Oh. So that’s what he means. An unwarranted disappointment floats through me. Bleh. I should have known. He has no secret agenda to hook up with me. This is just a simple cheer-up technique to get my mind back on the job. Well, that’s better, I suppose. Safer, at least. And something I can justify doing.
He’s still looking at me expectantly and I realize that I haven’t given him a verbal answer. “I’d love to,” I reply.
He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet, then ushers me to my bedroom door, hand brushing against the small of my back. Gah. His touch really should be illegal. Almost makes me want to skip the dance club and go straight for the bed. Not that that would be a good idea. And besides, I kind of like this almost old-fashioned chivalrous thing he’s got going on. So unlike guys my age, who are just interested in getting it on with the Goth freak.
Besides, we’ve already established that he’s just being nice. He probably feels sorry for me and my pathetic little lost-daddy’s-girl thing. Ugh.
We tell Mom we’re going out and she looks so pleased that I’ve actually left my bedroom I bet if I told her we were off to smoke crack and get lap dances she would have waved and said, “Have a good time. Just be back by curfew.”
We jump in Jareth’s BMW and speed off to Club Fang. He turns the music up extra loud, just the way I like it, and I zone out to the crooning sounds of Morrissey. It’s nice and comfortable this way. No awkward convo and strained silences. He must sense that I’ve already shared way more than I ever share and am currently all talked out.
Club Fang is hopping when we get there. After paying the bouncer the cover charge, we walk inside and are enveloped by darkness, illuminated only by irregular flashing strobe lights and obscured by machine-created fog. The bass is up, the music is dark and enchanting, and I’m in Heaven already.
Jareth grabs my hand and together we weave through the crowd of sweaty gothed-out dancers until we get to the center of the room. Then he pulls me close and together we start swaying to the music.
At first I’m thinking, “Danger, danger!” and that I should not be here. With him. Falling deeper and deeper for a guy who doesn’t want me for anything more than friendship. But as the music takes me, my reservations start melting away. I’m here. I’m in his arms. I might as well accept things. Take them for what they are and enjoy the moment. Who knows when something so blissful will come around again.
As we dance, my troubles seem more and more trivial. I mean, so what if my dad didn’t show up for my birthday? It’s not like he’s a regular at any other family events. We’ve been fine without him for the last four years and we’ll be fine without him for the next four. And so what if Mike Stevens is a huge dick with an attitude? High school will be the best years of his life. Soon he’ll be strapped with five kids, a job that gives him ulcers, and a wife who doesn’t understand him.
None of it matters in the long run. Just the beat. The tribal sounds that stir something primitive inside of me. At this very moment there is no past. No future. Just a vampire’s arms wrapped around me, his hot body pressed against mine. Heaven.
Jareth seems lost in it, too. His eyes are closed as he sways against me. I study his face as the multicolored lights dance across it, creating alternating shadows and light. I wonder again what he’s hiding. What turmoil and hurt lies under his calm exterior. What has made him so angry? What has made him so like me?
Because he is like me, I realize. He hides his torment, conceals his pain, until he can’t anymore and then it explodes and he comes across as a nasty, angry person. But he’s not really like that. Not inside.
The beat slows and so does our dance. Jareth’s eyes open, almond-shaped sapphires that practically glow in the dark. I know I keep harping on them, but I’ve just never seen such beautiful eyes before and I’m sure I never will again. He reaches down and brushes a lock of hair away from my sweaty forehead.
“How are you?” he asks. And the way he says it makes me believe that he actually cares about the answer.
“Better,” I say, smiling up at him. “Much better, actually.”
“Sometimes it’s good to talk,” he says. “But other times you’d rather just lose your mind.”
I nod, amazed at how his thoughts totally parallel mine. He really is the perfect guy in so many ways.
Screw it. I might as well face the facts: I’m in love. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
26
TUESDAY, JUNE 12, 10 P.M.
We park down the street from the Blood Bar and go inside separately. Jareth goes through the employee entrance and I go through the front door.
“Hey, Shaniqua,” Francis greets, smiling at me as I approach. “Thought I’d finally seen the last of you.”
“Can’t scare me away that easily, Frannie,” I shoot back with a grin of my own.
“Luckily for me or I’d miss out on all this witty banter.”
“Didn’t I tell you that I’d grow on you? You should always listen to me. Always.”
“Hey. I do. Heck, if you told me to jump, girl, I’d only have to ask how high.”
We laugh for moment. Then I turn to more serious business. “So,” I lower my voice, “did you find your blood mate?”
His smile dips into a frown. “Yes,” he says, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. “It’s the weirdest thing. She’s evidently been inflicted with some sort of horrible virus. I mean, she’s really sick. She can barely sit up. And worst of all, I think she’s lost all her vampiric powers. Of course, she’s convinced herself that once she’s better she’ll get them back, but honestly I’m not so sure.”