Her Last Dance

If moldy bread had a sound, it would be his voice. It had a sticky drawl that made ants creep under my skin, crawling along my veins until I was itching and shivering in my own sour air.

Lights pulsed around the room. They drenched the walls with winks of color. People writhed on the dance floor, their sweat shining in bright streaks down their necks. It flicked off their skin in glistening arcs. Beautiful and revolting. I averted my eyes from the mess and focused on the man next to me at the bar, trying and failing to ignore the crumbly words bouncing off my skin. His boots were as neat and crisp as new dollar bills.

He tried again: “We’re at a party, aren’t you going to dance?”

I stirred my drink slowly. His slippery aura was starting to wisp over my skin. It took me a second to realize he had slid his chair closer.

“I don’t dance.” I shifted my weight slowly. My legs were starting to go numb. He snorted.

“Why don’t we change that?” His eyes looked almost black, oily with arrogance. My discomfort sharpened.

He gave me a look that reminded me of paper cranes—cunningly folded so they could float on the air for a few moments. Nothing more. The party around us flashed, casting a glow on our skin and exposing a glint from his sagging pants. My brow furrowed as I stared at his pockets.

It was a soft gleam, a shine from hidden pearls. Had he brought a ring with him? Was he trying to make his lover jealous? I twisted my hands together and burned a hole into the floor.

“Dancing is for people who want attention. I don’t care for attention.”

“How ‘bout I get you a drink then?”

“I never had a taste for alcohol.” I dropped my arms on the pub table to cover my wine.

“A glass of water?”

My brain buffered for a response. The way his gaze bored into my breasts made me very still and empty.

“Water makes me itch.”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “Don’t be like that.”

The ants lurking in my bloodstream were picking up into a frenzy, squirming higher and higher until I worried they would fall out of my eyes and scatter on the floor. I never intended to take the pills someone had thrust into my hands two hours ago. Under the neon glare they glittered like morning dew, too beautiful for me to resist. My face had pinched while I swallowed. They were sour enough to be ketamine. The thought that I could die of ketamine poisoning drifted around in my mind, floating down my body until it was running through my fingers like water. Death seemed peaceful at the moment. To lie down and listen to silence until flowers bloomed over my skin and ferns grew through my ribs, tangling in my hair. It wouldn’t be a dry, boring silence. It would be my silence, which makes the silence worthwhile.

I snuck a glance at the man. He was blurring at the edges. Sparkling girls clustered around the bar were peeking at him with longing eyes. I slowly started tearing a napkin to bits. Did I judge him too harshly?

I’ve always dreamed of falling in love. If I was going to die anyway, it shouldn’t matter who was before me. What if no one else wants me? What if he’s my only chance at love? Any affection is better than none at all. But a heavy feeling still sat in my stomach and bitterness crunched like gravel in my mouth.

He raked his eyes over my chest again and I decided I was going insane. “Couldn’t you spare a few minutes to dance?” His face was dark and hooded. “I really like you.”

“If you like me,” I said tiredly, “you’ll like someone else one day.”

Everything about him tightened. His face flattened and shuddered and quivered like a stone. I imagined his granite skin cracking from the tension, long fractures running down his cheeks like tears. The thought almost made me smile, but I didn’t smile because I was worried my face would splinter from the crinkles and we would have broken faces together.

He rose from the bench with a flourish. He paused to wipe spit from his mouth and give me a lingering stare. Then he was gone. Relief caught me in its arms, the force surprising me.

A lot of color passed while I waited. Soon it faded to nothing. A lot of nothing passed, just a buzz from clinking glasses and laughter from stumbling, dazzling people. They dripped with confidence and jewels.

The man was back.

He had attached himself to another girl. His talons gripped her pale arm. The girl was beautiful, looking up at him with eyes as clear as a drop of summer rain. Her hair was wild, spilling onto her face in perfect strands, the color of waxed rubies. I watched them dance languidly around the room, seemingly separate from the feral mass of dancers sweating over the floorboards. They looked flawless together.

I lowered my hands to my dress, crumpling the silk slowly.

He carefully led his new girl into a dark corner of the room, his smile promising warmth and honey. My fingers felt cold against my drink. The man’s hand slid carefully into his pocket, the ring shining. I shook my head and turned to the bartender. I resigned myself to a night of peace and alcohol when someone started screaming.

My neck cracked as I whipped around, everyone dimming to silhouettes as my vision swam. The boy’s ring stabbed the girl again and again until I realized it was a knife. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, clear eyes wide and glistening. Blood pierced through the blur. It was as vibrant as her hair. A drink shattered on the ground, shards slicing through the skin on my ankles. My hands dug into the table behind me as I stared blankly at the red drops on the floor. They spilled across the wood, like red berries crushed under the boots of dancers. An ache rushed to my heart, fear blossoming into terror. I was shackled to my seat.

No one else was moving. They danced as if nothing had happened, loud laughs and smiles painted on their faces. The band was still playing, violin notes swirling in the air. The cool ceiling stared at my neck as I walked toward the boy and the girl and the blood.