Blood and Shadow - Pt. 2

Preston Black is a waste of space. Alright, perhaps that isn’t everyone’s opinion, certainly not his. I am entitled to my own though and I believe him to be a weak-willed self-important scab who tries to masquerade as something important other than a pimple on the ass of the world. He’s someone who sits in bars all night because he feels that nothing can happen to him, good or bad, if he just sits at home. Everything is an experience. He has one real friend and he thinks everyone else he knows is his friend also, this is a lie. Most of them dislike him or distrust him greatly. He’s a little conceded when he speaks and has a way of being crass without realizing it. He’s the kind of dick who comes across as slightly socially awkward until you really think about it and you remove the word slightly.

In Preston’s mind; his name is Preston Byron Black. How could you be anything less but spectacular with that name? His father’s name was Preston and he had a reputation for being one of the best lawyers in the state. No one got anything over on his father. His mother was an English teacher who had focused her studies on the Byronic hero, thus she chose her son’s middle name to her liking and fought her husband’s wish for their son to be Preston George Black the second. At some point in his pretentious youth though Preston decided that with a name like that he was destined for greatness to fall into his lap. Something had to happen, he just had to get out there and let it slap him in the face. In truth though, the idea of nothing ever happening to him was just too depressing that it scared him. He even took up journalism because he thought he would be famous for breaking some story or get thrust in the middle of some trouble that would lead to his adventure. I told you he was pathetic.

I blame his parents. Parents today lie to their kids and indulge them in fantasies, telling them they can be someone or an astronaut or some other such nonsense when they should be saying, just aim for that bachelors degree and a job you won’t go on a killing spree at dear. Anything else just isn’t promised to you and is most likely and unrealistic dream. Every mother thinks their child is an angel and tells them so, mothers lie. Nothing had happened to him though. There was no great mystery, adventure, or super powers that had been thrust upon him. No, Preston Black was never going to live up to his own expectations. Instead he tried to impress everyone around him while still waiting for Destiny to walk up and slap him in the face.

He met Amy almost three years ago at the college and he was immediately attracted to her. He made a reason to say hello one cold evening and then offered his jacket. She had smiled at him. It was love at first sight. That’s just it though, it wasn’t for her. He thought she might be having these same stirring feelings without doing any real investigating and the moment she didn’t respond the way he thought she should he tried to switch up his tactics. He was almost mean to her, it had worked for others, and it had worked in the movies so why wouldn’t it work here? When that didn’t get the job done he tried to become more amusing and through a series of failed attempts when he should have stayed the course as himself Amy had found a new friend and Preston found a girl to work towards that he would never be able to make work without dropping everything. Let’s not dwell on that though.

Tonight like many others Preston set alone on a stool in Barcade staring at a napkin he had scribbled some words down on. His usual partner in crime had a prior engagement and although there were plenty of attractive eager women around him his confidence had that same prior engagement. It’s okay though, because if Amy had skipped her date with Dr. Douche and gone out with him tonight the evening may have gone much differently. You see Preston was right, he was a part of something bigger. He was waiting for destiny to come slap him on the ass and introduce him to her friend opportunity. That just wasn’t in his cards. Preston was never meant to be a leading man; rather a pawn in a much larger scheme.

            “Jack and coke,” a woman’s voice exclaimed loudly right near his ear as she tried to push her way in between him and another woman at the bar who reluctantly scooted over and let her nudge in.

            He was about to say something snarky to her, wondering why she hadn’t gone to the other end of the bar where it was clearly less crowded. His mouth opened to say the words and dash her across the rocks for bothering him but he saw her eyes. In the light they were almost purple.

            “Excuse me,” she said halfheartedly to him as she leaned over the stool the other woman had abandoned and yelled her order once more to the bartender. She was wearing a black button up shirt with a ruffled collar over a thin tank-top. The dark jean shorts that went with it were about as short as they could be, but she had the legs to pull them off. She was smiling with the grin of a mischief-maker who had just found something to get into, or the other way around.

            “Why do you look like you’re moping in a bar filled with people and classic arcade games?”

            It was an honest question she had asked, to anyone other than Preston who jumped to being defensive about his mood.

            “What,” he was surprised at the brazen nature of her question. “I’m not mopey, I was thinking about some writing.” He had never met this girl before and was already a bit put off by her. He was used to being the one making people feel that way.

            She smiled, “I’m sorry, this is too perfect. You’re telling me that the forlorn writer came to a place filled with people to try to exist in a world by himself while he pondered his work?” She laughed and took her drink.

            “Where do you get off?”

            She took a long drink and leaned back on the stool, propped against the bar.

            “Well everyone else came here to meet people, have fun, maybe make some mistakes. So that is what I’m doing, and that’s where I get off, as you said.” She took a long drink of the dark liquor as he watched her.

            “Why have I never seen you here before?”

            “It’s a big city.”

            “I’m here a lot.”

            She smirked, “Maybe this isn’t the best place to write?”

            “A point that’s hard to argue,” Preston stood and waved the bartender over and paid for his tab and motioned that the girl’s drink was on him as well, a girl like her never really had to pay for her own drinks. “Why don’t we get out of here then and go someplace else, somewhere not too pretentious.”

            “I just got here. I had plans to play some games.” She said but her eyes begged a retort. She drank in the last bit of booze from the glass and placed it back on the bar.

            “Right,” he smirked at her and stepped closer, his voice still raised a bit to make sure she could still hear him. “Well I promise you I’m better than any of the games in here, other than maybe “Contra”, and you won’t have to wait in line or wade through people if we get out of here.”

            Looking back over her shoulder, as if considering, she paused and let out an inaudible sight. She offered her arm to the young suitor. “Fine, but you had better at least be “Paper-boy” kind of fun or I’m going to demand some free quarters for my next trip.”

            The two stepped out onto the sidewalk and witnessed a near wreck between two cars as they both paused, seeing which way the other would go.

            “I’m Alma by the way, if you’re the type that likes names with faces.”

            “Preston,” he said and should have stopped there, “as long as the name is equally beautiful as the face.”

            “Charming, which way are we heading heartbreaker?”

            “Preston,” he told her.

            “Really? There are real people named that,” she laughed. “I mean, I probably won’t remember it anyway but that’s still cute.”

            “Oh, I’m glad my parents could amuse you. Alma isn’t exactly a common name either.”

            “No but it doesn’t make me sound like I have a trust fund either. What is your last name, Hilton, Rockefeller, Hawthorn?”

            He raised an eyebrow. “No, no it’s Black.”

            “Oohh, how ominous,” she seemed genuinely intrigued, interested, something. He couldn’t put his finger on it but he felt like he had made all the right moves. “Well Mr. Black, Mr. Preston Black, where are we headed?”

            She leaned in as her fingers played with the line of his jacket as if she were inspecting the material. She was good.

            “There’s a park near here. I thought we could go take a walk and get to know each other.” It was his step two. Fault him as you will but Preston needed a girl who was talented in bed but could hold a conversation before and afterwards. “There’s also an amazing ice cream place in Chinatown if that’s more your style.”

            “Oh, and here I was thinking you were trying to get me to your apartment.”

            He laughed, “You move fast.”

             “I’ve got a long night planned ahead of me and I don’t care much for wasting time,” her smile was inviting but it quickly pulled back as if she realized she may have come on too strong. “Unless bedding me wasn’t what you were after, I’m a little quick to react sometimes.”

            ‘No, you weren’t wrong.”

            Preston couldn’t help but laugh to himself as he stepped one foot out into the street and lifted his hand, waiting for the first cab that would stop. He opened the door for his new companion and spent a lot of the ride to his apartment admiring her legs and she was more than willing to present herself for inspection. Alma worked hard on her appearance, she was a fetish model, but she didn’t tell Preston that. She told him that she was in school for art, the best lies are half-truths. He spilled a little more than he meant to towards her. This was the first woman in a long time that Preston hadn’t hated or found repulsive for one reason or another, other than his best friend of course. The right type of girl for him had to have a little bit of that same venom he possessed, a hatred for the world and all of the sheep in it, but a desire to live and be something, like Preston thought he was supposed to be. Alma was about to help show Preston how important he really was, even if it was as a tool.

            He had paid the cab driver quickly so that he could unlock the door. Something perhaps made him think that she would change her mind after coming this far with him. A slight nagging at the back of his mind wondered if he was rushing into—literally—someone that he needed to be slow with and nurture a good relationship, what would Amy say in this situation? What would her advice be. He sent her a text to have his curiosity sated.

            Message to Amy: “Found something I like”

Mistake or not, Alma wasn’t going to wait to find out. Preston realized she had set her mind on something and so she would have it. As soon as the door to his apartment was open she had already left her shoes at the door and her black button-up shirt draped across the banister.

Preston wrapped his arm around her waist and went into kiss her after laying his keys down on the counter.

“I was going to ask if you wanted a drink or something but I guess not.”

She side-stepped the kiss and smirked, “actually that’d be awesome, and some music too.” She was being playful and he was happy to oblige. “Where’s the bedroom, upstairs?”

“Yep,” Preston said walking to his liquor cabinet. He heard her feet heading up the steps behind him as he found something light for her. He decided against pouring himself one as he threw his jacket onto the couch and walked over to his stereo. Nine Inch Nails and Pearl Jam were his only two current choices in the CD player and as you can imagine he wanted to hurry upstairs. He let Trent do his work and went to grab her drink as he heard her move around up there.

Upstairs, Alma had taken a look at the bedroom and made sure the lights were dim or out. She reached into the short shorts she had on and pulled out a folded clear bag that held something slender and dark in it. Quickly removing the contents the baggie was stuffed back into the pockets. She straightened out what appeared to be a long crow’s feather that had some type of green flakes that she tried to protect while leaning down. The black object was placed carefully under the bed in the center and she whispered something that was almost a pleading prayer.

She stood back up quickly, nervous as she unbuttoned the shorts and stepped out of them. She heard Preston coming up the steps with the drink and unclasped her bra, tossing it onto the shorts. When he got up to his room it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to see the beautiful woman with excellent curves wearing the black thong lying on his bed with her arms spread and a smile on her face. She wasn’t too thin and was in shape with curves that he couldn’t stop tracing with his eyes.

“The drink is for after. If you can’t tell I was kind of ready for you now.”

For once Preston had nothing to say. The drink was sat down to be at the ready for her when they were done and he was inside of her, in multiple positions, before their night ended. She was energetic in bed, he liked that. She was willing to follow his movements and pleasure him how she thought he wanted it. The only thing she didn’t do was scream his name. They fucked for hours. She tired him out and kept telling him he needed to do more. In the end she let him cum on her and used one of his shirts lying next to the bed to clean herself off.

She downed the drink by the bed in one gulp as he lay there, exhausted.

“Thanks champ,” she said getting dressed.

“So when are you going to let me take you out?”

“Let's see if you can find me again, then we’ll talk about that.”

“I’m there every night,” he reminded her, “and way better than “Paper-boy”, or am I wrong?”

She just smiled. “Get some rest.” She said it with little though and turned to head downstairs. She grabbed her shirt and shoes and he listened to the door shut.

“Dammit…” He should have gotten her number. He should have worn a condom. He could have done better, impressed her more. This all ran through his mind as he turned over and realized he was really tired, he needed to take her advice and get some rest. It would be one of the most sleepless nights he ever had.