[Amber]
He tasted like smoke.
Like ash and dust mixed into one; the scent of cigarettes and whisky thick on his tongue. Some girls might enjoy the mix—enjoy the taste of dark alleys and shitty pubs. The taste of bad boys and older men. The taste of salt and adulthood. Or more accurately, the taste of sweat, stale breath and bitter tobacco.
But not Amber, never Amber.
And she was starting to regret even considering this arrangement.
He kissed her then. His rubbery lips pressing hard against hers, messy and uncoordinated in its caress. His lips were dry and cracked with peeling, flaking skin that dug into her sensitive flesh. His tongue was slimy as they flopped about over the seams of her lips—his attempt to ramp up the action.
He was pushing it, the guy she had randomly picked from the club in her haste for relief. In the darkness of the club, awash in bouncing strobe lights and surrounded by pounding music, he had been a different man. Dressed impeccably in suit pants and a deep navy turtleneck, he had been out of place in the mass of leather jackets, metal chains and tattoos.
A beacon of normalcy in the sea of rebellion.
She wanted him precisely because he seemed like a sweet gentleman with a smile that spread to his eyes. And he wasn't obnoxious when she had spoken to him, keeping up with the polite demeanour instead of manspreading and leering at her body.
He had seemed like everything she needed.
But now she wasn't as sure when he steadily revealed his true nature in the privacy of the hotel room. His fingers were clumsy as they travelled up her skin and over the edges of her bra, frantic as he tried to tug at the zip of her dress. It was clear that he was trying to speed things up just to get into her pants as quickly as possible. And the arousal that once thrummed within her body had vanished minutes ago from his crappy foreplay.
"You want my big, fat cock, don't you?" He breathed heavily, aggressively running his fingers over her sides as if that would stimulate her further. It might if he were gentle about it—if he let his fingertips dance over her skin the way the boys in her dreams did. But, he practically raked her with his fingernails, drawing red lines that just made her want to kick him out of her face.
Did she want his cock in her? She furrowed her brows, wincing a little. Not really. Now that she had tasted him and experienced first-hand the distinct lack of chemistry between them, she was as dry as the Sahara Desert.
It might be her fault for jumping into it at the club. Her fault for not being careful in her selection. Her fault for being so desperate that she had visited the club in hopes of losing her virginity. She'd only wanted something, anything, to quell her need for the people in her dreams. Something that would make her stop fantasising about the men she could not have. Something that could distract her enough to give her future soulmate a chance.
He stuck out his tongue, forcing the slimy, disgusting appendage into her mouth. It was revolting, a sudden attack that drew a strangled gasp from her lips that he seemed to take as acceptance and pleasure. The guy ground his groin into hers awkwardly. A forceful jerk of his hips that gave her no pleasure but only greater annoyance.
She snapped.
"Enough." She stepped back and away from him, rubbing at her mouth and gagging a little. She wasn't against kissing with tongue, but she had her standards. The guy started, wide-eyed as he openly gawked at her.
"But, you said you wanted—"
"I changed my mind."
She didn't want to swallow with the taste of his saliva in her mouth. It was nauseating to her in its bitter tang and bad aftertaste. She dry retched again, covering the action from him to be polite. God. Did he eat some sort of dish with onions and garlic before this? She made a mental promise to brush her teeth the minute he left.
If he would leave.
"I'm sorry. Please go." She sighed, propping her hand up against the wooden dresser. She watched as his face reddened and he spluttered. His expression was transforming into a pinched look that mirrored the appearance he would have if he had just eaten a lemon. His eyes were bulging in his anger, his veins popping over his neck. He stepped forward and she stiffened, noting the mad glint in his eye.
"You—"
"If I don't text my friend back in fifteen minutes, she will call the police to this room." Amber warned, tapping her fingers on the wood impatiently. She ran her fingers through her hair, letting a sigh escape her lips.
She shouldn't have done this. She shouldn't have even considered it. She met his eye, pursing her lips together as she tried to connect with him, beseeching him to leave her alone. "Look, we don't have any chemistry." That was one nice way to put it. "I apologise for leading you on."
She watched as he gritted his teeth, muscles dancing at the sides of his jaw, his hands clenching into tight fists. Damn it. She braced herself, her breath catching in her throat as she got ready for his attack. She did not wish for her evening to end like this, but she was prepared for it.
To her surprise, he turned on his heels, ripped open the door and slammed it in her face before she could even blink. She was left alone in the room and she relaxed, slumping into the bed as the tension left her body. Thank God he didn't try to make this difficult. Sure she knew a few decent moves that could take down a man two times her size, but she didn't want to have to resort to using them.
The emptiness resulted in a ringing silence that buzzed softly in her ears, growing louder by the minute. It made her feel restless and on the edge, the sound driving up against her frantic nerves and making her even more aware of her loneliness. It was a white noise that irritated her and made her heart pound in her chest.
She picked up the remote control from the coffee table.
The cheap plastic was rough in her hands, the rubber buttons were crumbly and sticky at the edges. She flipped it around in her palm, pressing at a few buttons to test the receptivity. The rubber squares were slightly broken from years of abuse and the little buggers refused to react when she waved the stick at the television. She cursed, pressing her lips together as her brows furrowed.
Damn it.
The memory of her shitty one night stand sent another wave of annoyance through her heart. She slammed her index finger hard onto one of the buttons, effectively squishing it down so deep that it stayed stuck within the crevices of the plastic.
The television flickered on revealing the newscaster.
"On breaking news today, scientists have discovered rising numbers of soulmates experiencing the Gen Z Soulmate Phenomenon."
Thank God that did the trick.
The white noise was replaced by the monotonous voice of the man on the screen and Amber trudged into the bathroom. She tore open one of the free toiletry packets and brushed her teeth to get the taste of her bad date out of her mouth. She scowled in frustration, her eyes combing over her reflection.
In the misted, chipped mirror, she saw herself.