots me an incredulous look. "Which one, you never hearing of a comb or him staring at you?"

Tia cups both sides of my face. "Don't look now, but look."

She twists my head to the side, giving me no choice but to face the man I swore never to set my eyes on again. The same man whose apartment I had unceremoniously left this morning.

"Oh, shit!"

"Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips

We should just kiss like real people do..."

The faint Prussian blue spotlight from the stage drowns him in, turning his hair into a dusky silvery hue. However, nothing could cover the unquestionable icy-blue fire boring from his eyes to the back of mine.

He stumbles for a moment.  My breath, once again, catches in my throat.

I deflect my gaze from his, choosing to slink back to whatever dark oblivious cave I came from. In this case, it was either Tia's shoulder or sliding down the round booth's pillowy backrest and under the table.

I chose the first option, burying my face in the crook of Tia's shoulder.

Tia chuckles, mistaking my panic as shyness. "You do realize I can't protect you from him?"

"Ave," Emile calls out to me, "now is not the right time to play peekaboo. Reel him in for us!"

I mumble a quick 'no' into Tia's neck.

Sensing my dilemma, she pulls away. "What is it?"

I stare at her. "Don't look at him."

"We already did," she says, puzzled.

"Ugh," I communicate with my eyes, surreptitiously pointing at the man behind us and then at me. I make a ring with my fingers and spear in the middle with my other index finger.

Her eyes widen. "You mean, he's-," she squeaks, "Gorblimey!"

"Yeah," I confirm, covering my face in shame.

"He. Is. Magnificent," she chokes in between words, sounding almost hoarse while gawking at him in full view. "Well done, babes."

I turn to her, shame over and replaced by disbelief. "What?! Look again."

She did, shaking her head. "I looked again, he's really handsome. No, I was wrong. He is simply divine. I can see why there's been a sudden increase of female customers in the bistro since yesterday."

CLINK! I ignore the dollar signs rolling in her eyes and grind my teeth. "Look. Again."

She did again.

Tia licks her lips and clears her throat. "I mean, now that I think about it, he has the looks of an 80s movie star, beautiful with a perfect bone structure but not quite endowed up there"— she taps her temple. 

"I bet he makes up for that with his dick," Jhett inserts randomly, gesturing his empty mug towards my recent dick-rental.

I groan, leave it for a capitalist and a horndog to give a thorough assessment. "Joule, help me out here, buddy."

Joule, the silent one throughout this conversation, and the only other one I can count on to not be so easily swayed with perfectly chiseled features regards the guy with a serious veneer — and gags! 

He turns away, reluctant to meet my eyes. Still, the vermillion cast on his bronze face says it all."I'm sorry, Ave. But, if you don't swipe right, I will."

"He's like all the Hollywood Chrises* cloned to combine the best bits of themselves with a perfect modern Rachel cut,"* Tamieke adds.

 I peek behind me, only to meet his stare.

The promise of a confrontation was evident in those cold silvery blue jewels.

Heilige scheiße!

"What's wrong with you?" Emile probes, taking in my paling complexion.

They couldn't know. Not now. Not since they had dibs.

I refuse to be tried and put on trial by these judies!

Not to mention, seeing him again and living so close to my usual haunts goes against almost every one-nightstand rule I have with a stranger!

My hand begins to feel clammy.

"Him. Me. Him. He's... He's the guy," I mumble incoherently, forgetting how to speak in even the simplest sentence structure. I can't let them know!

I bite my lips — hard. His performance was almost over. Any minute now, he might make his way here or ambush me somewhere.

This is so not good. Every instinct compels me to do one — and only one — thing to do. I have to get out of here. Now!

· · ·

Another chapter finally posted!

It just occurred to me that I never did ask any of you if you have any questions. 

And so, in this momentous revelation, I will be answering some of your questions. Your questions can be anything. It could be about my story, my life, or maybe some advice or opinion you want to know.

Just leave your questions in the comment section below. 

Also, don't forget to vote and share!

Have a good day/evening, everyone!

P.S. Scroll down below for a very short sneak-peek of my next chapter: "In Which Reality Is Not in the Slightest a Meet-Cute Moment"

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PLAYLIST

Like Real People Do — Hozier

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*[F/N]*

Haus of Gaga —  the name used by Lady Gaga to describe her behind-the-scenes creative team. The name is inspired by the German "Bauhaus" which she told in an interview in Germany and a play on the word "House" used by famous fashion brands.

Bon Iver-Realness! — Bon Iver is an American indie-folk band founded in 2006 by singer-songwriter Justin Vernon whose voice is known for his deep gritty timbres and dulcet falsetto. Realness (Drag slang)  is the ability to embody the truest version of something or someone, usually when referring to the opposite sex.

Hollywood Chrises — a term given to Chris Evans, Chris Hemsworth, Chris Pine, and Chris Pratt for their acting and indistinguishable facial features. Evans, Hemsworth, Pine, and Pratt all were, at one point, leading stars of blockbuster hits.

Modern Rachel Cut — a hairstyle known for its face-framing flick. The O.G. Rachel Cut (as famously worn by Jennifer Aniston) was much shorter (shoulder-length) and styled with maximum volume and hairspray (think piece-y), the modern version is slightly longer, softer, and has more movement

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SNEAK PEEK: 

"It's not often that I fall asleep with a woman in my arms and wake up to an empty bed."

I fought myself not to roll my eyes at the unmistakable signs of aggressive masculinity behind his words.

"Really? Wow, you have no idea how deeply — immensely — inconvenienced I am to leave such a pivotal mark in your sex life! But, just in case you don't know or are not aware of it, we have this thing where women are capable of leaving early, too" — I distinctly slide my gaze down his male junk — "Just as men are capable of finishing too soon."

He shrugs a muscular shoulder. Clearly, his self-confidence was too high for my snide remark to bother him.

But, not high enough.

"It made me think I did something wrong," he confesses, his gaze piercing me.

I raise a brow. Turning the tables now, aren't we?

I snort. "Don't think so highly of yourself. Let me set it straight in a way you can understand. You"— I jut my chin —"parked your boner in my garage for the night, and I — I flutter my eyelashes — "simply checked you out. You're welcome. See? It's not that hard to say it."

He tilts his head in a sardonic manner, a mocking half-smile stretches on his lips.

"I'll admit, men have a tendency to prefer sex than the emotional intimacy right after," he goes back to staring at me again, my body exposed to his eagle-eyed perusal.

My eyebrow twitches.

He releases a deep inaudible sigh. "But, it's rare to find a woman who shares the same sentiments."

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Copyright © 2017 Lei André