. blind love

[stassi siminski]

His reply has her lip caught between her teeth, the frisson of suggestion sinking into her psyche where she knew it would linger for the rest of the night. Not that it hadn't started to take hold already. "I can believe that." Benicio had an aura of someone on the cusp of something, and not just professionally; personally, emotionally, romantically, in just about every way. Maybe he always seemed that way regardless of what was going on in his life on a given day. "Promise you'll remember me when you make it really big?" It's a joke, but as she says the words she realizes she wants that promise for real. People slipped in and out of her life all the time, encouraged by the fact that she was usually the one slipping in and out of theirs first. For once she was aching for something with some permanence, a mast to which she could hitch her sail. Patrick. Sweet, constant Patrick. She feels the ache anew. "It's a cliche but as with all cliches, it's true - women don't know what they want. Let her figure it out." There was no doubt in her mind that she would come around, but she doesn't want to say as much,  doesn't want him to think she's offering empty platitudes. "He has a girlfriend," she says, her voice taking on an edge of challenge. "God, sometimes I wish I wasn't such a girls' girl."

[benicio otero]

The notion of forgetting about Stassi seemed like an impossibility, with so much of this city still stretching out beneath him for the taking. He was only beginning his work here, far flung from Miami where he realized his growth was on the verge of collapse; bad girls and bad habits catching up to him, smothering the very thing he hoped that big move would ignite. Strangely enough, Stassi seemed to mark his arrival to New York, back when he was so taken by the nightlight and excitement, and this haunting, beautiful girl was a shepherd into it. “I promise.” He hadn’t quantified what that would mean for him yet, finally making it: a certain bank balance, x amount of awards, his own label? It was all up in the air, toeing that line over which there was no return and his life could not be enjoyed as privately. Nights like this would be numbered, and his girl problems explode. “Well. He didn’t always have a girlfriend,” he tried to counter with the same cool reasoning. Yes an obstacle, not an end. “And he probably won’t forever.” If a girl like Stassi turned her full attention on a man, he knew they would never be the same afterward. And in the same proximity it would be impossible. “I guess we strayed too far, no?” he realized out loud, trying to think of the story about someone flying too close to the sun, his wires becoming crossed. “We found people too different,” he continued, an agony a different shade but the same caliber as their usual. “Wanting what we can’t have.” In stark contrast to wanting what they shouldn’t, what was demonstrably and historically bad for them. “Cursed,” he agreed, finally, answering his very first question.

[stassi siminski]

Stassi is on the cusp of a drunkenness she knows she cannot come back from. The music is a vague throbbing sound behind them, her hands have only touched mostly innocent places. It's a blur but a manageable blur, and she can tell within herself that one more drink would be the tipping point. She might seem the same from the outside, but she would have no self control whatsoever, her physical desires overtaking her rational senses. With that in mind, she taps the bar for another drink, a wickedness taking root in her. "Cheers to him not having a girlfriend," she giggles, clinking her glass against his. Even in this state that would be a barrier for her. After all, her father had given himself over to an affair many years ago, and she had not uttered a single word to him since she found out. But wasn't it fun to pretend? "Far too far," she agreed, though it was all worth it for this commiseration committee. The drink is making her loose, losing all subtlety, her usual flair for inneundo blunted. "I told you so. But hey, why don't we have what we can have?" she says, her voice dripping with suggestion.

[benicio otero]

They can only fend off the inevitable for so long. Simply given their natures (impulsive, indulgent, and currently: avoidant), he should have known the moment he laid eyes on her. They could separate sex from love and accept that going home together meant drowning out visions of someone else. They could claim it a special occasion and laugh at the absurdity, but it was their understanding, yet another vice to reach for in this time of need. There was a twisted sort of reverence to it, a safety net before they realized they had even fallen for others. By no means does he consider Stassi the easy girl or last resort—but he could always count on her. Most times they separated with their own distractions for the night: for him, it was usually a short, curvy brunette and for her some tall, brooding man with wicked eyes. It seems they’re approaching their limits, the conversation of their entire night coming to a somber conclusion. It’s that hour and that drink number when his defenses are low, suddenly too aware of the pillow her lips, the manicured hand on him, the shimmer of her dress like small mirrors of his own tiny reflections. Another drink materialized on the bar top, his last shot spreading fire through his blood. He sent a text to his driver—one of three he kept around the city, always coordinating amongst themselves who would retrieve him first. “You wanna come home with me?” he smiled, both a question and a realization. Suddenly grateful for her attention, greedy for her pleasure. “I could fuck you like I love you..” he rasped next to her ear, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Or help you forget who you really do.”

[stassi siminski]

Like alcohol, like recreational drugs, casual sex was a quick route to a temporary escape, an extension of the mutual avoidance they were indulging in this evening. It was a way not to have to go home to her apartment above Pat's bar, to avoid waking up alone tomorrow with a pounding head, a dry mouth and a broken heart. Better to do all those things with someone who could at least laugh about it with you. There had been an alternate universe version of this night where he had gone against type and gone home with that lascivious blonde, or she had played wing woman and found him someone more to his tastes. In that alternate universe she would probably end up entangled with the barman passing them another drink, who, yes, she definitely did have sex with once, she can tell now by how little he's enjoying having to overhear this conversation. "I thought you'd never ask." His words send a pulse of red hot desire through her core, flashbacks to the time before flitting through her mind-- she knew he'd be true to his word. Too drunk and too riled up to use words, she presses her lips against his in a hungry kiss, the kind of kiss dive bars like this were built for. Late nights and one too many, loose inhibitions and looser lips. "Let's go forget, handsome."