A/N: Thank you Lystrious and Nixxy for the reviews! :) I hope that I don't let you down. Here's the next chapter, but be warned: there is DRUG USAGE and mention of what it's like to be on said drugs, naughty words, and ... some other stuff. Not enough to be rated M yet, but eventually, this story will probably get bumped up to that.
The title of this chapter comes from the song The Telescope by Her Space Holiday.
Anyway, please enjoy.
I don't own Durarara.
we're ripped at the seams and we're covered in scars
you were just steam coming off the road
The bar's small, glowing sign outside is partially blinking while only the other part remains lit. When she peers inside a thin, horizontal window, she can only slightly see into what appears to be a rather dismal bar. This is the place Mayonaka chooses.
She practically floats in there - at least she feels like she's floating; she knows better, knows it's the ecstasy she popped about an hour ago at the club she was just at - attracting all the wrong types of stares. The kind of stares that she imagines cautious mothers would warn their innocent daughters about.
Inside, it's not that crowded. Twelve, maybe fifteen patrons are sitting scattered around, and only two men sit at the actual bar itself. Her fingers absently caress the other pill she's placed in folded up cellophane, safely stowed away in the pocket of her cropped leather bomber.
If by some chance, she thinks that if the time or whatever mood feels right, she'll take it in a little bit. So Mayonaka keeps walking, high heels clicking (to a musical rhythm only her drug addled mind can dance to) until she reaches the bar.
She pulls a stool out and settles on it, closing her eyes. It feels good to do so, but even though the lights in here are dim and grungy, she can still see patches of light when she does. The stains left on the inside of her eyelids are from the erratic, neon strobe lights at the club, green and blue and all the other colors of the rainbow. The music here isn't as hard or fast, it isn't even dance music. To her, it sounds melancholy, almost. Whatever it is, it sounds beautiful to her ears, and she can feel her body unwinding, almost melting to the soft strumming of a guitar.
"What would you like, sweetie?" Her eyes are open again in a flash, and after a few seconds spent on refocusing her sight, she sees it's a bland looking, middle aged man. The bartender. He clears his throat and repeats the question.
And while what Mayonaka would really like is for the bartender's beady eyes to stop giving her an appreciative up and down eye fuck, all that comes out is, "Glass of whiskey, please. On the rocks."
She hates when people look at her like that. But it is what comes after provoking those looks that pays her, though, and (i'll rip your eyeballs out, you son of a bitch) so she supposes she's gradually accepted it.
The bartender breaks his lingering stare to nod and go pour her drink. She slowly looks around the room, scoping out any potential customers, and realizes with a dry sort of distaste that they're all old, rowdy men yelling about shit that no one cares about.
Changing her focus to aim down the bar at the only other people sitting there, she mentally dubs them Blondie and Suit. They're murmuring and laughing quietly to themselves and throwing shots back, although she notes that the blond (how ironic, she thinks, a man in a bartender suit sitting at one instead of working at it) makes a face at the bitter liquid.
She simply cannot afford to be picky, but she feels that she's fucked enough old men to be entitled to some younger ones, and besides, she's rolling so goddamn hard -
The solid clink of a thick glass on the counter top in front of her regains her attention. She thanks the leering bartender and takes a sip of her drink, waiting for him to go away. Once he does, she takes out the folded cellophane package from her pocket. She fumbles with it a little because her hands are shaky, but it still comes free, and she still swallows the little, round pill and washes it down with whiskey.
Mayonaka has no idea which one it will be, Blondie or Suit, that she will coerce to take her home. But at this point, in the midst of her own special brand of being fucked up, she doesn't really give a shit. She decides to take a gamble and sidles over the few barstools until she's sitting next to Blondie.
It seems that the ball in her two slotted roulette has already landed, though, when Suit gets up and stretches.
"Well," he says, "I've gotta go get some rest. I need my beauty sleep, you know?" He scratches at his dreads and pats Blondie on the shoulder.
In response, Blondie takes a full shot out of many empty ones that are laid out in front of him and waves a dismissing hand. "Sure, Tom-san. I'll see you tomorrow."
"You're staying?" Suit (Tom? she tries to correct herself, but realizes there's no point in getting his name right and forgets about it) questions, and she hears the surprise in his voice as she pretends to be checking something on her cell. Really, though, whatever is on the bright little screen in front of her is too blurry for her to focus on, but no one else knows that.
"Yeah. I just need to," Blondie struggles a bit with his next words, "clear my head." Suit gives an understanding nod and says a final goodbye before stumbling outside, and Blondie calls for another shot.
She gulps down the rest of her whiskey before lightly slamming it down with enough force to make the man next to her glance in her direction. Before his alcohol-clouded gaze can wander away from her, she turns her head to meet his eyes.
"Hi," Mayonaka says simply and nonchalantly.
Now she's trying hard not to let her eyes roll up into the back of her skull (god, these are some good bombs, she thinks absently), but finds that it's somewhat easier to get lost in this stranger's eyes, anyway. He continues to stare back at her, and without breaking their mutual inspection of each other, she waves a hand for the bartender.
"Hey," Blondie replies, then blinks.
He's got a real nice face, the kind she would probably see on a model somewhere. Even in this shitty lighting, his hair makes her think sunny, and his eyes bring up the word coffee. She kind of feels like she's hit the jackpot. At least, she will soon.
"By yourself, huh?" She asks, even though she knows the answer.
The bartender places another shot and another glass of whiskey down before them, then walks down a ways to polish glasses. Blondie finishes the newly arrived shot, and she curls her hand around her sweating glass.
"Me too," she adds, even though he hasn't even acknowledged her question.
She takes a swig of her whiskey and leans an elbow on the bar, resting her head in her palm. "I'm Risa."
He seems like he doesn't really know what to do. Like he doesn't know whether to ignore her or not, and she feels a little bit of surprise. Things like this were easy for her; she certainly wasn't ugly. So why the hesitation?
"Bartender," she calls, "Another shot of whatever he's drinking. For him."
He looks at her again, but she doesn't face him. She stares ahead of her at the bottles lining the shelves, mind undulating again to the music. She knows that while she is doing this, he is no doubt studying her profile. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see a shot get put down in front of Blondie, and he tosses it back before looking at her again.
"Shizuo," he says with a slight slur, and she turns to him once more.
His name sounds familiar, but she can't put her finger on it. In fact, it hurts her head to try, so she doesn't. It's not important, anyway.
"Shizuo." She echoes and smiles, but the upwards lift of her mouth is because of the drugs pumping through her body. But again, no one else knows that.
Mayonaka leans close to him, close enough that she can smell what he's been drinking (whiskey, like her) and puts her lips right next to the shell of his ear.
"I'm feeling kind of lonely tonight, Shizuo..." she whispers softly, then retracts her head a bit to get a look at his face.
That handsome face of his looks like it's having some kind of inner battle. (girlfriend? wife?) Not that she cares about that. She messes around with enough taken men to be called a home wrecker with reason. Either way, one of those sides better win soon (let it be the one that wants to get off) because she's starting to feel slightly antsy. She blames it on the bombs, takes another sip of her glass, and waits.
And Shizuo, he does not know what the hell to make of this situation. Neither does he know what to think of the young woman who is sitting next to him and peering at him. Sure, he can list out a physical description (short dark hair, pretty face, rosary dangling in between her nice rack), but he's drunk off his ass, and apparently, she's feeling lonely.
And since he's so damn wasted, he says, "Yeah? ... Me too." The young woman (Risa, his inebriated mind reminds him) places a delicate hand on his thigh as his eyes follow, then snap back to her face.
He thinks that her eyes might be a dark green color, but he's not sure. He can only see a thin rim of color around pupils that are as wide as saucers, but he assumes it's because of the dark lighting in the bar. Her big eyes and his seem to make a mutual agreement once they meet.
In a strange, almost synchronized movement, they both dig in their clothes to retrieve money for their drinks. Even though he's this drunk, he still tries to be a gentleman and puts some money near her drink to pay for it, but she slides it back to him.
"Save it while you have it," Risa says, and puts down a bill to pay for the one shot she bought him. He only pauses for a moment to think that it's an odd statement to make, but he shrugs and puts it back into his pocket.
Shizuo does not do things like this. He never goes to the bar, never gets incredibly smashed, certainly never takes home random women with whom he's only exchanged a few words with. But if he's going to be honest with himself, as one often is after drinking as much as he has, he figures this is as good a place and time to do it. He still retains a bit of hesitance, though, but he thinks that he cannot be put at fault for it.
He is not one for intimacy - maybe he is, maybe he could be, but he does not know since no one has ever been close enough to him in that way for him to find out. At twenty three, he has not had sex yet (because you're a fucking monster monster monster) because no one wants to get hurt for the sake of him losing his virginity. And because he does not blame them, he has let it go, albeit with some difficulty.
But when he tells Risa his name is Shizuo (because his first name is enough to make people do a double take) and no spark of recognition or fear enters her eyes, and she actually smiles, he feels something he hasn't felt in a long time towards this subject; hope. Just a little bit, even though part of his too far from sober mind screams out opportunity! to him, and to take it before it is gone.
Even as the other part is yelling that he might seriously injure this girl who doesn't have a clue who (or what kind of beast you are) he is, the opportunist in him succeeds. They both get down from the barstools, still moving like they're each one half of the same body, and make their way out.
Mayonaka has no idea what to expect when they step into his apartment a short walk later. It's a bit dirty, but it's still a hell of a lot nicer than hers, and she slips off her high heels before she takes any more steps inside. He does the same, and she grabs his hand to lead him to the bedroom as he drunkenly gives directions.
Once they reach his bed, she lets go and sprawls out on her back on top of the covers, half lidded eyes looking glazed over as she starts unbuttoning the short, red shirt-dress she has on. She is three quarters of the way done when he joins her on the bed.
"Risa," he slurs, "Risa, I-"
But he doesn't really know what he was going to say. He's not sure if he was about to tell her he's a virgin, or if he is about to warn her and give her one more chance to grab her shit and bolt out the door, but it doesn't matter when she takes his hands again and places them on the rest of her buttons. His hands do the rest of the talking for him. After he's done, she slips off the black thigh highs she's wearing and scoots further back onto the bed.
And everything after that, as drunk as he is, Shizuo knows he will remember this, remember Risa for the rest of his life - he doesn't think he could possibly forget about the first woman who allows (a brute like) him to fuck her.
When Mayonaka wakes up, it's only been an hour or so since they've finished. Blondie's passed out next to her, his chest moving up and down steadily in his sleep. She's wide awake since the E is sending another wave of indescribable feelings through her, and it's not like she was really sleeping, anyway. Trying to sleep on ecstasy, she has learned, will only bring you to a state of what she thinks must be meditation.
She looks at him again, hazy eyes studying his face. It was quite a strange experience, to her. Unlike the other men she slept with, he had kept going until she came, and honestly, she thinks she might have never orgasmed before this. She could sense hesitance in every touch, and the way he was so incredibly... (gentle? considerate? kind?) She doesn't know, since she has no example to go off of. The way he acted reminds her of a virgin, maybe; but she's not sure, because yet again, there is nothing to show her what that is. Was she ever a virgin? No answer comes to her as she slowly gets up to gather her strewn clothes and put them on.
Fully dressed, she walks to the other side of the bed where his black pants are thrown haphazardly into a pile and stoops down to dig through his pockets, still thinking. The way he first acted had been overwritten by what came after. His clumsy unsureness turned into something she did know. Rough, relentless, hard - her hands find his simple black wallet and bring it out, and she opens it and stares blankly at the bills.
A tiny, gratuitous part of her does not want to take his money. Because even though he was being rough, relentless, hard, he would murmur soft things in her ear ("i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm so sorry...") that made her think he was anything but.
She simply cannot afford giving away a freebie, though, so she grabs a wad of bills and shoves the wallet back into his pants' pocket. When she gets up to stand, she notices that her body is more sore than it ever has been, more sore, even, than when she has an appointment with that sick fuck Yamamoto. As she leaves the bedroom and heads for the door, her mind involuntarily flashes to when he tried kissing her. She had moved her head to the side and instead took her head in his hands and held it to her chest, right next to the rosary she has no idea how she received.
Kisses are unwanted, here; she does not let anyone kiss her, no matter how much more money they offer to pay her. Not because she does not want to become attached, or any other silly words like that. She doesn't know the meaning of any of those words, anyway. Maybe it's because she doesn't know how to kiss someone, or kiss them back. She's not even sure if she has kissed or been kissed.
Because she does not remember anything that happened in her life before a few months ago. A few months ago (three, to be exact), she opened her eyes that might as well have been a newborn's for all she knew about the room she woke up in.
And even though Mayonaka does not remember anything up until three months ago, she knows that if she's going to kiss someone (give her first kiss in this second life she has woken up into), she would like it to be someone who has taught her the meaning of attached, and all the silly words she secretly wishes she could recall.
A/N: Well, I hope you liked it, and I hope I kept up the dark atmosphere well enough. Yes, Mayonaka's not really a good girl... Either next chapter or the chapter afterwards will have Izaya, so hold tight until then, please~ Also, some plot development soon, as well.
Please, please review and let me know what you think. Seriously, I wanna know if people are liking wherever they think this is heading, what they think of Mayonaka, if I kept them in character or not... Really, I'm honestly wary of how I portrayed Shizuo in this chapter. And I took the liberty to assume he's a virgin because it doesn't seem like anyone would willingly want to go near him, save for random women trying to alleviate their debt.
So ease my troubled mind and let me know! Pleaaase~
Review? I will somehow canoodle a free ride on Izaya's spinny chair (Lystrious! I know, right?) for you if you do...
:) Thanks for reading and hopefully reviewing.