Page 2 of Forbidden Fruit
Like a magnet being pulled, I’m drawn closer until I take a seat on a stone pillar. A shiver rakes down my spine as I finish my meal. Ireally need to get to bed.
The door of the club opens and two men step out. The first one I recognise as the doorman, all dressed in black. He lights up a cigarette, then offers the pack to the other man, who shakes his head.
My focus shifts.
Impeccably dressed in a dark grey suit under a long black coat that looks expensive as fuck and makes me want to burrow into it, he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. I straighten up and strain my eyes to see him better. Tall and lean, his posture exudes control and charisma. I lean forward, drawn to him, my body barely my own. His thick brown hair looks effortlessly styled even though it’s late at night as if nothing could ever rattle him. I wonder what it would feel like under my hand. Would it be soft and silky? I bet it would.
Light stubble lines his sharp jaw, but my favourite feature might just be the clear glasses sitting on his Grecian nose under thick eyebrows, complementing his striking face. I can’t see his eyes properly from this distance, but I’m sure they’ll be as intense and gorgeous as the rest of him.
As if I’ve spoken my thoughts out loud, his gaze meets mine. I’m frozen in place, fries hanging from my fingers on their way to my mouth. My throat dries up but I can’t swallow. I can’t even blink. Energy buzzes between us, a thin thread of something unknown linking me to this stranger. The moment stretches on as if we’re the only ones standing in the cold.
Before I embarrass myself, I break eye contact and stand, throwing the remnants of my dinner in a nearby rubbish bin before power-walking to my flat.
This interaction meant nothing, and yet, I can’t stop the tingles that trigger goosebumps to rise along my arms under my coat.
I asked the universe for a sign. Maybe this is it.
Tomorrow, I’ll knock on the door of Lady in White. If not for the sign, at least in the hope of paying rent. Maybe I’ll even dream of a better life, somewhere I can call my own. It’s time I live, not just barely survive.
TWO
THE EYES OF A STRANGER
As I step out of Lady in White, the scent of incoming rain on the pavement assaults my senses until a waft of tobacco makes its way to my nose. Roman, Lady in White’s doorman, offers me a cigarette, but I refuse. I haven’t touched a cancer stick in over five years, ever since my wife Monica got pregnant with our son, Anton. However, I should really get into the habit of calling her my ex-wife since I signed the divorce papers this afternoon.
It’s the entire reason I’m outside the club at 3 am on a Saturday when I usually come on Sundays.
I thought I could get the numbness out of my soul for a few hours. It failed miserably, despite a willing participant calling himself Jim and a charming worker called Belle, who obeyed me perfectly.
I take a deep breath and sigh, wishing Roman a good evening. I’m ready to call it a night when my skin prickles with awareness. My eyes search my surroundings, but not for long.
Despite the cold, a woman sits on a stone pillar, eating what looks like fries from the nearby food truck. She could be mistaken for a drunken party-goer in need of sustenance beforeheading home, but her eyes are bright as they connect with mine.
My heart rate kicks up.
Time slows.
Her fingers are suspended mid-air in front of her full, parted lips, her cheeks rosy with the winter wind, giving her olive skin a healthy glow. Locks of wavy, dark brown hair frame her soft features, tresses falling from the messy bun on top of her head.
I look around, but there’s no one nearby. No friend or partner she can walk home with. She’s alone. She looks young enough to be my daughter or at least a younger sister, and to know she’s walking home alone makes me clench my teeth with an irrational need to offer my protection.
Before I can make my way to where she sits, she stands and almost runs away, turning the corner of the building without another look in my direction.
With a small shake of my head, I dismiss the absurd thought that I could give anyone anything, least of all protection. I’m an empty shell and today took a toll on me.
As I drive home, though, I can’t get the magnetic stranger out of my head. For the first time in months, my heart raced again—and it wasn’t because of the high I chase from sex with the Lady in White patrons and workers.
It was the inconspicuous gaze of a stranger with glistening eyes.
When I arrive at the gate of my home in Sant Armellu Heights, the light in the alcove is still on.
“Dammit, Mum,” I swear under my breath as I park my SUV at the side of the mansion.
This week was supposed to be Monica’s week with Anton and Livia, but she’s gone, so my mother has been staying at my place to help me take care of them both.
Livia’s only two. The soft presence of her grandmother helps when she really misses her mum.
I was expecting her to be in bed by now, but as I enter the living room, the modern lamp on the metal side table illuminates the weathered face of my sleeping mother. Her hands are laced on her stomach, just above a beige hand-woven plaid she made me buy to match the dark green sofa that occupies half the space.