“Wise men say… only fools rush in.”
Lyrics echo through the speakers and couples start to make their way to the dance floor.
I find him standing at the edge of the ballroom, an outsider looking in. Lost in a sea of jewellery and the finest perfume, there is no reason for his eyes to find mine.
But they do.
The voices around me fade as I descend the stairs and merge with the crowd. Press each sole into the onyx floors until there’s a no-good thief standing in my way.
Untamed, messy hair. Eyes too dark for a soul so bright.
He looks perfectly, terribly out of place. A sliver of something real, somethingpurethat doesn’t belong in a mansion filled with masks.
We meet in the middle of the dance floor, an equal number of steps that brings us back together again.
“Hello, darling.”
It feels easy, even natural to take the hand he offers. To accept the unspoken question and let someone else take the lead.
“Devil.” Casting my eyes over the silk material of his suit, I feel my lips pull into a grin, “Didn’t think you would follow the dress code.”
“It was a tough call.”
“I can only imagine.”
He chuckles softly, pulling me in so his lips can brush my ear.
“You look gorgeous, Calista.”
“I know.”
We sway softly, bodies pressed together as the soulful voice of Elvis floats through the air. Lost in the vocal cords of a bad boy and held in the arms of another, it feels like a stolen sliver of time.
An illusion as to what might have been.
“Am I allowed to say I prefer you in leather?”
A snort escapes me, “I’m not wearing any pants tonight. You don’t have to worry about getting in them.”
“Not why I said it.”
He spins me around, pushing me out then pulling me back in. My hands flatten against his chest as he brings us closer together, warming me up from the inside out.
The lapels of his suit are smooth and soft beneath my fingertips as I slide my hands higher up his body. Wrap them around his neck and wait for Christopher to meet my eyes.
“You are not someone who needs to hide.” Peeling the turned up collar back from his throat, I slowly fold his shirt back to where it should be, “Not from me. Not from anyone.”
The jagged lines of his stitches are thick and ugly beneath the glittering lights. Scars peek out beneath the murals of ink, a wolf who snarls and screams as his gruesome truth is shared with the world.
“They show who we are.” Tracing the hideous marks, I find nothing except beauty in his broken parts, “The strength of a survivor. The courage of a fighter.”
A truth most people don’t understand, it takes a special type of person to pick himself up the way Christopher does. To keep pushing for a future that doesn’t hurt us every single day.
To keep standing up even after the world demands we stay down.
Silence falls between us as he stares at me. Stares at the monster lurking inside, the darkness that hides beneath a beautified surface.
He looks at me and I don’t have to wonder if he sees me.
