Stolen Jewel by Alexis Abbott
Jewel
Istand with my back pressed up against the slightly slimy wall across from the busy bar counter, blinking into the darkness. The dimly-lit cavern of the nightclub feels like an explosion of pure chaos all around me. Writhing bodies, drunken laughter, and rowdy conversations everywhere I turn. Men high-fiving over the heads of giggly, tipsy young women. Gaggles of sorority sisters mingle with droves of frat guys in their fuckboy finest. There’s a lot of people talking and dancing close, but I have a feeling there’s little real connection going on here. This place activates my flight-or-fight response, and right now, I’m definitely leaning toward flight. I want nothing more than to just get out of here as fast as I can, but unfortunately that’s the one thing I’m not able to do. Obligations led me to this place, but my shyness keeps me tethered to the sidelines. I realize, with a sigh, that I’m a literal wallflower.
I feel my heart pounding in my throat as the harsh, throbbing music of the club fills not just my head but my very bones, making me twinge in discomfort every few seconds. The pounding bass excites the crowd around me even more, buzzing under my feet like the earth is about to split open. I clutch my barely-touched vodka tonic and hope the tectonic plates aren’t about to open up and swallow me whole. Not that anyone would notice. Between the grim lighting, the strobes pulsing colored shafts of light around the room, and the clouds of smoke, I can barely breathe, much less see in a place like this.
It’s safe to say this not my scene. Not at all.
My head is already pounding even though I’ve only had a couple of typically watered-down mixed drinks. But I know it has nothing to do with the alcohol. I can hold my booze, but I’m less equipped for a pulsating crowd of horny strangers. I have no idea where Gina, my roommate and so-called best friend, is hiding. This is supposed to be a night of celebration, a chance to blow off steam after nonstop studying, but the party feels even more stressful than the law exams I just took.
I’m supposed to be relaxing and unwinding, which for me would usually involve some nicely-scented candles, soft mood music, a good book, and a bubble bath. Maybe a glass of champagne if I’m feeling frisky. But instead, I let myself get dragged out for celebratory drinks. This is not the vision I had in mind for how my first year in law school would end. Then again, nothing about law school has really lived up to my hopes so far.
“Jewel!” I hear shouted at me through the dense crowd, and when I look around wildly, I realize just how disoriented I am. Every turn of my head feels delayed, like my brain is sloshing around in pickling juices inside my skull. Before I can make heads or tails of the situation, a sweaty hand grabs my arm and I yelp in terror, sending a splash of my drink spilling to the sticky club floor. My shoulders relax ever so slightly as I recognize Gina standing in front of me.
“I’m so sorry,” I say abruptly, apologizing to her by reflex even though she’s the one who surprised me into spilling my drink.
She barely seems to clock my words.
“Girl where have you been?!” she asks with a big, drunken smile on her face.
“Trying not to get trampled,” I reply with a nervous laugh.
I rein in my composure in a matter of seconds, bringing me back from anxious to cool. It’s one of the many unofficial skills competing with my fellow law students has taught me so far. Like withstanding cutthroat criticism or recognizing when someone’s playing devil’s advocate just to mess with my head. Law school is a challenge in and of itself.
“It’s getting kind of crazy in here, isn’t it?” I add, hoping she’ll catch the hint that I’d like to get some air. Preferably air not contaminated with beer burps and vape clouds.
“What?” she says with a laugh as the music gets even louder, drowning out my voice. She cups her hand around her ear like a cartoon character and I lean in closer.
“Want to step outside?” I shout insistently over the music, a hint of hope in my tone. I pull back to clock her response, hoping she’ll take pity on me.
Oh no, there’s the eye-roll. No such luck.
“We just got here!” she protests, which is just plain wrong. We got here easily two hours ago; I’ve been keeping track and counting down the minutes until it’s a socially acceptable time to hightail it out of this chaos dungeon.
“I think I need a breather,” I insist.
Rather than giving me a real answer, she merely smirks and takes me by the arm. I let her guide me toward what I think is an exit, for one hopeful moment.
Until we get closer and I realize it’s just a cordoned-off outdoor area of the bar packed with just as many people and a circular fire pit glowing in the center. Still, at least there isn’t a claustrophobic beveled metal veiling over my head or music blaring in my ears. I feel a touch of relief as I breathe in the cool night air and tuck an unruly lock of chocolate-brown hair behind my ear. Gina guides me easily through the crowd to an unoccupied standing table, which I seize upon with gratitude, like a drowning sailor clinging to a life raft in the raging sea. I prop up my elbows and lean in, idly swirling the tiny black straw in my drink.
“Here, if you don’t want to celebrate our exams like a normal person,” Gina begins in a lightly teasing tone that still very much comes across as a subtle jab. “Let’s take a break out here and finish these drinks before another round, huh?”
The idea of downing another drink is the last thing on my mind right now, but if that’s the going exchange for a much-needed breather, so be it.
“And hey, for real,” she says, leaning forward in a softer tone and smiling at me as she takes my hand across the table. It’s sweaty, very sweaty, yet sincere. “Relax, Jewel. We just made it through our first year of law school, girl! You ought to chill and let that sink in!”
Her words are a little slurred, but damn, maybe Gina isn’t as drunk as I suspected.
“I-I know, I’m sorry,” I reply quickly.
“Don’t apologize,” she interrupts, and I nod. She tips back her drink.
Working up my fortitude, I remind her, “I told you this just isn’t my kind of thing before we left.” I force a feeble smile after a big gulp of my drink, welcoming the burn of liquid courage down my throat. But my twisted nerves don’t subside, not even with the vodka flooding my system.
“I don’t know if getting tipsy is helping,” I add.
“Okay, how about this to cheer you up,” she says with a mischievous smirk. She squeezes my hand and raises it up to prop our elbows on the table and interlace our fingers together. There’s a conspiratorial look on her pretty face.
She moves in close and lowers her voice to say, “We’ve been standing here being all cute and shit for like, less than a minute, and there are no less than three people checking us out I’ve counted so far.”
“Oh. Wait. Th-that is not good news, Gina,” I stammer, my heart dropping.
She just grins back at me, pleased with herself. I glance over her shoulder around at the scattered crowd as subtly as I can, which isn’t very. Sure enough, out of the sea of college frat guys and other rich kid students in the bar, some eyes seem to be drawn our way.
I sense Gina is being modest, or at least experiencing the closest thing to modesty she can manage. I don’t hold it against her-- she’s a young, hot, flirty woman with nothing to hide. And her salmon-pink bodycon dress certainly doesn’t hide a thing. There’s more than enough of her curvy body on display for me to be sure she’s the one turning heads. Compared to my own flouncy baby-pink dress and powder-blue cardigan, especially.
I smile politely and sip more of my drink.
“Do any of them look like they’re about to come over here?” I ask. I force myself to sound playful, but I’m trying to find out if I should brace myself for Gina to make eye contact with one of them long enough.
“I don’t know, but that tall guy by the fire pit in the black sweater sure isn’t looking at me,” she says meaningfully. She flits her eyes in the direction of the low decorative fireplace in the middle of the square, urging me to check him out, too.
I take a breath and finish my drink before trying to look in that direction without being too obvious. But the guy she must have been pointing out stands out so easily, I’ve already noticed him out of the corner of my eye without realizing that his piercing gaze was fixed on me.
I tear my eyes away and glance back to my empty glass with blushing pink cheeks and a pounding heart. I don’t know if it’s because of his startling good looks or the sheer intensity of those dark eyes, but it’s a feeling unlike any I’ve felt before. In a way that actually scares me a little bit. As though I’m stricken by the intensity of my own feelings.
Even as I stare down into my drink, his image is frozen in my mind’s eye like a crystal-clear photograph. My fingers itch to run through his thick, cropped black hair. His eyes are a vivid, powerful dark brown, wide and expressive under a strong brow. While everyone around us is bouncy with levity, he sticks out like a dark shadow. The light doesn’t find him; it resists him. Something about the way he’s dressed and the way he sits makes me think he isn’t American, maybe some kind of European, but I don’t want to assume.
Wait, why do I even care?
“Are you okay?” comes Gina’s laughing voice, snapping out of my trance. “Jesus, girl.”
“What?” I reply, wide-eyed. “What happened?”
“Are you thirsty?” she says in the same tone through a giggle, and my face goes redder.
“Oh my god, hush! He’ll hear,” I whisper urgently.
“You’re totally crushing!” she squeals.
“No,” I lie, “he just had this, like, really intense stare, and--”
She cuts me off with laughter, to the point that I can’t help but resign to a halfhearted laugh myself as I let my face sink into my palm. I can’t deny it. She’s right. I was definitely zoning out on that fine-ass probable-European. But that’s so unlike me. I need to splash some cold water on my face or something. Anything to get me out of this predicament.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I say, shaking my head. “Do you want to--?”
“I’ll get our drinks, this one’s on me,” she says with a wink.
She gives me a nudge on my shoulder and flounces off to the bar counter, abandoning me at the standing table. I give a feeble laugh as I adjust my purse and look around, avoiding the direction of the guy whose eyes I can still feel piercing me from behind. A chill goes up my spine...but it’s not the worst feeling in the world. Far from it, in fact. Without sharing a single word, this mysterious man seems to have hacked into my emotions. I feel a flash of something dangerously close to desire. I almost want to break my own rules. I almost want to give in.
Maybe I’ve had enough to drink.
With some more looks around, I put together that the women’s bathroom in the outdoor area is right next to an exit through the stone wall enclosure to the parking lot where Gina’s car is. Neither of us should drive tonight, and I can foresee a chaotic cab ride crammed with the students from our group who came out to party in my near future.
The bathroom is crowded, but it’s at least a comforting crowd of harmless tipsy girls reapplying their makeup, gossiping, and taking mirror selfies. On my way to the mirror, I hear three to four compliments slur my way that I take gratefully before taking a long, deep breath in front of the sink and closing my eyes for a second or two to pray for my composure back.
No such luck. That same ticklish feeling along my spine remains. That same hungry flicker of desire. Longing to get closer, to fold into that man’s strong arms...
I should be able to have a good time and relax, I tell myself. The night’s still fairly young and, if Gina is any indication, anyone else I came here with isn’t interested in leaving yet. I need to learn to do this kind of crap and be adaptable. Forget my worries for once and just enjoy myself like everybody else here seems to be doing.
My phone buzzes.
While a couple of girls loudly and enthusiastically complement each other’s hair in the open stall behind me, I read a puzzling text from Gina.
fuck my card fell out in the car!! can u get it?
I confiscated Gina’s keys several drinks ago, and rather than feeling annoyed by her request, I actually feel a little relief. Finally, an excuse to get some air away from the bar. I reply quickly that I’ll get it to her ASAP. I put my phone away and hurry out of the bathroom and around the corner, thankful for an excuse to flee.
The low heels of my boots click on the asphalt as I weave my way through the cars. It’s quiet and fairly empty of human beings. Most of the lot is full and the hour is still too early for people to be thinking about leaving yet. It’s the most pleasant sense I’ve felt all night, I realize with a twinge of regret. What is the matter with me? Why can’t I just relax and have a good time like my supposed friends? Am I really so boring and studious that I can’t hang?
Gina’s compact white car’s lights flicker as I use the remote key to unlock it, and I open the passenger’s side to hop in and start searching the floorboards for her lost debit card. My fingers brush over the fibers of the carpet when I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I turn my head toward the back seat almost at the same time that I feel a strong hand lurch out and grab me by the back of the head.
I have no time to let out a scream before he shoves a cloth up against my face that smells strongly of chemicals. Panic floods my veins. I put my hands on his arms to dig my nails into his sleeves, feeling rock-hard muscle underneath. But my resistance is futile; he is infinitely stronger than me. The world goes dark and my body feels fuzzy all over. Finally, my eyes roll back in my head and my knees buckle beneath me, my body going limp in his hands.