Page 10

The sugary-sweet strawberry flavor hits my tongue, and I sigh. It doesn’t bring me any real peace or joy. It’s not even enough booze to get me buzzed, though I’m not sure being drunk is what I need right now. I’ve never been the most responsible person on earth, and alcohol has never helped me make good decisions.

I fight the urge to go back and get another one, just to test my theory that getting shit faced will make this whole thing worse, and instead, turn my attention ahead of me. Everything is alive out here. Bright and loud and probably overwhelming if someone had to add sound to all of this.

I appreciate that I can exist without having one extra sense to weigh me down, and my gaze catches on a couple of people in brightly sequined outfits. They look like they’ve come from some kind of cabaret show, so I decide following them won’t be the worst decision I’ve made since getting here.

I’m not sure where they’re headed, but I decide to trust them. We cross a few streets, and I can see some of the more famous strip casinos coming into view when all of a sudden, something flashes in my mind. Fountains, massive white jets of water arcing through the night sky. And then there’s a European-looking palace.

It’s almost like I’m looking through someone else’s eyes.

My steps falter, and I’m knocked into as I come to a complete halt in the middle of the busy walkway. Turning my gaze backward, I can see the Bellagio hotel in the distance, and I know immediately that it was the image in my head.

My heart thumps loudly in my throat. Why do I feel like I need to go there? Why does it feel like if I don’t, my entire life will be thrown into disarray?

Ah hell, I’m probably just tired. I’m definitely hungover from those two Vyastil blow jobs, which isn’t helping matters. But my exhaustion doesn’t seem to matter in this moment, and I find myself making my way toward the casino. My eyes catch on the water shooting from the fountains, and I feel a little odd skitter up my spine as the colors light up the night sky.

But I don’t linger. Something is still pulling me forward, and as much as I want to ignore this strange, almost terrifying sensation, I keep walking. I feel music thumping under my feet as I head for the doors—a kind of soft vibration different from the ones that run their place like a nightclub.

And I don’t mind that. I need a bit of softness right now.

I follow the signs for the casino, making my way through the conservatory and botanical gardens, and eventually I hit the casino floor. I’m stopped two feet in by a server holding a strange tray with long glasses and colorful liquid inside.

“What’s that?” I ask.

He flinches the way most hearing people do the first time they hear my accent. I zero in on his lips as he says, “Yardie.”

I’m not a hundred percent sure I read that off his lips right, but whatever. I select the blue one and then dig into my pocket for cash. He waves me off, and I frown at him. “Pay you?”

“Free,” he answers back. I can definitely lip-read that word.

One good thing about Vegas and casinos is the free booze. The test tube shot earlier has hit me harder than I expected, but I also haven’t eaten in a while. And it’s that slight buzz I didn’t know I had that prompts me to take a long pull off the even longer straw, then shove a wad of cash at him.

“Tip,” I say.

He doesn’t look bothered by my voice now. He shoves the money into his apron, then puts his fingers under his chin and signs, ‘Fuck you.’

I know he means thank you, and I’m going to let that one slide because this Yardie thing is very, very good.

And a bit stronger than the one before. The alcohol burns as it races down to my stomach, and between a couple of breaths, I feel that floaty, buzzy feeling get stronger. Yes, this is what I need. This is what will take the edge off.

Glancing around, I see the vast casino floor fanning out before me. It’s broken up into sections with clusters of tables and machines. The slots pulse softly in the dim lighting, so I find a seat, wedge my Yardie between my feet on the carpet, and feed a few bills into the little mouth begging for cash. Credits blink on the screen, and I hit the button to start.

The wheels spin, and my eyes follow as I lose, so I hit the button again and win a few dollars more than I spent. Button pushing and wheel spinning are oddly hypnotic, and I find myself lost in the rhythm for so long that it takes me a little too long to realize I’m about to go broke.

Right as the little fruit comes to a stall and I prepare to make myself stand up and walk away, something pulls my gaze across the room. It’s a heavy, heady feeling—a demand I can’t quite make sense of.

For a moment, I don’t notice anything except the crowd milling around, talking with mouths, hands usually still as they hold liquor glasses and casino cards. It’s an entire world that I’ve always been outside of, and I don’t even know why I’m watching until suddenly a flash of bright color catches my eye.

I blink several times as a small crowd of tourists parts, and then he’s there in all of his well-muscled, blue-skinned glory.

Eissa.

He’s in the far corner of the room, speaking with several humans I don’t recognize. He seems very much in his element, standing tall, his linen shirt and pants clinging to his body as though they were tailored just for him.

And it’s obvious he doesn’t know I’m staring. He’s facing me, but his eyes are everywhere except on mine. I watch as his shoulders rise with a long breath, and then he begins to speak, gesturing with his hands as he does.

I feel his words like a pulse in my chest, like if I push a little harder, a dam will break and I will suddenly understand the flood of speech gently falling from his lips.

And almost as if he feels it too, suddenly his shoulders tense and he turns his head. His eyes land on mine and hold my gaze, just for a moment before he looks away. It’s a simple catch and release, but I find myself standing up, everything else in the world forgotten except for him.