Chapter 1:- Give Me Love
He'd never done something like this before.
The bottle of champagne was ice cold and wet with condensation in his hand, and as he gripped the neck of it tigher, he could feel it slipping slightly from his wet fingers. He brought a hand underneath it to steady it, making it look as though he was cradling it. Even though he wouldn't mind if he dropped it. A bottle of champagne had never looked so unappealing to him in his life. The only reason why he would want to drink it now was to get drunk. Very drunk. So that maybe he could disappear, drift off, fall under the spell of alcohol. So that he could not be concious whilst he was doing what he was about to do. So that he could wake up the next morning and have a throbbing headache that would make him regret what he'd done.
Because, right now, he was just numb. He was trying to feel sorry. He was trying to feel ashamed. But there wasn't any emotion in him. He was too exhausted and too downtrodden to care anymore. And that scared him.
His blue eyes watched her as she took off her coat. She shook her long arms out of the sleeves and let the jacket slip down her back, exposing it. He shuddered, hugging the bottle of champage to his chest. It was finally dawning on him that he was about to do this. With Katie. On Valentines Day. The day of love.
What a fucking joke.
Katie took her jacket off properly and tossed it to the side carelessly. His eyes followed it, and then snapped back to her, just as she was turning around to face him. Her eyes locked with his. They were dark, and gleaming. They reminded him of a predator's. He could feel his heart thumping against his chest as her eyes bore into his, cutting into his very soul. He gulped, hard. He couldn't say anything.
Katie put one gloved hand on her hip, dropping her eyes for a moment to peer down at her outfit, as if she was inspecting it for the first time. It was a long and elegant black dress, with high heels, and a feather boa. Katie looked good in it. And she knew it. She looked at him thoughtfully, a smile toying at her red lips. "I think this needs to come off," She murmured. Her eyes were locked with his again. "Here?"
A wave of panic flowed over his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm. Straightening up, he looked her directly in the eye boldly and shook his head. He nodded towards the bathroom. "In there," He murmured back.
She nodded back, slowly. She began to make her way to the bathroom, taking her time. His eyes trailed after her until she disappeared behind the door. Then, her voice called to him: "You coming?"
A nervous grin broke out onto his face. "You haven't even touched me yet," He called back in response.
Her laughter echoed in the bathroom, before she reached out one hand and closed the door tightly behind her.
He exhaled heavily, feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted off his chest. He fell backwards onto the bed and it didn't creak because he was so light. His skinny legs flipping up into the air, so all he could see was the bare white ceiling above his head, and the pair of black converse that didn't go with his suit. He brought the toe of his right converse close to his left one and nudged it slightly, playfully, but half-heartedly. He wasn't in the mood for messing around.
He turned his face to the side, pressing his nose into the soft white quilt he was lying on and breathing in the unfamilar smell of lemon. That was the washing powder that he'd been using this week. He'd been using all kinds, trying to find the right one. Since the break-up, his quilt hadn't smelt the same. He hadn't paid enough attention to his ex-girlfriend when she told him the shopping list each week. He'd just grabbed whatever she'd pointed to. But now, he wished he had. It was the little things that he missed, now that she was gone. The rosy smell that he'd gotten used to whilst they were together was gone now - it had left with Allie.
A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed desperately to try and get rid of it. But it didn't work. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the pain in his chest was too intense. No matter how tightly he closed his eyes, he couldn't blot out the pictures of her in his mind. Her, and him. Together. Smiling. Happy. In love. And then not. Then, it all fell apart. But he didn't want to think about that. Not again. He couldn't think about it again. He was here, with someone else, ready to get exactly what he needed to satisfy the urges that he'd been having all day. He should be pleased.
But he wasn't. There was no pleasure. Just pain.
He tried hard not to remember, but he did. He tried hard not to wonder, but he did. His mind kept wandering to her. Allie. What was she doing? Was she with someone else, like he was? Or was she alone? Did she like being alone? Did she feel alone? Or did she feel content, happy, without him?
He was with someone else. But he didn't feel happy, or content. He felt alone. More alone than he ever thought he'd ever felt before.
He scootched up the bed slightly and rolled onto his other side, lifting his head onto his pillow. His fingers reached out and he lightly touched the pillow next to his own, where Allie's head used to lie. He tried to picture her. Her eyes, closed. Her chest rising and falling as she slept peacefully. Her hair all around her pillow, soft and curly and messy under his fingertips. He tried to picture it, feel something - but all he felt was the pillow.
Maybe she was with someone else now. Maybe someone else was gazing into those eyes of hers and tracing the outlines of the tattoos on her arms and smiling to themselves as they lay next to her in bed and watched as she peacefully slept. Maybe she was with someone else. The thought made him feel like a dagger had been plunged into his heart. Oh, he knew it was selfish. He was technically with someone else. But he'd leave Katie now - get up and walk out of the room, and never see her again - if Allie would just call him. Just call. Maybe not ask if he wanted them to get back together again, but...he just wanted her to call. Just to say she missed him. He just wanted to hear her voice one last time.
He slowly rolled onto his back again, and he glanced sideways at the phone that was sitting beside his bed. He paused. Silence. He could hear his slow, steady breathing, rattling slightly. But he couldn't hear the phone ringing. He couldn't hear it vibrating against the wood of the cabinet as it alerted him that he'd recieved a text message. He heard nothing.
He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. As if she would actually call. They were over. For good.
He just couldn't accept that.
The feelings were mixed and muddled up inside him, swirling around and around and making his head spin. He shut his eyes tightly as the feelings of sadness hit him like a ton of bricks, and tears swelled up behind his eyelids. He curled into a ball, tightly, clenching his fists and turning into himself. He wanted her arms around him. He wanted to feel her close. But he didn't feel anything. She didn't come. She wasn't coming, ever.
The sideness swept over him like a cloud, and swept away again just as quickly. Leaving anger. Hatred. Boiling up inside him. He clenched his fists, opening his eyes and wiping his tears away so they no longer clouded his vision. He bared his teeth, clenching everything harder and harder and feeling the rage flowing through his bones.
After everything they'd been through, she didn't care. She didn't fucking care.
Well, he didn't care either. She wasn't worth his thoughts. He would enjoy himself tonight.
He'd show her.
He sat upright on the bed - bottle of champage still in hand - just as the bathroom door opened and Katie emerged, now looking more dolled up for some reason. Her gloves, boa and shoes were off. Hair fixed, make-up reapplied, and he could smell the faint aroma of sweet perfume. His nostrils pinched in distaste, 'cause he hated sweet perfume, but he shoved his hatred to the side for a moment. He was too determined, now. Too determined to do this.
Katie saw that the nervous feelings had drained from him, and she smirked, looking him up and down and then looking over her shoulder briefly. "The zipper's undone. I thought I'd let you do the honours," She purred, turning back to face him.
He resisted the urge to gulp, too stubborn now to let her know that he still didn't want to do this. And he was good at masking his emotions. He eyed her up and down hungrily, trying to see her as some sort of gift. Some kind of treat. Something that was just for him. He was going to enjoy this. He knew he was.
Well, he told himself he was.
He got up off the bed, setting the champagne down on the ground. He slowly walked towards her. His eyes never broke the gaze that the two of them shared. Slowly, he took both her hands in his, threading their fingers together. He looked deep into her eyes, trying to see something. Find something. A connection. A spark. But the dark predator eyes just gleamed back at him - so he stopped trying. No more trying. No more emotions. Just actions.
He walked backwards, tugging her along with him. He kept walking backwards until he felt the backs of his legs collide with the bed. He sat down, then, and his hands ran up her arms to her elbows. His head tilted upwards so he was looking at her - and she mistook the fiery, angry look in the deep blue pools for passion. She didn't understand how much he hated himself right now.
His hands left her arms and cupped her waist, and he guided her down, lying down as he did so. His hands ran up her back. They ran across the bare skin, stroking up her spine. They reached her neck, and he guided her head down. He brought his lips up to her ears. She could hear his hard, uneven breathing, feel his hands snake back down and cup her waist tightly in a way that made her gasp.
"Give me love," He hissed softly.
But the words were hollow. She was going to give him something tonight.
That something wasn't love.