Deathless

Chapter 9: Millie

So far tonight I've learned three things.

The first is that having a good time is nowhere near as important as looking as if you're having a good time. There's a way of sitting, an arch to the back and a thrust to the lips that looks uncomfortable close-up but from afar looks dramatic and sexual. Or at least, that's what I'm guessing they want their audience to think. An audience of envious girls vying for the most attractive and desirable boys, like vultures clashing over a rotting carcass. Marnie, Samira and Chloe eye each girl nearby as potential enemies, each dress or flick of eyeliner a fierce weapon. Everything is a game, small battles conducted between a heavy dance beat and migraine-inducing dancefloor lights.

The rest of the time is spent performing for the camera and making sure anyone not in this club knows how beautiful they look, and what fun they're having. I used to be that person, sat in a faded armchair, in flannel pyjamas next to Mum watching late-night movies, looking hungrily at the posts of Chloe's night's out. Of glamourous dresses, handsome boys and laughter. So much laughter. In the flesh, the laughter is more a series of practised smiles and teeth flashing in time to a photo click.

And the second?

It's that I have no idea how to talk to boys. My body only speaks the language of awkward, and I can't flirt. I don't know how to convert the small spark of interest in their eyes into something more. The moment passes when I don't giggle at their unfunny jokes or ask them for even more details about a subject they've already discussed in painful detail. Eventually, their eyes glaze over; they smile politely but I can see their mind has really already left the table, searching the dancefloor for another girl to try their luck with. They find a reason to leave and a few moments later I see them laughing or touching someone new, mesmerised by her body language and the honey spilling easily from her lips.

The latest one, Matt, leaves the table after he'd talked solidly about himself for ten minutes before we'd slid into painful silence. He pats the shoulder of his friend Ryan to let him know he's going. They look over at me and I see a knowing glance pass between them and I know I'll be a joke they'll laugh over later. Marnie, who's sitting next to Ryan, her whole body tilted towards him and sipping a blood-red cocktail through a straw, glares at me as if my failure somehow reflects on her.

And the third thing I've learnt is that I don't care about one bit. Because all I can think about is him.

Jax. They'd called him Jax. And with each passing moment, he remained, echoing in my mind. His touch was a tattoo on my skin. The obsidian darkness of his slicked back hair, revealing the strong features of a masculine face. Those eyes, like liquid mercury. His smile, warm but hiding something darker, something feral, was echoing across my eyelids. The way my name danced across his lips.

He didn't look like anyone else here, or carry himself like anyone else. His all-dark clothes were completely at odds with the light-coloured looks that were clearly in fashion. In a room full of people desperately trying to be someone else, he looked entirely himself. He'd left us, the warmth of his touch gone, leaving me cold and empty as he and his friends headed towards the top of the building.

I turn back to my glass, trying to focus through the haze of rattling music, twinkling lights, and chatter around me on something simple, like taking a sip of my drink. But the alcohol that had been soothing my nerves at first was doing something else to me now like my body was severing from my mind. My brain slowed as the world around me sped up.

I turn back to Chloe and Samira, who are happily flirting with a couple of guys, both wearing the same pastel-hued shirts. They're blondish-brown hair cut and styled the same way. Everything from the way they move to the way they lean back against the leather booth seems choreographed, rehearsed. I'm bored with this game. I down the remaining dregs of my drink and stand up. My limbs feel more liquid than I was expecting. Unlike the girls I was with, I've never drank before and my body was letting me know it. I stumble out of the circular booth and onto the glossy wooden floor, my clacking heels barely audible above the throbbing base and laughter.