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Old 05-17-2015, 10:07 PM
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Joined: May 2007
Posts: 10,140
Sydney Jordan
She could not be out of that elevator soon enough. The wisest thing she could have done in that moment was to keep walking, leaving Christian with only her back to speak to. She sensed it was going to be one of those kind of nights though, because he moved deliberately and was suddenly at the door in front of her. Keep walking, she silently urged herself. Ignore him. Had someone given her that advice when she was a young, naïve girl of sixteen back in Richmond she might have been able to heed it now. His words continued to cut her to her very core however, resonating in a way he probably did not intend them to.

The missed opportunity was Jonathon’s, yet Sydney could have said the same of Christian. How many times had they done this dance now? How many opportunities had been missed on his part? How many blunders was he responsible for? Probably just as many as her, to be fair.

Doing the exact opposite of what her inner voice had urged, Sydney stopped directly in front of Christian. Part of her wanted to slap that smug expression right off his face. Another part of her wanted to do something else entirely. “Who said I was without plans?” She smiled coyly at him. Sydney did not need another man in her life to facilitate any good times she might have. She was perfectly cable of finding a good time on her own. Or had he already forgotten? “There’s a new bar that opened a couple of blocks from here I wanted to check out. They supposedly have several rare beer imports on tap.” She held his gaze intently, boldly, for her anyway, presenting him with an open invitation to join her.

She waited another long beat before moving out onto the street. The New York City air was warm and muggy, but still managed to cool her skin. “Come if you’d like,” she crooned over her shoulder, before continuing down the street indifferently.

“Or don’t.”

Jayne Forrester
Jayne had been dreaming. It was a strange, alcohol induced dream that tended to blend certain realities and fictions together that had no right intermingling with one another. He dreamed of his late wife and the child they created together. It was his last memory of her and one of the few happier ones he credited to himself. She stood on their porch, the babe cradled in her arms as the sun gleamed in her golden hair. She kissed him as she had always done countless times before, whenever he left for work. He’d thought little of the moment at the time, expecting there would be more where that came from in the future. When she pulled away, her blonde hair was replaced with an unwashed, dirty brown shade. And her face was angry and willful.

And then she swung at him.

The crack that sounded as her elbow connected with his face is what woke him up.

He woke to a mouth dry as sand and his head throbbing like an absolute mother fucker. Jayne groaned loudly, the poorly lit cell still bright enough to leave him scrambling to find something to shade his eyes. His hand would have to do for the time being. He was vaguely aware of other people in the room with him, and it took several long moments for his eyes to adjust. It was the smell he noticed first. The air was heavy with mildew, mold and regret. Or maybe it was just him?

Jayne lifted an arm, took a whiff of his armpit, and then recoiled repulsively at his own smell. “Bloody hell,” he muttered out loud, rubbing his head. The others around him spoke of breakfast and Jayne was vaguely aware of his partner being in … wherever the hell they were in. There was a woman as well.

The woman from his dream.

He locked eyes with her and held her gaze. And then he keeled over the side of the bench and began to vomit the entire contents of the previous night’s bender from his mouth.
Woman? Is that meant to insult me? I would return the slap, if I took you for a man.
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