Nyx
Wyrd Sister
The Broken Watch
The clock ticks past 12. I stub out another cigarette and drain the last of my drink. I have been sitting here at my families bar, watching the new barman with more than a passing interest. He's maybe 5'9" , south American, from his lean defined body and angular almost feminine features I would say Chilean. His perfectly symmetrical face is marred by the slight crook of a long healed broken nose. It suits him.
The night has been spent in brief small talk, stolen glances and innuendo as he serves other customers. The regulars look sideways at me, I 'never' drink in the bar, but noone one says a word and come closing time everyone makes themselves scarce.
He finishes cleaning up and stands at the open hatch leaning against the bar, we share a cigarette despite each having their own. I finally get the chance to ask his name and give him mine. Then there is silence, a resting pause, his light brown eyes look down to mine and its like someone flicked a switch.
His hand is tangled in my hair and cradling my head, his lips crushed against mine. What occurs after this is like the unleashing of a force of nature. Two highly charged elements making contact. At some point several chairs get toppled off a table the clatter resonates through the building. 30secs later we are forced apart by the phone ringing. It's my step father calling down from the apartment above asking if everything is Allright. My new friend tries to sound apologetic for his clumsiness, all the while his lips are scythed in a grin that promises as much pain as it could bring pleasure.
As soon as the call ends, he is stalking back across the floor and we drag each other outside. Where he smashes my watch with the force of which he pins me to the wall.
That night I learned lust and passion could be fuelled by pain and violence. And that I liked it.
The clock ticks past 12. I stub out another cigarette and drain the last of my drink. I have been sitting here at my families bar, watching the new barman with more than a passing interest. He's maybe 5'9" , south American, from his lean defined body and angular almost feminine features I would say Chilean. His perfectly symmetrical face is marred by the slight crook of a long healed broken nose. It suits him.
The night has been spent in brief small talk, stolen glances and innuendo as he serves other customers. The regulars look sideways at me, I 'never' drink in the bar, but noone one says a word and come closing time everyone makes themselves scarce.
He finishes cleaning up and stands at the open hatch leaning against the bar, we share a cigarette despite each having their own. I finally get the chance to ask his name and give him mine. Then there is silence, a resting pause, his light brown eyes look down to mine and its like someone flicked a switch.
His hand is tangled in my hair and cradling my head, his lips crushed against mine. What occurs after this is like the unleashing of a force of nature. Two highly charged elements making contact. At some point several chairs get toppled off a table the clatter resonates through the building. 30secs later we are forced apart by the phone ringing. It's my step father calling down from the apartment above asking if everything is Allright. My new friend tries to sound apologetic for his clumsiness, all the while his lips are scythed in a grin that promises as much pain as it could bring pleasure.
As soon as the call ends, he is stalking back across the floor and we drag each other outside. Where he smashes my watch with the force of which he pins me to the wall.
That night I learned lust and passion could be fuelled by pain and violence. And that I liked it.
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