He showed up at the dive bar in a cloud of neon haze and stale adrenaline, eyes bloodshot with mischief and something that almost looked like hope. She was perched on a stool beneath a flickering sign that sputtered between “OPEN” and “SOLD OUT,” her thigh-high boots scuffed as if she’d already danced through a riot. Her perfume hit him in the gut something rich, like bruised berries soaked in whiskey, and he knew then he was already too far gone to turn back.
“Give me something dangerous,” she purred, voice smooth enough to slice through your skull. Glass in her hand held a cognac so dark it swallowed the light, and she toyed with it as if it were the last weapon between life and oblivion.
He grinned and slid in beside her, the vinyl seat crackling like a warning. “I always deliver,” he said, tipping back his glass. The liquid burned its way down, setting off a chain reaction of heat that climbed his spine. He leaned in close; the stubble on his jaw rasped against her wrist as he traced the veins there, mapping her pulse like a landmine.
Their laughter bounced off the grimy tile walls, ricocheting around them until it blurred with the thrumming bass from the jukebox in the corner—an unholy fusion of broken records and broken dreams. She caught his gaze, pupils dilated, and offered a cigarette: a twisted invitation. He accepted. The smoke curled through what was left of his senses, folding them into itself like origami gone wrong.
Outside, the city roared a chorus of horns, yells, and distant sirens that felt perfectly synchronous with the chaos unfolding at their table. He whispered about the time he nearly drowned in Lake Michigan, the icy water nicking his lungs until he tasted salt and fear in equal measure. She countered with a memory of Paris alleys that reeked of rain and betrayal, describing the way her skin had caught the streetlamps’ glow as she slipped away from someone who thought he owned her.
They moved from the bar to a crumbling loft above, door ajar, hinges squealing in protest. Inside, mannequins stood sentinel, draped in half-finished leather jackets and silk scarves streaked with ink. He shoved her against a chipped brick wall; the rough surface scratched through her coat, and a thread of red bloomed where skin met mortar.
His mouth found hers hungry, frantic, and every kiss felt like a dare. Fingers tangled in hair the color of scorched copper; nails dug in, leaving trails that sizzled even after she’d pushed him away. She laughed, low and wicked, a challenge. “Show me the part where you break,” she teased.
He answered by unbuckling his belt, the click of metal echoing like a starting gun. She peeled off her blouse in a single motion, revealing tattoos that looked like battle maps carved into her ribs. One said SURRENDER in jagged script. He traced it with trembling fingertips, savoring the grain of her skin as if it were the only proof he existed.
They tumbled onto the warped hardwood floor, bodies colliding in a blur of sweat and desperation. Her hipbone pressed against his ear; he could feel her heartbeat racing, a frantic tattoo that matched his own. They moved together in staccato bursts, as though every thrust could be the last—every gasp a currency in some grotesque auction.
Midnight bled into gray dawn, and by the time the first pale fingers of light squeezed through the cracked window, they lay tangled in a heap of fabric and whispers. She fingered his cheek, leaving a smudge of dark stubble on her palm. “You’re the only thing I’d burn for,” she murmured, eyes heavy-lidded but alight with something like longing.
He brushed a strand of sweat-damp hair from her forehead, chest heaving. “Then I guess we’re already ashes,” he replied, voice rough as gravel.
She smiled. It was a dangerous, beautiful thing, like a smile that knew secrets better left unspoken. Without another word, she stood, pulled on her boots, and slipped out into the dawn-lit street, leaving him alone with the hum of distant traffic and the ghost of her scent lingering in the air.
He sat up, reached for his jacket, and pressed it against his face, breathing her in one last time. Then he followed her out into the world that thrummed with reckless promise, ready to chase another spark even if it meant going up in flames.
- m y t h o s
