He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

Daisy walked into the goth club with many doubts and not a few curiosities. She’d always run with a darker crowd, but she was a chubby kind of girl, but was still very pretty, though she didn’t think so. She’d always been a little standoffish when she was feeling social, and other than that when her depression hit, she’d grown painfully shy.

How she ended up here was totally a mystery in her mind. She was still struggling with depression, but her pleasure in activities and even some social interactions returned.

She’d heard about this place from a friend of hers. She’d wanted to go since then, and debated with herself about bringing a friend. But, she finally decided to go alone, figuring it would make her more laid back and herself, since she had the glorious mask of anonymity.

Plus, she could leave whenever she liked and only had to keep up with herself. People always made it more complicated.

Daisy sent a prayer to the cosmos that she wouldn’t run into anyone she knew. She was dressed much more sexy than her usual jeans and t-shirts. She bought a knee-length, empire waisted black dress. She wore heels she’d been practicing for a month to wear, tall black stilettos. She wore only a black ribbon choker. Her mousy brown hair had been dyed a soft, natural black, and her smoky blue eyes had been lined with dark kohl eye liner and the barest hint of silver glitter.

She was gorgeous, but she still looked prudish next to the more whoreishly dressed women roaming around, who all looked to be anorexic skinny bitches. She sighed inwardly, and made her way to the bar.

The bartender gave her a suspicious look.

“ID?”

“I’m eighteen. I don’t want alcohol. Can I just get a soda?” she asked.

The bartender nodded, still looking unhappy about her being underage. As a girl, she could come at eighteen, but men couldn’t get in until the age of twenty one. Daisy supposed it was one benefit of inequality between genders.

She pulled an ashtray close to her, lit up a cigarette, and looked around. People were gyrating to the sexually charged music pounding through the speakers. She recognized the song, and mouthed the words.

Suddenly, she felt a breath near her neck, and she turned around. There was a pale, strong featured man, who bordered the line between handsome and odd-looking. There was a tattoo next to his eye, which appeared to be a bat.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked.

Daisy almost melted in her seat. He sounded articulate, and better yet, a Russian accent lilted his words.

Daisy blushed slightly and nodded, grabbing his offered hand with her own. He led her to floor, and pulled her close.

It took her a few moments, but eventually she synched up with his movements, moving her hips in time with his, breathing in his scent. And finally, in a totally un-Daisyish way, she met his dark eyes, and she couldn’t move them away afterwards. Daisy felt a spine tingling connection to this man. There was something so enrapturing about him.

He was dark, and sexy, definitely. But there was something else. A sadness maybe, and definitely a passion she was taken with. Daisy had never met anyone like him. Well, Daisy had never met much of anyone. But he still felt incredibly different from the normal mortal. The sort of person Daisy liked.
________________________________________________________________

Ivan couldn’t describe it. He usually went for the normal anorexic looking, bold, goth girl. But there was something about this one. Her scent had attracted him first. Then her eyes. She was graceful, even compared to the thinner girls around her. There was a complicated, paradoxical quality to her eyes and style that drew Ivan in.

She was shy on the surface, but he could tell a different girl was struggling to get to the surface. Her body was rubbing against his while dancing. It was everything Ivan could do to stop himself from taking her right there.

He smelled her scent again. Something that made his insides rumble with pleasure. In fact, this girl made all of him rumble in pleasure.
__________________________________________________________________

Suddenly, a stray thought entered Daisy’s head. She’d forgotten her shyness and distrustfulness, but it all swooped back on her at once. She pushed the man away, and stumbled back.

She looked at him in dismay, not of him, but herself. She shook her head, and ran towards the door.

Half way to her car, she felt a cold hand clasp around her arm. The man was back, with those damnable deep eyes.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked her.

Daisy refused to meet his eyes, but shook her head.

“There are plenty of other girls. I’m just sort of shy. I can’t go trough with anything my body promised in there.”

“I don’t want another girl. If I did, I’d be in there, finding one. I want you.” He said, very intensely.

Something told her that his words should creep her out, but something deeply feline in her purred in pleasure to his words.

“I’m sorry. I’m just not used…to dancing like that.” Daisy explained lamely.

The man shook his head.

“It’s okay. But, can I at least get your number?” he asked.

Daisy hesitated, but eventually nodded. Fuck it, she told herself. He’s hotter than anyone else that would be interested in me.

He handed her a pen, and she inscribed her number on to his arm, signing her name as Daisy in cursive.

She trekked back to her car, and she heard then man call out after her.

“Have a good night, Daisy!”

What made accents so freaking hot?