Remnants & Roses, Chapter II

2. Shy Introductions

The city sat like a smug creature in the near-distance, exhaling great plumes of smoke and other unidentifiable substances. I was grateful to have chosen the small house in the suburbs; I had never been a real city-going type of girl. In fact, watching the bustle of the city now as the taxi spend away from the heart of the chaos and out towards my house made me feel more than a little nervous.

The taxi stopped directly at my curb. I had been in this house only a couple of times before, but it already felt as close to home as I had expected it to. There were lush things blooming in the front, masking part of the house in elegant, green drapes. A few boxes were still waiting for me to move them inside, their large forms making the porch look even smaller than it was. I grabbed them, one at a time, and just managed to drag them through the doorway without acquiring too many scrapes or cuts. The house smelled of cigarette smoke and cat urine, not a pleasant combination at all, but I knew I could get used to it if I did the necessary amount of cleaning. I had always been somewhat of a germ-hater, but not to the point where I had a real problem. I just admired cleanliness and kept a safe distance from unidentifiable grime. The few pieces of furniture I had were scattered across the front room and throughout the house, lounging in the hidden rooms and looking ill at-ease. They did not match, but they were mine.

I was pleased to have been informed that my mail would be arriving at the appropriate mailbox today, for the first time since I had moved. For me, nothing can ever replace the smooth, sweet-scented letters. Convenience is worth far less than the poetic beauty and aesthetic of letter-writing. Call me old-fashioned; go ahead, because I really am. And as I started out the door and down the small walk to the mailbox, I could suddenly picture myself doing this everyday for quite some time, and the thought did not frighten or startle me as I thought it might have.

I opened the rusty metal mailbox, wincing slightly at its scraping complaint and writing myself a mental note to oil the damned thing later. There was already a fair accumulation of junk to be sorted through, most of it bills or ads for things I did not want or need. But as I turned from my mailbox (with some disappointment, I might add) and began to make my way up towards my front door, a straightforward voice sounded from somewhere close behind me.

“Nice evening, isn’t it?”

I turned to regard the face that had issued this fine little sentiment and soon found myself facing a rather plain man with a curious expression. There was silence for a moment and he quickly grew uncomfortable. One sentence spoken and I was already beginning to feel sorry for him.

“Yes,” I smiled tensely, clearly in no mood for unnecessary small-talk. “It is.”

I turned slowly on my heel, hoping to make my escape quickly and painlessly, but his voice sounded again much to my annoyance.

“Hey, aren’t you that writer? You’re new in town, aren’t you?” He regarded me with his curious, bland eyes. “Yeah, last name is some kind of flower, isn’t it? Rose, maybe?”

“Yes,” I tried to look pleased that he knew my name, but I was quite sure I could not even convince myself if I could see my own expression, “Charlotte Rose, nice to meet you. How did you know I was a writer?”

“Oh, I picked up one of your works at a little coffee store one day before work. Really great stuff, Charlotte, I am a fan.”

“I am truly delighted,” I beamed briefly and hid away the smile before he could make more of it than existed.

“Hey, listen, would you like to go grab a beer or something?”

I paused, drawing in a deep breath for strength. Inside I was cursing myself for not having made it clearer. I knew I should have made my escape long ago, and now here it was. He was waiting patiently for my answer, and I was truly regretful for having to disappoint him so quickly. After all, I did not exactly have a myriad of fans.

“I’m sorry, I do not drink. And,” I smiled crookedly and shifted my stance, “I really just don’t think I’m your type.”

“Now how do you know what my type is?” He answered almost too quickly, a wry grin spreading over his flat features.

“Are you from the city, Mr.--?”

“You can call me Josh, and yes, I am from the city.”

“Then trust me, I’m not your type. What are you doing way out here in the suburbs, anyway?”

“My friend owns this little club not far from here. It’s a nice place, and I’m pretty loyal to it. We all get together there on Friday nights to unwind a bit. Come on, are you sure you wouldn’t want to just go out for a little while? They serve more than just alcohol if you’re worried about that.”

I knew then there was no way I would be getting anything else done, and I knew it would be good for some sickly part of me to get outside and actually experience the marvels of human contact, so I exhaled and bowed my head for a moment before looking up and nodding with a rather reluctant smile: no need to give him the wrong impression if I could help it.

“Alright, well, let me go change and get ready and I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.”

As I turned away from his sunshine smile of delight and proceeded to shed my stay-at-home clothing for the ever flattering comfort of a semi-casual black dress and high heels, I caught my own eye in my reflection various times and asked myself what on earth I was doing. I had vowed to work here in my home, to write and write until I was famous and wealthy enough to disappear from uncomfortable recognition forever. And yet here I was getting ready to skip out to some trashy club with a man I had hardly met two minutes ago. I buckled my shoes on as I questioned my sanity and donned my favorite shade of lipstick as I wondered how on earth I was ever going to get to that point I so longed to reach and fade away from this all-too-human routine I had fallen into since birth.

But these thoughts truly made me question what exactly I was looking for. What did I expect to find when I left this life in search of a more reclusive state of existence? I knew even I could not survive without the occasional visit from a fellow human being, so why did I want so badly to escape? And what was I running from? From humanity? From death? From these things that could never simply disappear? Leave it to me to desire the impossible and reject what was real, what was now.

I stepped out the door and locked the deadbolt behind me, squinting into the full-blown passion of the swiftly setting sun. Josh smiled up at me as I descended the few stairs of my front porch and made my way down to the perpendicular sidewalk. I repeated his name in my mind, marveling at the simplicity of the sound. Due to my somewhat unusual name, I had always grown up with a mild distaste for simple names like his: another bad mark for poor Josh. He tucked his hands into his pockets while he waited for me to join him, and he bowed his head in greeting as I stopped at his side and we turned to head down the street.
“So where did you move from, Charlotte?”

“I used to live in New York, actually, before I moved here. But I’ve lived in so many places that it honestly doesn’t matter much anymore.”

“And what about your family? What’s your origin?”

“Ah, well, we are a bit of a mix, but the two strongest races in me are Irish and Czechoslovakian,” I smiled, withdrawn, already somewhat annoyed by his tendencies to ask so many needless questions. With a sideways glance, I turned the topic around to him. “What about you?”

“Well, my name’s Joshua Myles Larson, a good American name,” he smiled down at the sidewalk as we journeyed. “My family’s been living around these parts for as long as I can remember. I guess we’re originally from Italy or maybe Greece.”

“I think those are the only European races I don’t have in me,” I offered another little smile and a gentle, meaningless laugh. “So exactly where are we going, Joshua?”

“A little place called Sussex Nightclub, actually. I like it. It’s quiet compared to the nightclubs in the city. It’s a lot more sophisticated, I think, and I hope you like it.”

“We shall see,” I raise my brows and smile straight ahead.

“So what brings you here, Charlotte? Why did you leave New York and come all the way over here to work in the suburbs?”

“I decided I hated the city. Too big and too polluted for my tastes,” I paused, trying to limit how much about myself I was revealing to this man, as nice as he seemed. “And I figured the change would do me good and help me with my writing.”

“Well, did you figure right?” He laughed the semi-abrasive laugh of a good-natured man interested in an exciting new body.

“I suppose so. The break from the city has been pleasant, anyway. I seem to have a procrastination problem regardless of where I am, so it does not matter much where I have taken up residence.”

“You talk like a poet, you know,” he slowed his pace and turned his head to look at me. I glanced at him briefly and looked away in mock embarrassment. In truth, I simply wanted him to stop talking to me. But I reminded myself that I had gotten myself into this mess and could have easily refused and stayed home to work. I turned my head to ask him how much farther the place was, but he spoke before I could.

“Alright, here we are,” he indicated an approaching door with a neon sign flashing the words “Sussex Nightclub,” just as promised. Before he could open the door for me, I stepped forward and slipped inside.

I was instantly greeted by the pulsing sensation of a low, seductive beat and an electronic melody. The scent was thick with smoke and the air was dark with the density of human perspiration. However, also as promised, the dance floor was relatively small and the other half of the building consisted of elegant, round tables and low, warm lights. He steered me over to the bar, however, and I followed reluctantly as he met up with a small group of rather ordinary men. My eyes scanned the area with curiosity. For the most part, everyone was preoccupied and I hoped I would not be receiving too much attention. Then I realized how foolish it was to even imagine that I had enough fans of my work to meet one in a small nightclub outside of the city. It should have been someone disappointing, but I was relieved.

A voice droned nearer and before I could come to my senses, an arm slipped around my and escorted me closer to the bar and into the group of men. I twisted away, just slightly, and was quickly released. Joshua only quickly glanced at me as if to inquire about my reaction, but he continued speaking with his friends without a break.

“And this is her, actually, Miss Charlotte Rose. Remember, I told you about some of her work a week or so ago? Picked it up from that old coffee shop by the park?”

There were several rough murmurs of agreement and a lot of searching eyes. All of it was directed towards me at the same moment, and I looked away with a tinge of hidden discomfort. It would have been nothing less than naïve of me to deny the fact that they were looking me over, summing me up, each of them wondering if he could seduce me and touch me and bed me before the night was over. I sighed silently, wanting to rub my temples or massage the bridge of my nose in frustration.

When I looked up, however, my eyes caught on those of a man seated outside of the group who was drinking alone. I was stunned by the sudden intensity of his gaze and almost took a fearful step backwards in response. But I caught myself in time to simply marvel at the depth of those searching eyes. What was it that I found there? Sadness? Longing? Or simple curiosity expressed in a way I had never experienced before? The moment was only a second long, but it stretched on as I fought to analyze the expression. He looked away again rather sharply as if embarrassed to be caught looking at me as all the others were, and I shrugged it off dismissively as a random, if not somewhat unusual, encounter with a total stranger.

“So, Charlotte, will you be around here long?”

The man speaking was the one behind the counter, presumably the friend Josh had told me about who worked here. He had longish, wavy black hair and almond-shaped, hazel eyes. He was not unattractive, but I found myself disinterested nonetheless. He was too much like the others with his wandering eyes and smooth attitude. He did not present a challenge and I promptly grew bored of him. However, the others were crowding around, listening closely for my answer.

“That depends on whether or not I actually get some writing done. I was not intending on staying long, but I may be around longer than I first thought.”

“And what are the odds of you staying longer than you expected?” The dark-haired lovely-faced one smiled suggestively at me from behind the counter.

“As of now, not good,” I replied shortly, quite unsure as to why I allowed myself to be talked into this in the first place. What had I been thinking?

The others began to chat again, probably semi-secretively about me, but I was not paying attention. I looked away and again found myself staring straight into the eyes of the strange man sitting at the other end of the bar. From this distance it was hard to read his expression, but the second look at him was no less shocking than the first one. As I watched, the gentlest hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his lips, and he bowed his head to study the counter. At least someone is enjoying himself, I thought to myself, irritated. I was somewhat taken aback by the simple shyness this expression gave off, and I was ever more shocked to find that it pleased me. He looked up at me again, this time clearly smiling and shook his head as my newfound “friends” began to bombard me with more questions. With a graceful, fluid motion, the strange man stood up and paid the other bartender with a smile before turning and quickly disappearing out the door. I watched him go, lips parted slightly in curiosity, and very slowly and unwillingly pulled myself back into my immediate surroundings.

“What was that, I’m sorry?” I murmured.

“I said, do you want to come back to my place with the guys to hang out tonight?” Josh smiled curiously down at me, confused my by distractedness.

“Oh, no, I had better be getting home fairly quickly. I just came out to catch my breath and stretch my legs. I had best be getting back to work.”

Dark-hair was watching me again from behind the counter, his eyes narrowed with sportive amusement and want. Perhaps he thought the look would be flattering; I found it rather creepy. Josh’s other friends were laughing and ogling another more attention-worthy woman, obviously bored of me, but Josh and dark-hair remained unfortunately loyal to me.

“Well, thanks Josh, it’s been fun.”

“Do you really have to leave?”

“Yeah, I really do.”

“Then I’ll walk you home.”

“No, thank you Josh, that’s quite alright. You should stay here with your friends. But thank you, though,” I assured him.

“I hope you come back soon, Charlotte,” dark-hair spoke up, his voice seductive and charming. He winked at me from where he stood, prompting a dirty look from Josh. I smiled unpleasantly and muttered another goodbye to anyone listening before turning and heading across the room and out the door.

I took a few steps, drawing in a deep, noisy breath of cool, night air. As I exhaled, I glanced up ahead to find the stranger standing there, leaning against the wall, apparently waiting for someone. My pace slowed unintentionally as I caught sight of him, and he raised his eyes in surprise to find me approaching.

“You aren’t walking home by yourself?”

I watched him, brow knit in confusion at his concern. Folding my arms over my chest, I slowed to a stop a few paces away from him and shook my head in disbelief. Apparently this amused him, and he laughed very gently, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“I did not mean to offend you, I’m sorry. I was simply concerned. Even out here, the streets can be fairly dangerous at night, especially for a celebrity.”

“Oh please,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. Apparently I had another fan. “First off, I’m not a celebrity. Secondly, I am quite sure I can take care of myself, thank you for your concern. Oh, by the way, I’ve never met you in my life.”

He laughed again, his eyes dancing with bright amusement as he stood up straight and took a graceful step away from the wall. I took a step backwards, but he held up his hands again in surrender.

“I’m not questioning your ability to protect yourself. I was simply saying it can be dangerous around here, and that applies to anyone, not just you. Go ahead, though, I’m sure you have plenty to do without me distracting you any more.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” My eyes glittered with annoyed anger, though I had no idea why I was feeling so annoyed by him when he really had done nothing wrong. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing,” he laughed, clearly in disbelief by my defensiveness. “Really, you’re reading into what I’m saying far too much. You’re a writer, so I imagine you have plenty to do tonight without me interrupting you.”

I stepped past him down the sidewalk and turned, gaping at him with a look of utter confusion and disbelief in my eyes. I was completely speechless. Turning to face him, I took a few steps backwards, my arms still folded tight to my chest, and shook my head at him, my lips still parted for want of something to say.

“You are unbelievable. You are just…so annoying!” I turned away, took a few hasty steps, and stopped again to face him. “What do you want, anyway? Why were you looking at me in the bar and why were you waiting for me outside?”

“For the record, I wasn’t waiting for you,” he began, his brow raising and a slightly crooked grin twisting his features. “And I was curious as to what you would say to all your admirers, if you could call them that.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“Simply what I said. They seemed like…interesting men to have around, certainly. And I was just curious, I suppose. Forgive me for making you uncomfortable, for I seem to have done that.”

“Oh please, don’t give yourself the credit,” I huffed, absolutely unable to figure out why he was bothering me so much. “Who are you?”

“Does it matter? I’m the man irritating you and causing you delay. And I’m the man who is about to call a cab for you so you can get a ride home.”

“No, really, I’ll be fine. I live a couple of blocks away, and I certainly don’t need help from the likes of you.” My tone was far more condescending than I had ever heard it before, but to my surprise he simply laughed, his voice bronze and ringing.

“And what exactly is the likes of me?”

“Well, you are somewhat annoying, for starters,” I studied him warily, trying to think of what else to call this bold stranger. “Why were you watching me in the bar?”

“Why do you keep changing the subject? I was watching you because you are amusing to watch.” His eyes were lighting up brilliantly in a way that I could not have missed if I had tried. Suddenly there were more than just blue-green waves; there was a blue-green fire erupting into a full-blown collision of…of what? I could not tell.

“You are so strange,” I shook my head in disbelief and could not prevent the small smile that unfolded. “God…you are so strange.”

“If you simply cannot sit yourself down in a cab, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to walk you home myself,” he pointed out casually, his brow raised as if the choice was obvious. “So which do you prefer?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I ‘prefer’ either choice, but there is no way you’re getting me into a cab to drive a couple of blocks.” I turned away from him at last, snapping the new cord of recognition I felt tingling when I looked back at him over my shoulder. “So are you coming or not?”

He bowed his head and smiled, folding his hands into his pockets and walking after me. He caught up effortlessly, even though my past was much faster than normal. I looked over at him walking next to me with growing curiosity. He was staring straight ahead with a faint smile on his lips, but he looked over at me as I studied him and I looked away again, caught in the act of spying.

“You never told me who you were,” I stated bluntly, waiting for his sarcastic response.

“You can call me Liam.” To my surprise, his answer was gentler than anything I had heard from his lips thus far. I looked over at him again as he spoke, but this time he did not look back at me. Instead, he continued to stare ahead, his eyes and mannerisms so gentle and suddenly refined.

“Liam,” I repeated quietly. “Aren’t you going to ask me what my name is?”

“I already know it, Charlotte,” amusement flooded his features again and my brow wrinkled in sudden disdain.

“That isn’t fair,” I pointed out childishly. After a moment’s hesitation, I sighed and let it go, clutching my arms and walking with urgency. “I really cannot grasp this. How on earth can someone I just met infuriate me so easily when all my life I have been the most post passive person I have known?”

“Maybe you have met your match,” he remarked, still staring ahead and smiling.

“How so? Because I really cannot see how this is a good thing, either.”

“Do you want to know what I really think?”

“Yes,” I was not sure, but I wanted to know nevertheless, “enlighten me, please.”

“I think you have a lot to learn about people, Miss Charlotte.”

I slowed my gait and turned to look at him, my eyes morphing between curiosity and sudden rage quicker than my mind could track. But there was no accusation in the way he moved or the way he looked down into my eyes innocently as we came to a halt in front of my house. I did not notice that he had stopped here without me telling him, and if I did notice, nothing about this seemed uncanny or strange. In fact, I was far too infatuated already to notice anything but the swimming emotions in his brooding eyes.

“It was nice meeting you, Charlotte,” he intoned gently, letting me know that I was indeed remaining motionless even was we stood outside my house. “And thank you for allowing me to walk you home.”

“Will you be hanging around outside somewhere, leaning against some wall and not waiting for me tomorrow night?”

“You can count on it,” he smiled and turned away quickly, not bothering to look back or to wait for a more finished response from me. All I managed was an unidentifiable syllable before he was out of hearing range.

The initial shock of our encounter flooded over me as I shut and locked my front door behind me. The house was completely still, sleeping in spite of my noisy entrance. What just happened? A sickly feeling of butterflies rose in my stomach as I sat down in the kitchen and stared into the lifeless living room. There was something beneath the playfulness and the teasing mood of the evening I had briefly spent with that subtle, curious stranger. There was something there that was far too timeless and far too familiar. It was as though I had known him for much longer; I had spoken to him like he was on old, mischievous friend from long ago. But I knew in my heart that I had never met him before, and the feeling was more than unsettling.

Uneasily, I made my way to my bedroom and prepared for long evening. As tired as I was, I knew sleep would be an elusive entity tonight, for my thoughts were still racing several hours after he had turned and walked away.