You know the city: it\u2019s that place tucked between those two mountains so the sun never shines on it.\u00c2\u00a0 It\u2019s where your worst nightmares don\u2019t bother hiding behind the corners.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s also a wonderful place, filled with incredible secrets, legends walking about as if they own the place, and this one girl with blonde hair whom I\u2019ve fancied since the moment I saw her.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t usually go for blondes, but so what.\u00c2\u00a0 She\u2019s not just beautiful, she\u2019s sharp.\u00c2\u00a0 I\u2019m nervous enough when she\u2019s around because of how she looks, and how she uses those eyes.\u00c2\u00a0 You\u2019d expect blue because of the hair, but her eyes are the lightest shade of brown I\u2019ve ever seen, almost bronze, almost gold.\u00c2\u00a0 And she knows how to cast them about to great advantage.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve seen killers turn away because she looked at them.\u00c2\u00a0 Seriously.\u00c2\u00a0 You think I\u2019d make this up?<\/p>\n
But it\u2019s her words that stop me.\u00c2\u00a0 They\u2019re too much.\u00c2\u00a0 She speaks seven languages, maybe ten, and throws in all those words whenever they seem best for what she wants to say.\u00c2\u00a0 Facts support her opinions.\u00c2\u00a0 She\u2019s never given anything just a little thought.<\/p>\n
Except me.<\/p>\n
She started thinking about me last night.\u00c2\u00a0 Only been six months since I met her.\u00c2\u00a0 We\u2019ve drunk from the same bottle of wine.\u00c2\u00a0 (She only likes red.\u00c2\u00a0 Don\u2019t ask me why.)\u00c2\u00a0 She\u2019s said words to me in the past, stuff I couldn\u2019t always understand.\u00c2\u00a0 Told me how best to saut\u00c3\u00a9 mushrooms, and where in this city you can find fresh garlic, and why the ghost of her grandmother never materialized despite all her grandfather\u2019s preparations.<\/p>\n
I thought she was teasing me, actually.<\/p>\n
But last night, at the jazz bar, whilst our group passed around bottles of bourbon-infused wine, she actually spoke to me.\u00c2\u00a0 Said my name, asked me a question–and it was the way she asked that question that\u2019s got me all twisted up inside.<\/p>\n
I think she\u2019s part gypsy.\u00c2\u00a0 I\u2019m sure of it.\u00c2\u00a0 Her skin\u2019s too dark to go with the blonde hair, and I can\u2019t imagine she\u2019s out sunning herself at the beach.\u00c2\u00a0 (Of course not; there\u2019s no beach here.)\u00c2\u00a0 And while her words carry a dozen different accents that shift every syllable, I\u2019m sure she favors German or Russian or Transylvanian.<\/p>\n
Usually, people ask this question out of exasperation.\u00c2\u00a0 Hands thrown in the air, not quite surrender: \u201cWhat<\/em> do you want <\/em>from me?\u201d<\/p>\n But she put the emphasis on you<\/em>, and on me<\/em>, while her eyes suggested she would seriously consider anything I requested.<\/p>\n I admit, I\u2019m sometimes stupid.\u00c2\u00a0 I could\u2019ve said asked for her love, her undying devotion, or something silly like her trust.\u00c2\u00a0 I could\u2019ve been bold and admitted I wanted to make love to her until the sun came up.\u00c2\u00a0 (You get it, right?\u00c2\u00a0 No sun in Midnight.)<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t do any of those things.<\/p>\n Instead, I asked a question.\u00c2\u00a0 Didn\u2019t think about it.\u00c2\u00a0 The words spilled from my mouth.\u00c2\u00a0 I hoped they were good words, because it took a while for me to realize what I\u2019d said.\u00c2\u00a0 \u201cCan I start with a kiss?\u201d<\/p>\n She said, \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n And it hurt.\u00c2\u00a0 I admit it.\u00c2\u00a0 Such a small thing.\u00c2\u00a0 She could\u2019ve blown me off with a kiss on the cheek, something like that.\u00c2\u00a0 But that\u2019s the thing, she\u2019s never been a liar, and she\u2019s never said anything but what she means.<\/p>\n \u201cYou start,\u201d she told me, this beautiful blonde gypsy goddess from the brightest corners of my dreams, \u201cby asking me to dance.\u201d<\/p>\n Just then, the band started playing.<\/p>\n What do you think happened next?<\/p>\n I love this city.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" You know the city: it\u2019s that place tucked between those two mountains so the sun never shines on it.\u00c2\u00a0 It\u2019s where your worst nightmares don\u2019t […]<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[9,6,2],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.darkfluidity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/358"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.darkfluidity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.darkfluidity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.darkfluidity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.darkfluidity.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=358"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.darkfluidity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/358\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.darkfluidity.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=358"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.darkfluidity.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=358"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.darkfluidity.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=358"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}