After the elderly woman left with her grandchildren, it became quieter in the bar. Nothing I was against. The young girl who was talking to her seemed either somewhat contemplative or sad. I reckoned it could be because of the things that witch told her. A few times my eyes unwittingly returned to the girl’s face to admire it and also as though to check with my mind if it remembered her. It still didn’t, but the feeling that I should lingered like an aftertaste of a rich beverage. Whenever our eyes met, she seemed to get more uncomfortable, but every time I turned away promising myself not to look again, I ended up eyeing her from the corner of my vision while my mind fiddled with the feeling of vague recognition I couldn’t quite get rid of, nor put a finger on.
Eventually, the girl left. I relaxed a tad more, ordered another drink and stayed for another hour. Although the comforting calm and peace the hum of French 75 Bar brought was still here, there was another layer beneath it that stirred with a foreboding. It might be connected with what I involuntarily overheard from the girl and the elderly witch’s conversation, I realized, but nonetheless it wasn’t easy to discard. Like an oily spot on a clear water surface, it didn’t dissolve, spoiling the water all around it. Finally, I paid for my drinks and left the bar, strolling the streets submerged in dim street lights and bathing in that little moonlight that reached the pavement. I had no desire to go to a hotel just yet, feeling the need to find the peace I didn’t come to fully taste yet. Hunger, too, started to tug at my insides, grounding me despite my inclination toward reflective state of mind.
While I felt somehow isolated within my thoughts, there were still many people walking the streets at this hour, and it wasn’t a problem to find myself a dinner before the hunger tightened its claws. My pace became lighter, and my reflection gradually turned to other desires shifting just beneath the surface. Before long, I found myself on a familiar porch. Amanda smiled shrewdly – complacently, even – when she opened the door.
“I knew you’d come.”
“I knew you wouldn’t ask questions.”
“I’ve my answers. There are other things I might want…” She tugged me inside by the flaps of my jacket, indulging in a sensual kiss that quickly grew into a more fervent one. She had time to reminisce on her own, I thought, pushing the door closed behind me.
- Blood Ties (3)