Page 24 of In Love with the Devil

“Dr. Michaelson?” she squeaks, standing to my right, shocked at the sight of me.

“Um. Hi.” My tone is that of someone encountered by a complete stranger. Yes. I pretend I don’t remember her at all.

“Oh, I’m sorry. This must be awkward.” She smiles.

“Are you one of my patients?” I respond to her glee by dropping my eyes to her low cleavage. “This has happened a few times. It’s okay. Just act like you didn’t see me.” Her happy demeanor melts, and I have to hide how humored I am by it.

“Two appletinis and a rum and coke.” The bartender announces to her as he slides the drinks over to her.

She pays him.

“Thank you.” Then turns to me. “Have a great night, Doctor.”

“You too.”

For the rest of the night, I watch her dancing with different idiots, and as she gets drunker, her moves grow more seductive. She no longer cares where they put their hands. She even grinds against one, only to pull herself away from his forceful grip and run to her friends. My blood only stops boiling when she’s safe.

It’s different to the times when Molly hung out with the football players. Astoria is not looking for their attention or approval. It’s just that in her drunken state, the music takes over her body. Most of the time, her eyes are closed and she loses herself in the songs. She’s also obviously needing a good fuck, but she doesn’t want any of them; she wants me. I know she’s showing off for me, and it works, because she looks magnificent, swinging her hips so fast all over the place but never in a sloppy manner, never missing a step.

Several times, I almost stand up to go get her, but I resist and look around, making sure no one sees me watching her. For a while, she hides from the guy that wouldn’t let her go, and her friends throw jokes to keep her laughing. Sometimes I can hear her over the music.

My drink looks like vodka with lime, but it’s water, so I can stay sober and observe her. At one point, I lose her. She’s not on the dance floor, nor with her friends at the table. Mindy appears tobe cemented to Fernando’s legs. I search for Astoria. The closer I walk towards the bathrooms, the louder the screaming becomes.

“You little teasing whore!” a man yells.

“Leave me alone! I was just dancing.”

I know that voice filled with terror anywhere. It’s Astoria. What this idiot doesn’t realize is that no one else is allowed to bring out that pitch in her voice.

“You’re coming with me!” he yells at her.

“No!”

The guy opens the door and pulls her with him by the left arm while she's trying to pull away. I bolt, wrapping my arm around the guy’s neck. Outside, I bang the top of his head so many times that blood paints the wall. Astoria is standing back, looking at me with terror, her eyes tearful and her legs shaking but the fear is not allowing her to move. Behind me, the guy protests about the pain as he tries to stabilize his body while bleeding.

“Are you okay?” I ask Astoria.

Her gaze falls to the guy before it returns to me.She nods.

“Come. I’ll take you home.” I offer her my hand. Slowly she walks to me and places her forehead on my chest while her body shakes.

This is not what I wanted. I sigh in frustration but wrap my arms around her violently trembling body. It’s obvious that’s what she needs and wants. While trying to catch her breath and silence her weeping, she looks up at me.

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry? Sorry for what? My eyes get lost in hers. They’re dark, like an infinite night I don’t want to return from. I want to kiss her and then fuck her in the parking lot in front of all the other couples doing the same here.

“Let’s go,” I say to her.

We say nothing on the way to my car, or even after I buckle her into the passenger seat. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the ghost mask in the back seat.Fuck.There’s nowhere for me to hide it. When I turn back to her I have nothing to worry about. She's too affected by what just happened and is writing her friend a text. Her lip trembles as she keeps pushing her hair back, and scratching where the guy held her. I can tell she's trying not to lose her composure.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. The words infuriate me.

My left wrist rests on the steering wheel as I turn the ignition on but I don’t switch to drive.

“Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry you had to do that for me. It’s my fault. Ididtease him. I was just trying to have some fun, you know, but I took ittoo far. My mom taught me better. I know better.” She nods as she turns her face to meet my gaze. I’m met with black eyelashes thickened by tears, bordering her round big eyes that are begging for so many things, too many things. They’re begging for my love. I can’t give her that. I have none.

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