Feeling like I sold my soul || pt.1
date, time: october 16th, 1.37am location: nightclub, roppongi district, tokyo word count: 2979
There was something about this moment. With liquor pouring and music blaring, Jerome didn't have the same vigor he had over him like when he first entered the nightclub. He looked nervous, pulling company near and almost hiding between them.
And all because of her.
His mouth had fell agape when he first saw her, rouge lips curved into a smile he remembers. Radiant. Kittenish. It made him ache. The girl he used to be so acquainted with. Who used to have his heart between her slender fingers where now a drink resided. Who used to be deserving of whispered 'I love you's’ in the dead of night. Who now had not his affection, but had his hatred instead. Here. And he stared. How could she be here? This night? This club? How was it that this kept happening? First her appearance in Seoul, literally seeing her everywhere, and now here? In Tokyo of all places. After days of forgetting her. After days of adoring him. Was the universe punishing him for something? Was she just destined to serve as a reminder that yes, Jerome, you should never love again because look what she did to you. Look what happened when you loved. You lost. You hurt. Even in the colourful lights, it would be terrifying to catch her eyes.
Holes. He felt her burning them in the side of his head as he tried to drown himself in the bourbon he snatched up, barely listening to Dax's drunken rambles as he did so, too preoccupied with trying to show he had not noticed her or that she didn't matter. It made him feel so small though, her gaze, like he was in his teachers car again as he got driven back to his apartment after being suspended from his education because of her. Because of you, Jerome; you punched him. The way he'd been curled up in the seat then, head resting against the cool window as he felt tears sting the rims of his eyes. The car smelled smokey from the amounts of cigarettes his teacher used to smoke in there but he remembers only smelling her perfume, floral like a rose garden in the heart of spring with hints of fruitiness that used to make his mouth salivate in anticipation of tasting it on her skin. He remembers the gold necklace wrapped around his blood stained knuckles that he so carefully removed from her slender neck before cursing her out like she had meant nothing to him. He remembers the shaking, slight and unnoticeable, just like he did now, auburn liquid sloshing in the pretty glass between his fingers. "Jerome." He heard distantly but near his ear. It was the playful voice of the Thai male that was next to him and who he half ignored in favour of getting swallowed up by the past. After swallowing down a big gulp of intoxication, he turned to him, eyes deliberately making a dip to avoid the ones he fell for all those years ago. "What." He murmured back, a whole ordeal to keep his voice steady as emotions tugged on his vocal cords. Dax went on about her again, telling he could leave him if he wanted, telling him he should get some ass today, telling him she's been eyeing him all night and that he should take her. The idol however didn't know he already had her once. Already knew every single curve of her body. Every beauty mark that decorated the flawless skin. Knew all the sounds she could produce. All the spots he needed to kiss, lick, bite, to have her moaning delightfully, grasping at his then dusty blonde locks. Nobody knew they had been acquainted once as lovers. Lovers that fell, crushed by betrayal. His eyes flickered over the others face before sighing shakily and downing the rest of the contents resided in his glass down his throat. "I'm getting another drink. I'll decide then if I want her or not." There was almost a sense of poison on his tongue, the thought of wanting her feeling painful to the elder. Did he want her? Even after all this? There wasn't time to answer seeing as he was leaving Dax's side then, leaving the younger behind, but not before daring to spare a glance at the woman who had put his whole life into motion.
First mistake of the night; he acknowledged her. There was something different in seeing her like this. On covers of magazines she looked so pretty, so unobtainable, so distant. In advertisements she looked breathtaking but different in the way Jerome had viewed her. Passing by her at events, she was just a reminder of what happens when you give your heart to someone. He felt hatred yet this immense sense of aching when looking at her. But here, between the loud music and dancing individuals, she was far more than that. She was looking at him. She never looked at him. It was always him looking at her. Always him basking in light of their previous relationship and how she ruined it. Always him growing self conscious over the fact she had chosen a modern day Greek God above him. Always him hyper aware that he wasn't good enough. He always thought she forgotten him, their relationship built on unequal attention. Yet here she was. Staring at him. And only him, sharp eyes reading with something he might call intrigue if he allowed himself to look into them further. But he didn't, with air seemingly caught in his throat he tore the gaze away, showing too much in a single glance. He felt his heart race in a way he wasn't familiar with, painfully hitting against his rib-cage as he made his way through the crowd to find their hardest alcohol.
"Not even saying hello, Romeo?" The language of love poured into his ear canal moments later after he had gotten his drink at the bar, just like the alcohol that he poured down his throat throughout the night - yet one made him more lightheaded than the other. He almost chokes upon hearing the nickname, the one that left him so embarrassed the first time it slipped passed the smirking lips of the girl he had fallen for then, but now it just felt like salt being pressed in a wound he tried best to ignore. Sparing her a glance would be stupid now, the tension in his jaw already showing his discomfort with her being this close, talking so casually to him in his mother tongue. Parler français. "I remember a time you couldn't even start your day without greeting me." Her words fell warm against his ear but left him cold - she was leaned in for that moment and though it felt familiar, it pained him, knuckles turning a shade of white at the pressure he was giving the thankfully sturdy glass in his hand. Provoking. She was provoking him. "That time was long ago." He spat back, a little bit too venomous for the location that they were in. There was a sense of care that was needed to put into this situation. If he showed his emotions too much she didn't only have the satisfaction of knowing she still occupied his mind, he also had the fear of people finding out she was the girl he rambled on about for minutes during the beginnings of his career. The girl that knew him. Knew everything about him. The things that she could spill. The things that vulture like paparazzi could find.
He left her then. Left the bar to have her warm alcohol tinged breath away from his ear and escape to somewhere more quiet, to not let the anger and pain be known.
Jerome could've known that she'd follow him, sitting down next to him moments later when he found home on a couch facing a window. The view was beautiful, parts of Tokyo illuminated by the blanket of light bestowed on the city even in the late hours like these. The moon helped too, twinkling like a pearl in the pitch black sky only due to the sun projecting it onto it from somewhere in the vast darkness that was space. He was trying to focus on that, the beauty of it all, but her frame was pressed against him and he felt like screaming. "Come on Jerome, don't be like this." He heard her say, feeling her fingers curl into the dark slicked back hair atop his head. A sigh escaped him, but not one of pleasure. It was shaky, frustrated at her blatant invasion of his space. "Then don't do this to me." He countered, words leaving him through gritted teeth as he cocked his head to have her hand away from him which only made it drop onto the nape of his neck. ”Don’t do what? This?” She said in such a clueless manner that was like torture for the male, an inebriated giggle following the action of caressing his neck with the back of her hand, just like he liked. She remembered. A cold shiver ran down his spine contrasting the warmth he would’ve felt at nineteen years of age. “Yes-” He almost groaned before cutting himself off, his tongue sliding over his molars afterwards, hurting the sensitive organ with the amount of pressure he was putting against his teeth. Stay calm. Nobody needs to know she makes you feel this way. With his voice dropping an octave he spoke again, eyes narrowing. "Just because we fucked a few times six years ago doesn’t mean you get to do this. I don’t want it. I don’t care for you." Fucked. We fucked. Instead of loved. I loved. The male deliberately chose that sort of language, but even he didn’t believe the distance he was trying to put in his words. "Fucked? Mhmm. I would believe you if half your career didn't revolve around you crying over me. I got to admit though, I liked Pour Up a lot, but ‘I can’t forget that memory, even traces of you and that strange guy’” She switched to Korean to recite his lyric, allowing him not to only remember his honest excitement when she learned him to appreciate his origins but also to realize she listened to his songs. She listened. But the thoughts left him when she finished her sentence. “He had a name you know, but I guess Hugo would sound out of place.” She no doubt felt his jaw tense up at the name leaving her lips, which yes, she did, prompting her to slide her index finger along the masculine jawline. “Hmm, at least your Korean came a long way." Was she really making fun of him right now? After what she did to him? He went to stand up abruptly, not here to have her insult his feelings like this. But her hands wrapped around his wrist, halting his movements. "Jerome. I'm joking. Stay here." He shot her a glare when she said that. Joking. How could she joke about this? But then he remembered; show that you don’t care. Could he do that? With tension still in his jaw and eyes still narrowed to shoot daggers whilst she continued her talking, fingers holding onto his wrist tightly. No, he couldn’t. "Like you said. It's been six years. You've changed a lot. A whole lot." There was something in her eyes then as she spoke those words, something he rarely got acquainted with. A look, given to him when he dared to be a bit rougher in the eagerness of it all. When he selfishly bend her back onto the bed as she gasped hopefully, before the look faded when soft kisses pressed to her skin. A look, caught for just a few seconds, when the love filled tone left his voice and he cursed her out for whore that chilly September day. His anger, it fizzled down to nothing under that gaze, feeling weak. "And I've changed, too. We're both older. Twenty-four, twenty-five. Let's just talk, like two adults, hm?" Swallowing down his pride, he sat back down.
An hour passed.
They talked. She talked. He listened. Drink pressed to his lips. Frozen in place.
Her fingers burned, every touch taunting him, telling him; don't you want more? Don't you miss me touching you? He kept removing her hand off of him, off of his neck, his shoulder, his thigh. Because no, he didn’t want more, he didn’t miss this. He didn’t miss her. But she kept finding herself on him, digits sliding over distressed black denim like she was allowed to, like she still had ownership over him. And every time she did his Adams apple bopped up and down, every time she did he saw her lips curl into a smirk from the corner of his eye, every time she did he wanted to break down and cry. These weren't touches he wanted. "Stop." Jerome hissed through gritted teeth, tone stern as his hand covered hers to push it away from his thigh, cutting off whatever she was saying. There was a hitch of breath heard, soft and delicate leaving plump pink lips he used to kiss a bruised red but it didn't make him look at her, too preoccupied with the feelings inside of him, missing the way her eyes lit up from his sudden interjection and unable to figure out what it meant. There was a quiet air between them, or as quiet you can get in a club, thick with something entirely different in either of their experiences of it. "Why?" He heard after a while, her voice sounding earnest which infuriated the male. Why. Why can't you touch me? I don't know, maybe because you broken my heart? She was so unapologetic about her actions. Acting dumb, like her fucking some guy moments after telling him how much she loved him was just something forgettable. Never during this whole hour did she say sorry, also. Never once apologizing for cheating on him. Instead, she pushed his buttons. And now, asking why. Why he didn't want her to touch him. He could spit at her, he was so angry. He was so hurt.
Facing her too quickly, he raised his voice, frustration and anger tugging at his vocal cords as words spilled from his lips without any thought. "Why? Are you really asking me why I don't want you touching me, you sl-" The word 'pute' danced on his tongue as he bit it back, averting his gaze to a drunken pair stumbling past the couch they were sitting on. Public. They are in public. They were still in public. The tension in his jaw just grew at the fact he had to hold his tongue, wanting nothing more than to tell her, again. Call her, again. That word. A word he never uses, not even to the girls he spend just a night with. Reserved only for the one who broke him. As his eyes followed the couple down the hall, he heard her voice again, this time hushed and even small sounding with a hint of something he couldn’t place. "Do you want to talk in private? About what I did to you?" It wasn’t shame that carried her tone, it wasn’t apologetic either, it was something not even close to that realm. And Jerome wanted to get mad about it, to spat at her again with voice laced with venom, but when he turned his head, their noses brushed together, his fit of rage having blinded him from noticing their newly found proximity before. It fizzled down. Coconut rum was the scent that clouded his senses, teeth almost snapping at the pressure of his jaw but unable to move away. "Lets go to my hotel room.”She whispered, hand finding his to take a hold of as she looked into the eyes that flickered up and down when hands connected. “You can do the talking. You can call me anything you want. I’ll listen. I’ll allow you to." Upon registering her proposal, his mind went blank.
Intoxication, it ran through both their veins. Bad decisions. It only haunted one of them.
Stood near the exit, he waited for the model to return back to his side. Familiar. He saw her kiss her friends goodbye, telling them something that made the group of beautiful girls stare at him like a pack of hyenas, smirking behind pretty hands in such a way that left him wondering what she told them. So familiar. He saw Dax walking past his vision, allowing him to tear his gaze away from the females in favour of following the younger. They caught each others eyes and Jerome almost wanted to send a pleading look to him, to pull him away from here as he second guessed himself. But there was Marie, hand touching his shoulder to elevate herself, whispering near his ear that she was ready and he had no time anymore. One moment he glanced at her, swallowing down the lump that formed in his throat caused by her breath against his ear before nodding to Dax's general direction and making his way out of the night club. If he had looked for longer, he would've seen the younger showing approval of him getting some action this night, but everything faded when dainty fingers wrapped around his wrist. Jerome Gauthier was going home with Marie Seo, or Yumi as she was known to the public. He was going home with her to shout, to call her names, to get this off his chest and maybe find closure.
Or so he thinks.
Second mistake of the night; he allowed her to play him.
What might the third one be?
À SUIVRE
( to be continued. )