chapter 8

The first date, if that's what you could call it, was every vision Blue had of Valentine's day romance and more — the most exceptional part about it all; it wasn't valentine's day. Instead, it was Vincent being a true, upper-class, wealthy gentleman. In fact, Blue was sure Richard would take her to a restaurant much the same... Perhaps the only difference between a date with Richard at the Italian restaurant the pair had settled on and the same date with Vincent, would be that Richard would expect to get laid while she laid, spread-eagle and still on his bed but, most importantly, as quiet as the inflatable sex doll she was posing to be (in compensation for how far she was putting him out by agreeing to sit for a meal with him).

Of course, Blue probably would get Vincent laid after dinner as a 'thank you' of sorts. And let it be because Vincent wouldn't demand it from her, or because he didn't expect it from her as payment, Blue would fuck him simply because she wanted so desperately to feel him again. She would writhe and moan. She would kiss him and grip him. She would mark him with bites and grazes of her own. She'd be a living, breathing female. Not a doll... Not that Richard would know the difference.

What all begun with a casual root in a car outside of her house, quickly turned into a brief sleuth operation and all ended in an Italian restaurant Blue had never before seen, let alone been to. And despite the notion she had that Vincent was a brooding, wealthy businessman balls-deep in connections and linked almost physically with the economy, the restaurant was small. It wasn't an establishment with the energy of being part of a titan franchise; it didn't have the furniture which had been mass produced to fill countless replicas of the same stature. It didn't have insanely high ceilings and a ridiculous amount of staff. Hell, the staff didn't even have uniforms — not that Blue would care to notice such a thing. She wouldn't notice that the plants fastened to the walls were real as opposed to plastic counterparts. She wouldn't notice it was staffed by the owners, rather than broke college students living off of tips and surcharges. She wouldn't notice that everything was properly cleaned at the end of the night. She wouldn't notice much at all aside from the fact that it was small and romantically dark, quiet and barely half filled, warm and intimate.

And although she didn't notice every detail, there were certain aspects which she did come to appreciate. Like the fact that the tablecloth hid her legs when Vincent said something exciting and she felt the need to press her knees together. Or the fact that the wine glasses were abnormally large in a way which allowed her to hide her face with a sip each and every time the devil himself made her blush... where there sure was no shortage of such an occasion. And though they were small, almost trivial matters, it seemed to strengthen any growing affections she had for the place.

Perhaps it was the fact that the lack of lighting deepened the green of Vincent's eyes in a way which forced her gaze from his when ten seconds became far too much. Maybe even the fact that his overgrown hair had started to fall over his face with the wear of the day in what could have been curls. Whatever the adjustment exactly, Blue couldn't help but notice that (as charming as he was on such an occasion) he looked exceptionally unreal in the warm and dull glow of a moody eatery — as opposed to the dusty glare of the streetlight from his car. And by the word ′unreal', he looked truly beautiful. Of course, in the most masculine sense of the word.

Though Blue's hair seemed almost brown in the dimness of the room and her skin looked to be even fairer than usual, there was just something in the way her eyes narrowed as she grinned and her face brightened just as she did... She seemed happy. Perhaps the happiest Vincent had yet seen her.

And yet not even half a plate of pasta and almost a whole loaf of garlic bread could stifle the questions which had almost tripled like E-Coli on room-temperature chicken. Much like the bacteria, the particularly full-bodied curiosity was eating at her intestines more and more aggressively with time. Questions over the scene which transpired outside of her house, in particular. In fact, all the eating seemed to clear her mind — and as a result, she wanted at the moment she shovelled a fork full into her mouth more than ever to know why exactly Vincent was being so dismissive about the whole thing. It was almost as though Vincent was convinced he had seen Richard escape for his car to play a round of Candy Crush, as opposed to taking part in a suspicious purchase of unidentified goods for an undisclosed sum.

Just as quickly as she had picked up her cutlery after a pause to take a sip from her glass, blue set the knife and fork against the lips of the plate again. And with that, she asked a question she knew she'd probably regret. "What are you hiding from me?"

Though Vincent didn't set down his cutlery just as she had, he paused in his own meal — an aromatic lemon and pepper pesto — and lifted his eyes to her own. Truthfully, his heart skipped a beat. What wasn't he hiding? "What are you asking me?"

Blue was unblinking in her quick delivery of the phrase "About Richard in that car," and though she seemed stony and as at ease as ever, she couldn't help but finch when she came in contact with Vincent's own reply—

"If you're so interested in Richard, maybe you should be having dinner with him, instead," and in all honesty, she had never wished she was a mute by choice more in her life.

Blue would often bathe in the roughness and the depth of the voice which carried Vincent's words. After the quick fifteen, she found herself becoming acquainted with the fact that at times, the same voice she had found herself growing fond of alone felt somewhat frightening when matched with a quick, pointed glare and a whitening of his knuckles as he clutched his cutlery. Vincent wouldn't hurt Blue, she was sure of that much. And yet even she found her stomach sinking and her heart quickening as though he would. It was a rather strange concept.

In the very fashion Blue always found herself doing things, she just didn't know when to quit. "Wow, I'm sorry, I didn't realise one question was going to be such an issue," As though the tone would upset Vincent, she made an effort to sound as offensive as she could — cold, pointed, bitter. And though it was a lesson she had been taught many, many times, Blue didn't seem to get the message that intentionally provoking people to prove a point was not only ineffective but also did far more harm than it did good.

Perhaps the strangest thing about the phrase "I know what it was about, okay? Just, please, drop it," when delivered by Vincent was not the fact he openly admitted he was involved enough to know what the pretence of the previous exchange was, but the way he sounded so calm as he said it. It was almost as though he hadn't snapped at Blue only twenty seconds ago; as though her following remark hadn't aggravated him but instead sobered him. If anything, it made Blue even angrier.

"Why won't you tell me? That shit happened at my dinner, outside of my house,"

"Because it doesn't involve you and it's none of your business,"

"It's completely my business!"

It was fascinating how what had been a perfect dinner only five minutes ago had Blue yelling in a way which drew the attention of everyone in a two-table width radius of them (though that was even then, hardly any onlookers). Again, Vincent seemed even calmer. "Blue, please keep it down,"

It seemed Blue had put herself in a situation — what had begun as her pretending to be upset in order to obtain sympathy from the man had quickly become her actually being upset when she received none. Vincent wasn't shouting at her. He wasn't getting upset with her. He was calm. And though he was calm, he didn't seem to be concerned at all — what would Blue rather? Would she have preferred he be angry? Annoyed? Short-Tempered and cold? Surely, she would. That would mean he cared; about her, about the way she was speaking to him, about anything related to the argument at all. And yet he was completely unfazed. Was that what was upsetting her the most?

"Stop treating me like a child, Vincent," 'Keep it down' was a phrase she, along with many others, surely, heard quite often as a child. 'Keep your voice down, Blue... Blue can you keep quiet...? Blue, people are watching, you need to use your inside voice...' Perhaps it was the kind of speech picked up by Bradley from Vincent or Vincent from Bradley... they did work together. Perhaps it was simply just a common response when around Blue. Perhaps the girl was just loud in nature. Was it something she should be more conscious of?

Just like that, Vincent's voice softened. "I'm sorry." And let it be to prove a point, or because the girl was genuinely upset, he watched as she lifted her glass and took the contents down with one sweep. Just like that, the girl was reaching for the wine bottle and filling her glass — and as she did, she filled it almost twice as much as she had the whole evening. This time, it was Vincent's heart to quicken. He wanted so dearly for Blue to look at him with the same soft gaze which held a battle between blue and brown silently. He wanted to watch her shy smile and darkening cheeks when she caught his gaze. He wanted to see the same sparkle and ease and gentleness she had the moment her eyes brushed past his... Yet all he could grasp was a defiant sense of anger as she offered him a glare over her glass and begun to gulp just as she had moments before. "Can you please not be angry with me so we can enjoy our dinner?"

The only moment Blue set down her glass again was not to speak, but to give the man a pointed glance as she went in for a second refill — and with that, she managed a quick "I'm not mad," before she went in for yet another session of making an attempt to down the glass in one breath. She watched in vain as he dropped his cutlery and reached for her wrist... and though she braced herself for the pain of a strong grasp, his hand was gentle as it took hold of her wrist and the other eased the glass out of her hand.

"If you're not mad, stop trying to finish the bottle in one go like you are,"

Blue knew it was probably best to offer a neutral response of surrender; sitting back, resuming her meal, starting a conversation, brushing aside the argument... and yet all Blue could do was give Vincent a glare, climb to her feet, smooth over her dress and quietly state "Then I'll just go to the bathroom, instead,"

And with that, before Vincent could stop her, Blue was on her feet and storming across the restaurant — and all he could see what how great her ass looked in her skirt and how strangely dark her hair looked in the dim lighting of the restaurant. Though it was a very nice view indeed, there was nothing he longed for more in the moment than for Blue to turn back and meet his gaze; than to see the bright, deep-set eyes and tight-lipped smirk. The pale skin that framed the features he longed to see most and the gentle arch of her brows which half-hid her every look.

But like many moments in his life, in a fashion he had long since come to grips with, the moment escaped him — she was gone.

The view wasn't nearly as familiar (nor enjoyable) as the view of Vincent from across a dining table, sure, but Blue could confidently say that the bathroom of the restaurant was just as beautiful as the dark-walled, oak-floored, openly-decorated, plant-filled, warmly-lit, comfortably-filled restaurant... enclosed by the same dark concrete walls and set on grey concrete flooring. Laced by wall-climbing plants. Filled with gold accents. How did Vincent ever find the restaurant?

As the door swung open and she leant over the bathroom counter for stability, she eyed her reflection with an anger and an edge she wished she was hurt enough to muster and throw in the direction of Vincent. Only then did she notice; her eyes were dark, her lips were chapped, mascara darkened beneath her eyes, her hair was tangled and wild, her skirt was creased — she looked like she had been fucked. Or perhaps like she'd just spent hours curled up and crying over god knows what. Perhaps the evening would have gone far better if she had done just that; gone to her room and cried.

Though her reflection stole a good chunk of her attention and her eyes could not help but pick apart each wear and tear of her appearance, she found her thought trailing... was she pushing Vincent away? No, she couldn't be. She already pushed him away the night they met. Why would she let him back in just to push him away again? But was she? Was the argument, in truth, her fault? She did have a habit of making a big deal out of the smallest things and then quickly growing too stubborn to back off after she's realised as such. In fact, the girl was filled with bad habits it would seem. Perhaps far more bad than she had good.

And though the door swung open long moments ago and she had stared at herself for quite some time, she was so sure she'd meet the gaze of Vincent when she finally she whirled to face who she thought would be the now oh-so-familiar man. Yet she met the eyes of someone who happened to be quite familiar also. Though she revelled in the amusement of such a thought, it didn't take long for her heart to sink as she met the eyes she'd perhaps wish to see last in her life. "What are you doing here?"

"Let's cut to the chase — the little look you gave me from Vincent's pimpmobile across the street? We're not going to mention that to anyone, are we?"

While Blue twisted her hands in the hem of her dress to still the shaking and she stood rooted in place as Richard made his slow approach, she still couldn't help but tremble as she forced out a quick response. The fact there was no foreplay in adressing the matter frankly scared the shit out of her — he went stright to the topic sentence without an introduction. In Blue's experience with business men, that only meant one thing... they were angry. "Of course not,"

She watched in fear as he lifted a hand to her chin and she felt with a familiar distaste as he gripped her affectionately... yet she couldn't get past a sense of malice in his touch. A need to own her or to consume her, not a need to be a companion. That sense was common in the men Marian was sure would be a strong match. Perhaps that was what scared her most about Richard. The fact he was a black hole. The fact she was sure, should she be forced to be with him by the iron grip of her insistent mother, she'd burn out. She'd be devoured. She'd be reduced to nothing... just as her mother had been. Richard's breath brushed her skin with a gentle murmur in a way which made her stomach crawl. She felt as though she had skulled warm beer from a second-hand, second-hand shoe — as though her throat had with each breath the burn of a urinary tract infection; she felt ill, she felt anxious, she felt afraid. "Your little boyfriend didn't see me, did he?"

Blue shook her head faster than she ever had in her life, she found. "We're gonna keep it that way," and though Blue felt she ought to speak in a way to make herself appear far less afraid, all she could do was nod stiffly. A fatal mistake, it would seem. "What's wrong, Blue? You're not scared, are you?"

Richard laughed in a way which sounded innocent; a genuine, amused, surprised, sympathetic cackle on his half which unsettled Blue beyond means. Though the girl had far more to be afraid of, it would seem she had taken the most fear off of a laugh. All she could think to do, truthfully, was mimic the sound. Thankfully, she sounded genuinely at ease.

And then, with a sudden surge of confidence, she lifted her hands from the hem of her dress and slid them around Richard's neck. Though the action put Richard at ease, it drew his face closer to her own than it ever had been. And at that distance, she truly saw each feature. His eyes were dark. His hair was a mousy, dark brown. His nose was broad and defined. His lips were strong. His eyebrows were set in what seemed to be a natural frown — he looked as though he'd kick a child to death for no reason at all. Perhaps her life wasn't at such a grave threat of peril after all. Perhaps she'd grow to tolerate the man someday.

"You're in the lady's room, Richard — did you seriously expect me to not seem surprised?" Blue watched in a stiff fit of fear as the man before her smiled and leant in slowly... and before she could break away, her lips had been taken in a sloppy kiss and his hands had slid over the very ass Vincent was admiring less than a minute before. Blue forced herself to kiss Richard back. Blue felt as though she was going to throw up.

After what felt to be a moment too long, Richard pulled away with yet another murmur; "I'm going to keep to myself the fact that you're here with a certain man instead of at home in your bed where little girls should be... for now," with that, he paused and instead rested his hands on her hips. In a time which gave Blue none at all to break away, he drew them over her stomach and over her chest quite quickly — and at her chest they lingered. Would it be "okay" for her to simply break away and make a run for it?

She smiled weakly as he gripped her sides and yanked her chest against his own — as he spoke again, she felt her head throb in disgust. "But I'm going to want a favour from you one of these days... and you don't get to say no," With all her might, Blue wanted to scream the words 'over my dead body' and whilst her lips remained shut, Richard's own met hers in yet another kiss which made her want to throw herself from a building... but with that, she was watching him make a slow retreat through the bathroom door he had entered less than two minutes beforehand. And with that, Blue shakily took a seat on the bathroom floor.

And though she felt she should have stayed, curled in a ball on the bathroom floor at the foot of a dirty cubicle and grief-stricken, she found her footing and left through the very door Richard had surely moments before. She tucked her chair in before Vincent. She offered the man a smile as though nothing at all had happened.

Just how fucked up did her life have to be?