Page 39 of Prometheus' Priestess

The following night, Kiaria proved true to her word and managed to keep Amara occupied with copious amounts of wine and tales of her dating woes. Halfway through the conversation, she refilled their glasses with the remains of the second bottle despite Amara’s protests. There was, at least, half a bottle in each glass.

Not long afterwards, John walked in and sidled up to their table. He was hard to miss. Aside from his height, his flaming red hair that crunched close to his skull and pale skin speckled with freckles, like Amara’s own, illuminated him like a beacon. And given his height, his waist hit the tabletop as he snaked an arm around Kiaria.

“Fancy seeing you ladieshere.”

Immediately, regret seeped into Amara’s bones. She should have known Kiaria wouldn’t leave it. Some friend. In desperation to calm her nerves, Amara grabbed at her recently refilled glass and began to gulp greedily.

Given John’s size, he was a man who simply took up room by breathing. Amara could feel his presence permeate her skin without him even touching her. It made goosebumps break out over her flesh. He sat, his legs brushing hers under the table and she immediately recoiled. Kiaria, in comparison, wrapped her limbs around him, entangling herself, like a fly willingly drawn into a spider’s web. That spider was smiling coyly at Amara as she watched.

At some point, when the third bottle of wine was opened and sat on the table between them, Kiaria went up to go to the toilet. Silence hung heavy in the air and Amara took another swig from her wineglass.

“I get the impression you don’t like me,” John said, the smirk on his face saying more than his words.

Amara placed the wine glass back on the coaster, choosing her words carefully.

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” shestarted.

“What is itthen?”

“It’s just that I don’t like being around you and Kiaria much. You remind me of me and … it doesn’t matter.”

“So I remind you of your ex, do I?” John grinned as one long arm extended under the table towards Amara’s leg, as if to clutch at her and lure her into him. She could practically see him preening.

“Kiaria will be backsoon.”

John shuffled his seat forward slightly and Amara felt their kneesbump.

“You’re just as beautiful as her, you know,” he said, as his hand began to stroke herleg.

Amara froze. The last time a man had touched her without her permission had been before Theo. This was another stranger. No, it was John, she reminded herself. She knew John. Except she didn’t really. Just like she hadn’t known Ralph. Not really.

Her mind raced, desperately trying to convince her body that this was different, but it was no use. The fear coursing through her veins was like lactic acid, her limbs like lead. She couldn’t move. She didn’t dare breathe. It was like she was watching herself as John’s hand inched up even closer. This wasn’t what she wanted. She knew this wasn’t what she wanted. Why couldn’t she speak? Move?Anything?!

“What the HELL do you think you’re doing?!”

John’s hands recoiled like a snake so fast it was a wonder he didn’t getwhiplash.

Kiaria stood at the table, arms folded across her chest and a deep scowl painted across her face that turned the corners of her mouth down into a disdainful sneer.

“It’s not what it lookslike.”

“I will deal with you later,” Kiaria told him sharply before pointing towards the door. Hanging his head in demure agreement, John heeded instructions and excused himself. Kiaria stalked forward a step.

“And what the hell were you playing at?” she hissed.

Amara sat there, blinking, trying to get her brain to catch up with her body. She was so incredibly relieved and grateful that Kiaria had returned when she did, but her voice still wasn’t working.

“You know, I could put up with the whole forlorn, woe-is-me, my-boyfriend-left-me act. But this? Going behind my back to try and make yourself feel better about the fact that he left you? It’s pathetic. You’repathetic.”

Finally Amara’s brain began to function again, neurons snapping awake like fireworks crackling in her head. She went to open her mouth to explain, but Kiaria cut her off with a slicing hand action through the air.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

And with that, she stalked off.

Blood began to pool back into Amara’s icy fingertips and toes, pins and needles flooding her extremities, the sensation akin to being on fire. She stood, shakily, and managed to walk to the local bus stop. Thankfully it wasn’t too late and, thanks to the summer evening, it was still light outside.

The minute she was home she went to pour herself another drink and hesitated. Eventually, she thought better of it. Instead, she made short work of last night’s dishes in burning hot water that scalded her skin pink. She scrubbed and scrubbed but the dishes still appeared dirty and she could not seem to get her hands clean, despite her efforts. Aggressively drying off her hands on a tea towel that rubbed her skin raw, Amara decided to hell with it. She poured herself a double helping of brandy, grabbed the blanket off her bed and decided to light a fire to enjoy the rest of the summer evening that was beginning to cool quite rapidly.

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