Heart In A Cage

26

Isabella

There are empty cocktail glasses and plates with crumbles of velvet cake and some other chocolaty dessert when we return to the table. It seems the rest have taken themselves to the chaotic center of the haul where people sway around each other, reveling and dancing under the booms of music shooting from speakers set high on the walls.

In my seat, I realise that I and Andreas don't give a fuck that the initial reason I'm even here, at this animated hall, with my friends, is because of a stupid exchange we'd made weeks ago―that I aid him in incensing his crazy ex for temporary residence.

But a few foreign factors have barged into this somewhat reasonable trade, most of which revolve around horny bodies and what lustful outcomes are becoming of them. And neither of us are too keen to mention it. We're just letting ourselves banter and cuddle and play and fuck and spit in the face of the expectation to interact like that only with Dalia.

"I presumed that having you tattooed and the two of us dressing up as strawberries would keep these pests from looking at you." Andreas has to yell to get his words through. His wide hands splay over my shoulders, squeezing and rolling as I let him massage me.

"You have your shirt split open; people are looking at you. Gorgeous women, particularly." I shut my eyes, relaxing as my joints are soothed. "And stop referring to me as a strawberry."

His gentle kneads transition into rough shakes.

"Stop!" I jerk my shoulders back, and he withdraws.

He takes the seat beside mine, crossing his arms and frowning at me. "Hone that attitude of yours into something more polite. I'd like to hear your manners."

"Eat shit."

He taps at my face.

Sighing angrily, I swat him off. "What are you doing?!"

"Civility, baby." His finger nudges my noise to finish up probing my face. It lands on my knee, making idle circles that tickle my skin. I manage to take a sip of my drink and ignore the light movements until he moves towards me and bites my ear lobe.

"This is what you call being civil?" I put a scant effort into shoving him away―which ends up in him returning to making those circles on my knee. This is the peak of aftercare. Having my not-so-real-boyfriend amuse himself with my skin as I scowl and do my best to ignore him. My point is proven; he pinches my knee.

"You know what," I rise from my seat, "I'm going to go find the rest. Stay here."

"No way." He follows my fast tread towards the accumulating cluster of people. The glossy timber of the center floor is dappled with lights of blue, purple, and green roving in random directions across and between spinning bodies, the pace of them altering in time with beats of the music which have settled down into something we can finally talk over. I manage to reach the fringes of the dancing crowd before my wrist is taken and I'm spun to Andreas.

Despite his tempting beauty―the illuminated red blouse baring his chest, the bearded face coloured with light―I construct the base of an idea to rid of him, and it starts with the beer in his hand.

I bat my eyelashes slowly, his gaze stuck on mine. "Can I...get another treat?"

Behind me, my hands are folded together, and I'm lifting my chest and swaying it towards him. A mask of purity exists over my face, and just to reinforce the innocent appearance, I tilt my head and move closer. His eyes go right to where I want them to be, and satisfyingly, they take their time in travelling back up to meet my own. The glass tightens around his hold, attention firm on me.