BLACK CRESCENT

CHAPTER TWO (SMUT)

P A S T

D A Y 1

CAMILA

All I really needed was a drink. No, not just a drink, but vodka. I was willing to drink it straight from the bottle. It was only by luck that I saw the lights of the upcoming nightclub called Twenty-Four, through my foggy, rain-covered windshield.

Parking as close to the entrance as I could, I grabbed my purse before dashing out of my car and into the rain. This was a bad idea. It was pouring, I was annoyed, and I didn't have someone to take me home if I got drunk... which I most likely would. But right now, I didn't care, because what I really needed was a drink.

I sound like an alcoholic. Jeez.

The bouncer looked at my ID, and then at me as I stared passively back. He nodded and waved me in. I didn't pay attention to any of the couples grinding onto each other as I made my way across the dance floor, and to the bar.

"Vodka anything, fast," I said to the bartender who wore a top hat atop his unruly mop of brown hair.

"Tough day?" he asked, his eyeliner eyes narrowing, as he poured me the nectar of the Gods into a glass.

I downed the whole thing in one shot, before coughing and taking a deep breath.

"You could say that," I sighed, waving for him to pour more.

"Please tell me you're not a recovering alcoholic," he half joked, pouring more into my glass.

I smiled at that. "Maybe."

His brown eyes brimmed with worry, and I rolled my eyes. "My mother died two months ago. Today is her birthday, and right now, I really don't want to be at home, alone with all of her crap. So just keep them coming."

"I'm sorry."

I'm not sure if I made him feel better or worse, but this time he filled the glass, and I tried to be more civilized.

"What's your name? Because I believe you and I are going to be very close by the end of the night," I muttered sipping.

"Zayn Malik," he said, then added, "I'm sorry about your mother, hon."

"Don't be, she was a horrible person," I muttered truthfully. "I'm Camila."

"Nice to meet you Camila. Drinks are on the house."

"No, it's okay, I don't want any pity."

"It's fine. I'm screwing the boss," he said, dropping me a wink, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"If you keep giving away drinks, you will be screwed alright."

"You're the first customer I have ever had that's fought me on free drinks."

"I'm sure but-"

"No buts," he replied cleaning a glass. "Drinks are on the house."

"Fine. How about the house pays for the first three drinks, and I pay for the rest?"

"How many do you plan on having?"

I shrugged. "As many as it takes until I'm numb?"

"Are you always this honest?"

"Only to the person who's controlling the booze."

He laughed, shaking his head at me. "Fine, the first three are on the house. Did you just move to Boston?"

"Yes and no." That was all I was giving him, and he nodded, accepting my answer as good enough.

I was just about to ask for a couple slices of lime, when the lights in the place dimmed. A blue light illuminated the stage as a very attractive woman, took center stage with nothing but a guitar in her hands. Her hair was dark, almost black, like a starless night. Her eyes were a deep emerald color, so striking that even in the dimly lit bar I could see them. Every time the light hit them, I felt myself being drawn in more and more.

Sitting on a stool, she played softly, almost as though she was trying to put us all at ease.

"This song isn't dedicated to anyone... yet," she whispered into the microphone, which gained her a few whistles and claps.

Rolling my eyes, I turned back to my drink.

"I carry a smile when I'm broken in two, all because of someone like you," she sang and I stopped for a moment before turning back to her.

"What the hell?" I whispered to myself.

"Fooling the world; none of them know you as I do. Why not me? Why never me? Standing right here you masterful puppeteer."

I don't know if it was the lyrics, or just the way that she sang them. Either way I found myself unable to look away from her, even to drink. It was as though I had come here just to hear her sing.

I sat watching as she ran her hands over the strings of the guitar. I was transfixed, bewitched, and overwhelmed. I could feel my throat closing up.

"I should go," I muttered to myself when her song was over. But I simply sat there, staring down at my drink and unable to move.

Finally, I lifted my glass and swallowed its contents, and Zayn, my good old trusty bartender, poured me a new glass. I didn't feel like crying. In fact, I didn't have any more tears to spill. I was just tired. I had spent the last three and a half months with my mom. We fought, we cried, and then she died - in that order.

"Can I buy you a drink?" a voice behind me asked.

I turned to find the same devilishly beautiful woman from the stage, standing right beside me. She stood over 5'7 feet tall. She was curvy, she had muscle but not in the bulky, bodybuilder sort of way. Her skin was white almost pale and flawlessly smooth, her lips were full, her features ,her lashes, her cheeks, her eyebrows, everything was just too pretty yet still, it was her eyes that truly captured my attention. Without being aware of it, I leaned in towards her and smiled. She was totally at ease.

"Zayn, ask her how does she know I like girls and should I let her buy me a drink?" I turned to the woman behind the bar. Zayn snorted, looking over at the woman who waited for a yes.

"Firstly I think she guessed it because it's written on your face that you thirst for pretty women and for the drinks part No, I don't think so."

"Thanks man," the woman said, frowning at Zayn while I laughed.