La Petite Mort

She'd been up since forever. Driving to the airport in the dark of night, not having slept the night before worried her alarm might not go off. Tossing in sheets tangled wet with sweat from a passing dream that she woke her to blinding terror. Late. Tearing open her closets and finding them empty. Standing there naked. So naked. So late. Driving fast. Windows half-down.

He had been sitting in this one place too long. Three empty martini glasses merged into one when he stopped to stare at them. Insomnia causes hallucinations. When you are alone in the late hours. A nightmarish music begins to play the tune of your deepest fears. Reality starts to bear the resemblance of a makeshift raft being swallowed by the ocean of an endless night. There is no escape...There is no escape...

His head swimming with the tide as the club doors slammed behind. The melting colors of neon lights were swept into storm drains like blackholes. He smudged the black hair away from his sunken eyes and raised the collar of the leather jacket as he made his way down the main drag. A cigarette pack and matches tucked into the back pocket of his blue jeans. Despite the weather, people were huddled around corner blocks swarming bars taking hotspot tourist pictures around the city.

He needed to find a quiet place. Somewhere dark to simulate sleep. Ravaged by anxiety cradling its head like a hydra in the lap of his mind. Every thought rationalized away returned with countless others bearing every catastrophic consequence imaginable. A ball of ambiguous fear clutched his heart with poisonous claws.

Up ahead, through an alleyway home to stray cats, dumpsters, and fire escape stairs dangling above where the stars should be a small hotel appeared. Its sign shimmering: The Golden Fleece. He opened the heavy oak doors and walked to the bar.

The flights long, the whole day wrong. Arriving late, her brain left in a different time zone. She unpacked undressed took a quick shower. Catching a glimpse in the steamed-up mirror. Bright fluorescent lighting. Her face tired. Lines forming around her eyes and lips. Her body fallen dimpled. The bed unyielding. She knew immediately sleep would not come.

She got up and tugged herself back into Spanx and an uplift bra, black pantyhose, the slim skirt, white blouse top buttons undone, Herm scarf draped over her shoulders. Her favorite. The one with golden lionesses preying on badgers. Foundation to smooth her sagging cheeks. Lips glossed. A triple layer of mascara. A touch of blue powder on her worn lids. She had pulled it together, she always did, always could.

Down the hallway to the elevator emerging in the lobby. Heels clicking on the polished tiles she turned quickly into the dark familiarity of the bar. Without looking around, she walked straight to a stool in the middle ordering white wine. In the back bar mirror, she looked formidable.

It was her face, calm and controlled, that he noticed first. The dirty martini looked almost callous next to her pristine white wine. When you see someone for the first time. You measure yourself against them as if within that stranger you could find that nameless thing, some sort of sign, that you are not lost.

"Another martini?" asked the bartender.

"I'll have what she's having." He said with a smile towards her direction.

Her eyes had been watching him in the mirror. Black leather jacket and a swagger. He was dark and built. Broodingly handsome. Younger...maybe early thirties. As he waited for his drink, he laid his head down on his folded arms two stools away never visibly glancing up until now.

She beamed back at him, "No. Actually... I'll have what he's having."

"You know the dirty martini is considered the worst cocktail ever made. You take this beautiful gin that took years to perfect, and you muck it with some vinegary brine." He said grinning at his own joke.

His voice soothing. Deep enough to sink into. A feather-tick of sound. She wanted more. "Better the brine of rich swarthy olives than some juice that's been stomped by who knows filthy feet poured injected with fungi to dull me to sleep." Dead serious.

When she dared look into the depth of his darkened eyes, she saw they were green, brown with flecks of amber and defeat. Like a badger, one who sees better in the dark. Beneath one eye, a scar from perhaps a knife fight after five too many on a night not unlike this one.

The bartender placed two glasses between them. One Chardonnay, the other a dirty martini with extra olives. Her grey eyes caught those of the bartender in on the joke. Smirking.

"Fair play. I'll drink them both because together they'll taste like how I feel. Opaque. You know what I mean?" She had no idea. She could see in his state, he had no idea. All she knew was that she didn't care much at all.

Her body changed. She turned leaning into him. Her hand on the empty stool between them beckoned him to move closer. Her Herm scarf fallen open. The buttons of her blouse more open still as she leaned into him. Her decolletage wrinkled. A soft pungent scent of a perfume he could not name washed over him. A mischievous hint touched the side of his lips. "You smell wonderful...what is it?"

"Andron...I wear it for the pheromones. Are they working?"

His lips went dry, "Yes...I think so." With that he reached for the martini and downed it quickly.

"Can I have your olives?" She asked.

"Sure" He watched as she reached over. Her grey eyes watched his woozy hazel pupils with intent as her lips embraced each of the rich swarthy orbs one by one before sucking them in whole.

"Opaque, huh? That's how you feel? Funny, you look reflective to me" She saw herself in his sufficiently blurred eyes. A badger exhausted from the hunt. More fleetfooted prey having run from his poisonous claws. Her, a sitting duck, pouring herself over to him.

"You really going to drink that?" Her fingers went over to slide up and down the stem on the dripping cold wine glass.

"Nah. You take it." With that she matched him, tipping the glass to her lips now having lost their gloss and taking it down whole. She laid her room key down on the bar and said, "Put it on my tab." A hand now on the taut thigh of his jeans, "You know I've heard that sex has exceptional qualities to relieve stress and cure insomnia." She grabbed his hand. "I have a great view you're going to just upstairs."

He held firm, "No. I think I have some things I'd like to show you."

She grasped his powerful forearm and allowed him to lead her out the heavy oak doors through the alleyway, past the stray cats, dumpsters, and dangling fire escape stairs until he paused and exclaimed, "Just look at those stars."

She threw her head back. In the deep darkness her throat stretched upward made her appear almost beautiful. His fingers undoing the rest of her buttons, stopping only to toy with her scarf, "This is beautiful."

"It's my favorite. The cocoons of over two hundred and fifty mulberry moths went into crafting it tread by tread. Don't you love how the lionesses so sleek and golden are enjoying feasting on their catch? Badgers so hard to capture. Such powerful forearms, long sharp claws...in a class of their own over ferrets, weasels, and such." There is no escape...There is no escape...

"Shhhhhhhhhh...." He planted wet lips on her ascending neck., when she dipped her face to his, she smelled the stench of inhaled tobacco smoke.

"I don't kiss..."

"What do you do?"

She smiled at the bartender as she returned. "Hey, what happened to your scarf?" He yelled after her. Up in her room, she collapsed on to the bed hugging a large down-stuffed pillow to her as she felt sheer exhaustion creep over her. She slept, dreaming of warm flesh and golden fleece, her body tingling with the satisfaction of complete release.

It was the pair of glossy hazel eyes staring into the sky that first caught the attention of the vagrant walking the alleyway just before sunrise looking for aluminum cans or other things of value he could pawn off. So wide open in blinding terror the derelict
wasn't sure if the man in the leather jacket was just gazing up into the night or stoned. Then the something else caught his eye, a brightly colored scarf twisted tight around the man's severed genitals lying next to a cigarette pack and matches spilled open on the blood-soaked pavement.