Chapter Text
It was Friday afternoon, just past 3 pm and I was almost positive that I was about to die from boredom. I looked at the little clock in the bottom corner of my computer screen and then at the analog clock on the wall. Both mocked me with a lazy 3:08.
I pushed away from my desk and took my third bathroom break since lunch, hoping to kill maybe ten minutes if I walked slowly.
“Hey, temp. How’s it going?” inquired a cheerful girl with short fire engine red hair and black rimmed glasses. I had noticed her at the coffee machine a few times. Noticed her dark clothing and occasional heavy black eyeliner and wondered if maybe she wasn’t entirely boring.
“Oh, hi,” I said. Master of small talk.
“Not the most fun job, is it? I did it for a whole summer before a position opened up on the customer service floor. It’s still awful, but it pays better.” She smiled.
“Yeah, well, I’m fast at data entry so I’m hoping to be outta here in another week.” This temp assignment was supposed to be two weeks long but I was already finishing week number three with no end in sight. Not that I minded the regular pay check, but I simply hated office work.
“I noticed the Joy Division button on your bag,” she said shyly. “Are you into that kind of music?”
“Yeah, they’re alright,” I said, lying. I fucking loved Joy Division.
“I thought you seemed cool. Here,” she handed me a small printed flyer that was folded and stuffed in her pocket. “This is tonight. You’d probably like it.” She turned to go, and then stopped. “What’s your name, by the way?”
“Ciel.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said with her best fake office professional voice and shook my hand. “I’m Mey-Rin.”
When I got back to my desk I unfolded the flyer and looked it over. Amidst the comic book image of bats emerging from a cave was an advertisement:
Friday Night is Plague Night at Sanctuary!
DJ’s Rivethead Rick and Miss Anne Thrope
Spooky dress encouraged. 21 plus, $5 cover.
So, this town did have a goth scene. I had wondered since I moved here three months ago if there was anything worth doing at night. I pondered the red-haired girl from customer service and wondered what the crowd would be like. If it was totally awful I could always bail. I was so over staying home every night and a guy can only watch so many Netflix movies and jerk off so many times before totally hating himself. At the very least I could grab a drink and chat with Mey-Rin some more. It would be nice to have a friend at work even if it was only for another week.
When the clock finally acquiesced and told me it was five, I flew out of my cubical fast enough to leave my chair spinning. I slung my messenger bag across my chest and headed home. I stopped in the smoke shop to pick up a pack of clove cigarettes and a cheap bottle of wine and then stomped up the stairs to my apartment.
I kicked off my office shoes and dumped my bag on the floor by the door and punched the buttons on my stereo until it started playing the gritty industrial rhythm of the Skinny Puppy cd that I’d left in there. I closed my one good eye for a second and just enjoyed the feeling of being free from work for the next two days. Freedom was so good, but having something to do was even better.
I took a sip straight from the wine bottle as I peered into my closet and pondered what to wear. It had been so long since I had gone out that I almost forgot how to wear anything but my stupid work clothes. A few hours later I had half of my closet spread out on my bed and discarded onto the floor. I finally settled on a pair of almost painfully tight black pants, a favorite torn and lovingly abused fishnet shirt and an equally tight and ragged Skinny Puppy t-shirt. Inspired by the repeated utterance that ‘Jesus wants to be ugli’ I pulled the shirt over my head and hooked my thumbs into the fishnet. I felt comfortable, like I was coming home again and sighed into the wine bottle. I really hoped this evening wouldn’t be disappointing.
A bullet belt slung low on my slim hips and a bit of stuff in my hair to tussle the office blandness out of it and I was about ready. I crawled out on to the fire escape with my wine and lit up a clove. I savored the first spicy-sweet drag. I didn’t let myself smoke very often, but when I did I enjoyed it thoroughly. The scent of the cigarette was so entwined with happier times that it instantly took me back.
God, I needed to get laid.
I made myself scarf down a peanut butter sandwich even though I wasn’t hungry. I knew that I’d be drinking and I didn’t need to get shitfaced in front of my coworker just because my stomach was completely empty. I reverently reached into the back of my closet to find my 20-hole Doc Martin boots and started the process of lacing them up. The feeling of my thin legs being lovingly laced into the stiff leather made me smile.
I took one last look at myself before heading out the door. My face was pale and my hair was black naturally without any dye and long enough that it fell over my face when it wasn’t tucked behind my ears. My one good eye was dark blue, the other was essentially gone. I wore a simple black patch and usually let my hair cover it up so it’s less noticeable. Surprisingly it worked well enough that I wasn’t asked too often about what had happened, though I still got the occasional idiot who assumed it was a fashion statement. Hopefully this wreck that I saw in the mirror could still net a man of some sort.
If the scene wasn’t too abysmal.
I tried not to get my hopes up, but I really couldn’t help but feel excited as I walked through the dark city streets to the bar. I looked at the flyer again and turned down a one-way side street.
At first glance I felt my heart sink. The bold neon letters spelling out SANCTUARY ran along the side of the building, but the first door I encountered read Sports Bar. I kept walking. No way in hell am I going in. But another few steps and I saw a collection of kids dressed in black and smoking cigarettes leaning against the brick side of the building. Another entrance. I cautiously approached and started to see flyers similar to the one in my pocket advertising bands and other DJ nights along the wall. I strode past the smokers, standing tall like I owned the street and knew where the fuck I was going.
I followed a girl with platform boots and a short black vinyl skirt across the lobby and down a wide flight of stairs. Once I reached the bottom step I could hear the thrum of industrial music and see a dark room beyond filled with people. An adorable blond girl with a sweet face and purple lipstick was perched on a stool behind a podium at the entrance to the dance floor.
“Hi,” she smiled, shouting a bit to be heard over the music. “I need to see your ID and the cover is five bucks tonight.”
I handed her my driver’s license and the cash and extended my right hand to be stamped. The stamp was a black cat.
“You’re new here?” she asked.
“Yeah, new in town.”
“Well, enjoy. It’s a fun crowd. Lots of regulars.”
“Great, thank you.” I felt her eyes on my backside as I walked past her and was glad I wore the extra tight pants. It wasn’t my first choice, but I might be desperate enough to follow a girl home.
I ventured into the darkness, blinking as my eye adjusted, skirting past the dance floor where a handful of early enthusiasts were gyrating to the trance-like beats, and found my way to the bar. First things first.
The bartender- there was only the one on duty- was jacked. His arms were testing the tensile strength of the tight black t-shirt he wore. He was a bit short for my taste but a nice enough face. Nothing to write in my diary about, but I put on my best flirting face as I put in my drink request of a vodka and cranberry.
“You sure you don’t want the special?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. I glanced at the special board, a messily scribbled selection on a dry erase board. The first entry was ‘sex with the bartender.’ I couldn’t say no to that.
“Well, I suppose I’ll have sex with the bartender,” I amended.
“Always an excellent choice,” he said and spun around to make the drink. Three dollars, a devastating smile and a two dollar tip later, and I took my sweet drink and ventured into the crowd to see what I had gotten myself into.
I found a vantage point set back from the dance floor with my back against a wall so I could look around while I sipped my drink. I took out the plastic stirrer and took a tentative sip. It was sweet and strong and would certainly do the job. More people began to come down the stairs and flow into the club, and the crowd began to get a little more interesting. There was a good mix of boys and girls, lots of pretty clothes to look at. The music was generic industrial, but the energy was good and I found myself bouncing on the balls of my feet while I looked around until someone crashed into my arm, knocking a splash of booze onto my shirt.
“Um, excuse you!” I shouted over the music.
“Hey, temp!” said the redhead from work, smiling and obviously feeling good. She had on a short ruffled black skirt and red corset squishing her small boobs up toward her face and making her waist look invitingly small. She still had on the thick glasses but she had spiked up her hair a bit and wore heavy eye liner.
“Oh, hi!” said the master of small talk.
“You look great! Did you just get here?” she asked.
“Thanks, you too! Yeah, just came in a few minutes ago.”
“Did you have sex with the bartender?” She gestured to the drink, a stupid grin on her face.
“I tried to.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “That’s Mickey. He’s a fresh piece of ass. He does MMA fighting.” She fanned herself as though she were sweltering and flustered.
“Seems like a fairly decent crowd,” I said gesturing out to the dance floor.
“Yeah, it’s not bad for a small city. We’re here usually every Friday, though sometimes when we book a band we get to use the upstairs club area.”
“So you help to put this on?”
“Yeah, babe. I work with Jesse to book the DJs and to get the advertising out.” She gestured to the blond girl at the entrance who stamped my hand. “It’s a labor of love, but we have fun!”
“That’s awesome. I didn’t know there was a goth scene here.”
“You’re new in town, huh?”
“Yeah, I moved here again three months ago from Montreal.”
“Oooo…tres bien!” she shoved me again and laughed.
“Watch it! I paid for this drink you know.”
“So you got a girlfriend?” she asked.
“No, do you?”
“Ha! Bitch. No, I do not. Though I have my sights on that waify little blond boy over there.” She pointed to a thin guy with blond hair that reached his jaw. He had on a Bauhaus t-shirt with the sleeves cut off to show his skinny arms and a pair of tight black jeans full of holes. When he turned around I could see that he had a sweet looking face.
“He’s cute,” I said.
“Well, hands off. I saw him first,” she shoved me again but I was ready this time and had my drink in the other hand.
“Not my type anyway.” I glanced around the room again hoping that someone would stand out from the crowd with a spotlight just for me. No such luck. I took another swallow of my drink and chewed on an ice cube thoughtfully.
“What is your type, hmm?” she asked with a conspiratorial look.
“I’ll know it when I see him, I suppose. It’s been far too long.”
“Woof, that’s rough. How long?”
I sighed, feeling the depression set in. “One year, seven months and….thirteen…no ...fourteen days.”
She laughed. “Two months for me, and I thought that was rough. I’m gonna do my best to break the dry spell tonight. That reminds me, I need to put my request in.” She skipped away from me toward the DJ both, hoping up the three steps with drunken grace and started chatting with the DJ.
At the end of the next song, the instantly recognizable hissing heartbeat rhythm of the Nine Inch Nails song “Closer” blasted through the room. I laughed as I saw Mey-Rin skip over toward the skinny blond boy. Real fucking subtle, girl. After some serious blushing and smiling on his part, she managed to pull him out onto the dance floor and even got him to move a little bit through what I could only guess was her trademarked shoving method. At least he didn’t have a drink in his hand.
I was smiling, sipping my drink, and bouncing along a little to the music when a stupidly tall guy came down the stairs and ducked into the room. I almost dropped my drink when I saw his face. He was pale with dark hair, long and touching his sharp cheekbones in the front, but buzzed short in the back. He had on a pair of black leather pants that might have actually been sprayed on and a plain black, fitted t-shirt, tucked in to show off the studded belt that hung off his hips. He moved gracefully through the crowd, skirting the dance floor, right past me, arriving finally at the bar. I saw Mickey give him a bright smile and then handed him a beer. The man’s arms were long enough that he could reach over the heads of the kids still waiting for their drinks.
Suddenly I felt like the song was playing just for me.