Rules of Intercourse (6): How Things Come To Burn (Thanks Vanessa C.)

Ashleigh sat by her window, looking at the lonely, bright sphere in the clear, dark sky. It was only 10 pm and the streets were busy, loud, and colourful. She shivered as the cold air brushed her hair and hardened the teardrops on her lashes. She felt herself get soft and she hated it. She sniffled and shut her eyes firmly; she then drew in large volumes of air through her nostrils as she rubbed her neck trying to think straight. She swiftly closed the windows, dried her eyes with the back of her hands and headed to her room. Her closet was the definition of extravagance; it was filled with clothes from numerous designers, haute couture to street wear chic. Ashleigh pulled out an outfit and walked into her shoe closet. It was like walking into Carrie Bradshaw’s dream closet, filled with the most exquisite pieces of foot wear available on the market, and some that weren’t even out yet.

She stomped out of her building regaining the confidence she lost earlier the day, in black leather 5-inch Louboutin heels. She wasn’t going to deal with it, no, that would be too painful, fatiguing even, and that just wasn’t her style. She was better at masking things, in fact, she excelled in it. The art of masking was something she learned on her own a long while back, it was her only shield against the world. Indeed, knowing that the world was filled with things that might harm her, she built the perfect armour that she never let down.

Ashleigh entered Trespasser’s Pub and walked towards the bar; all she really needed were few shots of Tequila. The burning sensations in her throat should keep the dark thoughts at bay, she thought. The bar was never a place fancied by women, too many strong drinks and drunken assholes. But Ashleigh wanted nothing more than for it to be a regular shack. As she sat on the stool and tapped the counter with her fingertips, trying to get the bartender’s attention, men all across the pub ogled in amusement. There were whistles coming from all four corners, and kinky comments were heard.

Ashleigh pushed her long blond locks back and removed her black leather, body hugging jacket and ordered six shots of Tequila. She kept the jacket on her lap and leaned in, pressing her breasts on the counter, and sighed out of mostly boredom. The male population of the pub quickly moved closer to the bar and Ashleigh could easily see how much attention she was drawing to herself. Everyone was enjoying the view, pushing and shoving each other to get a better look at rare meat in her tight red dress. Her endless legs were bare for all to see and admire, and the halter dress also let men gaze into her modest cleavage as it showcased her slender frame. She rolled her eyes as she felt the air around her start to fill up with smell of alcohol and sweat. As the barman poured the Tequila into the shot glasses, he stared at her breasts and winked while passing remarks under his breath.

She displayed a smirk on her face and picked up a slice of lime from her glass and wrapped her tongue around it slowly as she heard gasps and barely audible growls all around her. Sucking on the piece of lime without wincing from its acidity, she spat it out and quickly gulped down all six shots. Shaking her head quickly, Ashleigh shrugged off the fire blazing down her oesophagus. She then stared at her glasses (fully conscious of the fifty pairs of eyes burning a hole into the back of her neck) and picked up tiny grains of salt with her index and stuck it in her mouth, pressing it against her tongue. The men started to lose their cool and began shouting “YEAH!” and banging their beer mugs on the counter. Ashleigh sat up straight and laughed. As she stretched, pushing her chest out towards the barman, the crowd cheered at the view.

- Alright, who’s got the next round, boys?

Ashleigh was ready to have some fun, to let loose and drink until her insides burned, or simply until someone offered a better escape. She wasn’t completely sure why she desperately needed that escape, but it seemed to her that every time she felt like she was about to be alright, the image of Diego’s heart exploding into a million pieces came breaking her down. It was like the never ending guilt parade she was signed on to lead. All she knew was that alcohol numbed the emotional crap going on inside by physically hurting her guts. And so, as the shower of bills commenced all over the bar and a choir of synchronized voices started to order drinks for the milady, she felt better knowing that somehow with all this alcohol, the bruised sentiments were being buried somewhere very far away in her mind. So after two hours and six rounds of miscellaneous highly alcoholic beverages with the boys, Ashleigh was starting to get hammered but she was definitely enjoying her state of make-belief alegría. Her vision began to blur and she found everything quite amusing, her giggles were beginning to become very frequent, which only encouraged the flirtation with complete strangers. She felt like she was under water, she was in a sea of men, drowning in their impressive shouts and cheers. Even in a complete drunken state, something inside Ashleigh questioned whether this outlet was the right one. And although numbness and senselessness dominated her actions, she felt fear of losing more than her pain that night, more than she was willing to lose.

A particular voice came very close to her ear as Ashleigh played “smash the peanut on the stranger’s face”. It was clear, sharp, rasping yet in a pleasant way and maybe even a little sexy. As hands held her arm, she was losing balance, and she could feel the floor swirl under her feet, hearing nothing but muffled shouts. An arm held her by the waist, preventing her from hitting the wet and very sticky floor. Soon after Ashleigh was held up, her arm was over someone’s shoulder and her whole body weight was on this someone’s arms instead of her own feet.

- I think you have had enough there, beautiful. It’s time you hit on home.

The voice was imposing, worried. It soothed her as she swooned.

- Well why don’t you take me home? You’re gonna be in for a treat, ha ha, Ashleigh managed to mutter out while trying to stand on her feet. Failed attempts.

She looked up at him; she wanted to put a face to the voice, but no use, all she saw was a big blob of blur. His face was hazy and unclear. He slowly walked towards the exit with her leaning onto his body for total support. She weakly touched his cheeks and giggled, her eyes closed more and more frequently as tears started to build up at the corners. She was right, she would drink until her insides burned, they did, but at least the fear and the heartache were gone.