Vice-Indulgence
749 words
749 words
“ What happened to your cheek?”
“ Ring.”
“ Ring? There’s no bruise-”
“ Faded.”
“ But-”
“ Leave it.”
“ It’s not right, you know. You don’t have to put up with it.” Nyasa looked up, calculating eyes trying to figure out what her co-worker was thinking. “ You could leave.”
Abusive relationship? Close. A reasonable excuse.
“ No, I can’t.” Not that she would if she could.
“ But-”
“ Leave it.”
~*~
Nyasa hurried to Snake Eyes, longing to loose herself to alcohol and music, liver damage be damned.
Damn co-workers! They meant well – that or they fancied themselves Oprah or Dr. Phil – but Nyasa didn’t need it, didn’t want it. They were too observant, too persistent, and it was making things difficult. She told them that she did sparring, but that couldn’t explain all the injuries she collected. Now they thought she was in an abusive relationship, and fool that she was, she went with it. Another lie to remember.
“ Hit me.”
The bartender eyed Nyasa oddly. Nyasa was a regular, but rarely drank. Nevertheless, the glass of amber liquid was slid to her silently, and Nyasa tossed it back like a shot.
“ Hit me.”
~*~
It was getting late. Nyasa knew she should go home, prepare herself, go to sleep. It was war, wasn’t it? Night was the key. Night would let them back, let them fight the aliens.
Nyasa was drunk.
Maybe. Probably. She felt loose and her face strange. She reached up and felt her face, realized that she was smiling. Yes, drunk then. Hard to fight drunk; need to know drunk karate. Drunken karate? Kung Fu? Whatever.
Past time to stop drinking. Need another distraction, something to sober up. Dancing was good. The music was louder now, preparing for the night crowd. Crowds were good to get lost in. But, well, she didn’t want to get lost. Not now, not tonight. She wanted people to look at her. She fought for them, the ingrapes- ingraze- … those not-grateful people.
Dance, now.
Nyasa weaved to the dancefloor, not content to stick to the usual bump and grind. She was flexible, had rhythm and a good body, and she wanted people to see. She danced, loose, wild, and sensual, and people paid attention. They cheered her on, some out of amusement, but most because they liked the show. Guys cheered, girls glared – their loss – and something caught Nyasa’s eye.
A silver pole. How had she never seen that before? Was it new? Didn’t matter. It was there and Nyasa intended to use it. She walked up to it, wrapped a leg around it, and the crowd cheered her on.
This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. People could take pictures, video, and post it on the Internet. Not solo then.
Nyasa grabbed a sulky girl, jerked her forward. The girl’s surprise was enough that Nyasa was able to position her on the pole. Girl looked back, caught her eye, and Nyasa leaned in. The lips were sticky and tasted like strawberry, competing with the alcohol on her breath. That was good.
A back was pressed against her’s, and soon it was a small mob, writhing together. There seemed to be a lot of people there, a lot of people watching, but Nyasa didn’t care. She had strawberries and sweat-slick muscles and bass to grind to.
~*~
“ That was impressive.”
Nyasa stopped, swayed, squinting at the one talking to her. She recognized him: he was the owner of Snake Eyes.
“ You drew quite a crowd. It was a good night for business.” He paused, then added, “ Business has been slow.”
She waited, then finally waved her hand, wanting him to get to the point. Nyasa was in no shape to think deep thoughts, or think much at all.
“ Would you do it again? Perform? I can’t pay much, but you’d get perks, alcohol.”
Now Nyasa was staring. Perform?
“ No.”
“ No?”
“ No.”
“ Are you sure?”
“ No. Yes.” Pause. “ No, no performing. That was fun, just fun.”
“ Pretty good for ‘just fun’.”
“ I’ve many talents.” Like a Swiss pocketknife. Human Swiss pocketknife. “ I’m drunk.”
“ Yes, you are.” The owner sighed. “ Want me to call a cab?”
“ I’m good. My Kung Fu is strong.”
Nyasa left the bemused man behind, staggering back to her apartment. Edge was wearing off strangely fast, unwelcome thoughts already intruding. If she had to think, then she’d be useful, plan.
An alley cat hissed and Nyasa laughed, low, quiet, and slightly off. So much time and so little to do! ... or something like that.
