Closer

Author's Note: This story is a standalone submission, published for the "Karaoke 2023" Author Challenge, modeled after the song Closer by Nine Inch Nails. I highly suggest indulging in the song, and if you enjoy that vibe there are a few others mentioned throughout this publication that are all worthy of your attention. I would like to thank Altissimus for beta reading and editing this submission at the very last minute!

I didn't feel like going out tonight.

My cell phone lay on the pillow beside me with Zebina yapping my ear off about it all. Impromptu rave, bring your own bottle, probably more drugs than a police evidence locker—smoking hot men and women as far as the eye could see. My best friend tried hard to play up that last bit.

Bina tried her best to talk up the body painting drums and the half-naked performers who'd be doing intricate acrobatics, dangling from aerial hoops. Dancers swinging flaming poi. A well-known local metal band opening on stage. I groaned and rolled around my bed, burying my face into my pillow as I tried to blot her out.

"So you're coming?" It wasn't a question, it was a demand. At least Zebina tried to make it sound like a question. I listened to the quiet alternative music and the sound of the busy tattoo shop in the background, and heaved a sigh.

"No, I'm not. I've got work." I lied.

"It's fucking Saturday, Viveka, you don't work the weekends." Zebina cackled. I heard her tattoo gun whirring in the background as my tongue teased the labret piercing through my bottom lip. There was another long pause as I tried to come up with another believable excuse.

"I've got... things. I'm pet sitting." Another lie.

"So, bring the fucking dog!" Bina sighed loudly into the phone. "Look bitch, you've got to do something more than lay in the damn bed crying over that B-list Edward Cullen motherfucker who's probably balls deep in some rebound by now. Come on, Vi! The world doesn't end with your first heartbreak. Let loose, live a little! Do it or I'm going to give my brother your number, he's been begging me for it ever since he heard about the breakup."

I groaned miserably. The very last thing on my mind right now was going anywhere or doing anything with anyone. Zebina's tattoo gun paused. I could hear her cursing out her client quietly about keeping still, until her voice blasted over the speakerphone.

"VIVEKA YOU ARE COMING TO THE FUCKING RAVE." Zebina screeched. "Stay still, chickenshit, you already paid the deposit we might as well finish—"

"OKAY, fuck, alright!" I shouted back angrily and reached over to end the call before rolling onto my stomach and burying my face in the pillow again. My phone buzzed. I was tempted to throw it across the room. My neatly manicured nails painted in black tapped the glossy case as I lifted it, and stared lazily at the screen. '1666 Dark Horse, Downtown. It used to be a warehouse. Doors at ten. Wear something slutty!'

I rolled my eyes, unable to help the tempting smile pulling over my lips.

Zebina had her ways of cheering me up, even if it meant literally dragging me out to wander the trails in the historic cemetery of our city. She showed up with Chinese food the night before and with every Nightmare on Elm Street movie on blu-ray. She might as well have been my sister the way she looked out for me. My eyes moved to the time, unimpressed with the window for preparation I had. It was almost seven. It was going to take me years to make myself presentable after spending nearly the last week moping around over the breakup.

I dragged myself out of the bed and made my way through my little one-bedroom apartment, moving for the shower. The hot water felt good after how long I'd spent lying around this week. I blew through my sick days, which was saying something when my data analyst job could be done from the comfort of my home office. My boss was threatening to send a wellness check if I didn't come in on Monday.

I had all the enthusiasm of a lethargic hospice patient as I brushed my teeth and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like death. Beautiful, pale death with ample curves that were a tad thicker now since I spent the last week binging on ice cream. Still, I looked very much like I belonged on a morgue table, and it amused me.

I felt worse than death. Why the hell did love have to hit so hard, drown you in its embrace, and then curse you with excruciating pain when it ended? I stared into my own deep blue eyes, my thick raven hair dripping around my naked shoulders as I rinsed my mouth. Heaving a sigh, I snatched the towel and made my way into my bedroom.

My makeup didn't take anywhere near as long as my hair did. I was long accustomed to applying the dark wing on my upper eyelid with one stroke. The dab of dark eyeshadow to complete the smokey look was almost as easy. Easier still were brows and lashes. Genetics smiled on me. Women paid to have the eyelashes I was born with and paid to have their eyebrows as full. A bit of mascara and I was done... now for the rest of the ritual.

I fumbled through my closet, tossing out a variety of dresses, tops, bottoms—all black. There was probably more color at a funeral than in my wardrobe. I didn't fret over choosing anything in particular, I just dug something out that I hadn't worn in a while.

I skipped the bra. Was tempted to skip the panties. On second thought, I moved to my dresser and fished out something cheeky; black lace boyshorts and my favorite pair of sheer black thigh highs. The dress was short as hell, yeah, and form fitting. It had a cute, inverted pentacle strappy collar that hugged my chest and cleavage, not leaving much to the imagination. If my nipples themselves weren't almost visible through the soft dark fabric, the imprints of my nipple rings definitely were.

It just barely covered my ass as it clung to my hourglass figure. I tugged the hem down against my thighs and frowned. Hm. A bit more form fitting than usual, but even in my depression, I kinda liked the little pudge I had on my thighs and belly now. It seemed like most of my late-night dates with Tim Burton movies and Ben & Jerry's icecream had gone directly to my ass and breasts. I did a half turn and admired my fuller shape.

I moved to my bed to slide my feet into my favorite pair of black patent leather six-inch heels, scoffing as my cat moved to invade my space and meow insistently. It seemed like every time I moved to put on the damned things the black furry nuisance was there, batting his paws at my hands and yowling. I tilted my head to the side and stared down at him, his wide yellow eyes leering back at me.

"What, Luci?! What the fuck, man—I just fed you! Seriously!" Shaking my head, I shooed him away and checked the time. How the hell had an hour and a half passed so quickly? I moved back to my vanity, blow drying the long wild clusters of my dark hair when a thundering knock resounded from my front door. My neatly groomed brows knitted hard together as I moved to stand. My stride was graceful. A perfect catwalk.

"Open up Viveka, I swear I'll climb up the drain pipe and break your window!" Zebina's sing-song voice echoed into the hall from behind my front door, and I grinned and undid the security chain and locks. The moment the door swung open, the tall blonde grinned and let her cocoa eyes sweep down me from head to toe. "Daaamn you look good! That's what I'm talking about girl!"

"Why did you send me the address if you were going to come pick me up?" I laughed as she pushed her way past, bending down to pet Lucipurr as he bounded into the living room.

"Aw, there's my boyfriend—what's up Luci? Oh yeah, I thought about it and I figured you'd fucking bail so I came to make sure you didn't." Bina passed a cheeky grin. "You ready?"

"Almost—Hair. Lipstick."

"Leave it, it looks great... like you just got fucked. I mean if you're down we could sneak in a quickie before we head out, hm?" Zebina raised her eyebrows, her tongue teasing her lips.

"You're not even drunk yet, control yourself woman." I rolled my eyes dramatically and crossed my arms.

Zebina was gorgeous. If circumstances were different with us, she would have been very much my type. Tall and athletic with gorgeous golden skin, hazel eyes, and naturally blonde hair. Her parents were an interesting pair; her mother from Trinidad and her father from Germany. She grew up an army brat, but they settled in Philadelphia permanently when she turned ten years old. That's where we hit it off. We might as well have been yin and yang ever since.

We had more than a few intense sessions of making out. As we moved into early-twenties she fell off from dating punks and bad boys and seemed to veer off with more of an interest in women, while I got stuck with fucking Lucas. My first and only boyfriend. She hated him the entire time we dated and made sure he knew it, and now that he was gone, it didn't surprise me that Bina was more than happy to introduce me to the wild and free lifestyle of not giving a shit about titles and just going with the flow.

She probably would've been waiting in my bed naked every day when I got home from work if I let her. It just so happened that I valued our friendship so fucking much. The idea that something might eventually go wrong if we took things a step further kept me at arm's length.

Bina's style of dress wasn't far off from mine, the only difference was her's was damn near entirely sheer with a cute white buttoned collar and sleeves instead of straps. Swap my heels for her platform boots with the million buckles and we were two sides of the same alternative gothic style catalog. We'd picked up the habit of all black everything, chains and dark eyeliner in middle school long before it was trendy, and stuck with it ever since.

Zebina had me on the number of piercings, and preferred to shave one side of her long, kinky blonde hair, etching designs into the peach fuzz that remained. She dyed the length occasionally. Right now, it was platinum; so light it almost looked silver, and she had it straightened so that it fell to her waist. The trio of lip piercings and her septum looked damn good on her. Bina had beautiful full lips, fuck-me eyes and one of those pretty baby faces that probably could've made a face full of tattoos look good.

She was still petting Luci. I took the opportunity to head back to my room to grab my cell phone and clutch, pausing briefly in one of the many mirrors of my room with a small tube of matte black lip tint, lining my plush cupid's bow lips with it for the finishing pop. As I made my way back to the front door, Luci zipped between my legs, circling around one and then the other and damn near murdering me in the process as I struggled to not stumble over him.

"FUCK, LUCI—Go, shoo!" I yelled at him.

"The hell is his problem?!" Zebina laughed.

"I don't know, he's been doing that all night, maybe he's got anxiety or something... I've been thinking about getting another cat." I frowned as we moved out into the hall, locking the door behind me.

"Don't, Viv. One cat is cool. One cat is fitting. You get two and the next thing you know you'll have eight, a bald spot and spend the rest of your life clipping coupons and riding the A train to the park to feed the ducks and shit." Zebina looped her arm in mine as we made our way down to the elevator. We moved inside, looking down the long hall to watch the lights flickered in a slow pattern before extinguishing, one after the other, moving toward us as the doors closed slowly. We both stared for a long few moments before looking at one another and bursting into laughter.

"When are you moving out of this creepy fucking building? I swear it's haunted or something." Bina cackled.

"Whenever I can afford it. That was... fucking weird though, right?"

"Hey... I know Lucas was a fucking douche, but I'm sorry for what happened. If you ever feel off, you know... this being you guy's first apartment and all, you can always come to my place. I'll kick Christoph out. Fucker's been late on his third of the rent for the last four months." Zebina smirked, and reached out to tweak my nipple ring through my dress. "Orrr... you could just crash in my room?"

I swatted her hand away and laughed. "Yeah, and get fired because you handcuffed me to your bed and won't let me leave for work? Not a chance Bina."

I couldn't help but smile at the line wrapped around the warehouse. Zebina's co-workers from the tattoo shop tagged along in the back seat, and pulled out a massive bottle of Grey Goose as we found parking on the street. We watched the line as we took turns passing the vodka and a bottle of orange juice around in excitement, waiting for the doors to open.

The second the line started moving we were three mouthfuls of vodka in, and I could feel my fair skin deepening with a natural blush as we made our way to steal a spot in line. At least until Zebina laced her fingers with mine and practically dragged us to the front of the line. The bouncer, a burly man with long dreadlocks and an accompanying bread was suited with a shirt of one of the local Metal bands. Probably the sound of Hell currently radiating from inside. He gave me, Bina, and her coworkers an ample once over before nodding his head and removing the metal link chain from the entrance of the worn-down grungy warehouse doors.

"We still got it, woo!" Zebina cheered as we made our way down a long hall, descending deeper into the old building. Strips of tattered plastic hung from the ceilings of the long walk in, along with thick chains of some sort, leaving me to wonder what sort of warehouse it had been when occupied. The women behind us laughed as we came out into the massive three-story open center of the warehouse, and marveled at the decor that had probably been thrown up only a few hours before all of this happened.

"How the fuck do they have the power on in this place?" I called over the screech of electric guitars and the noise of the gathered crowd. There had to be at least a hundred people in here already and they just started letting people inside. They were filling up the concrete stairs on either side to the open view layout of the upper levels. The accompaniment of neon lights and areas of entertainment quickly became occupied

"Fuck if I know, the dude who throws these pop-ups has got a lot of pull I hear!" Zebina tilted her head back with the bottle of vodka in her hands.

Raves in Philadelphia—impromptu ones like this—were so fucking common. I had been to several since I was eighteen. The raucous energy of the crowd took a shift when the local metal band moved off stage and made way for the DJ. The set-up team dragged his table center stage in front of the drum kit, and the energy in the room shifted dramatically as the sharp pulse of electronic treble and thundering bass began to reverberate through the room. The crowd swelled, and the floor seemed to quake with their enthusiasm.

I had been here not even ten minutes, and already a gaggle of frat boys made their passes. I didn't bother feigning interest as Zebina broke off for the long tables set along the far wall with ice and water and God only knew what other 'party favors' were being openly distributed. Rule number one has always been to avoid the 'Open Bar'. There was no telling what any of the things left there contained.

By the time Zebina returned, I had gotten annoyed shooing off men who were clearly trying the wrong sort. College sorts with fresh haircuts, designer clothes, and expensive watches. They didn't seem amused at my deadpan tone. They seemed even less enthused when I just rolled my eyes, turned up my nose, and waved them away.

Thirty minutes in, I was 'Stuck up', 'Goth Bitch' and 'Tease'. At least two of my unsolicited 'suitors' had offered to pay me to come back to their apartment. Nursing a red cup in my hand Zebina had brought back from the table, she poured a round of shots and grimaced at the expression of absolute boredom on my face. I still wasn't feeling it. The moment we toasted to the early night, Zebina slapped the cup out of my hand, grasped my wrist and dragged me through the sea of bodies to the center of the floor beneath the blacklight.

Zebina pulled me close and leaned in to speak into my ear before curling an arm around my waist, tempting me to dance, "Lighten the fuck up!"

With the blaring of lights and rising smoke from the dry ice machines set around the stage, she pulled my smile back onto my lips as the slow pulse of the bass shot up my heels. Her friends gathered around and it felt almost instantaneous that the crowd moved to give us space; easily four of the baddest bitches at this rave. The opening croons of Spitfire by The Prodigy began to reverberate off the walls. Closing my eyes, I found the pulse of bass in the music.

My arms raised as my hips rolled to the electronic lilt between the aggression of the vocalist, and Zebina danced close, radiating in my energy. The crowd seemed to surge—doubled, hell, tripled since the rave began. The flashing of glow sticks and breakdancers making spaces for their performances lifted my spirits.

The drums of the upper level spattered glowing streaks of paint beneath the blacklights and smoke, with the aerial dancers twirling from their lyra above us. The heat from the bodies all gathered was offset by the tall ceilings of the warehouse, and as I felt the music, I let my eyes sweep the crowd.

It wasn't hard to notice him standing motionless among a sea of bodies. He was tall, a solid figure with broad shoulders, darkly dressed and almost out of place with how professional and clean he looked. Here; in the middle of a crowd where headphones with neon lights, glow-in-the-dark necklaces, and half naked women smeared in blacklight paint filed around him. I did a turn, pushing my ass against Zebina as the song shifted seamlessly into the next remix: Red Lips by Good Times Ahead. Another turn, and she curled her long arms around my shoulders.

"You have an admirer." She mouthed, the height of the pulsing bass, sharp electronics and kick drum too loud for words now. How could I have not noticed him looking? Her arms dropped away just as quickly as she stepped back, and spread her arms. "Hoooot, fucking dance with him! GO!"

I rolled my eyes with a smile as she turned her back to me, stealing the shared bottle from one of her friends. I glanced over my shoulder, my body rolling to the music, almost content to dance alone. I shouldn't have turned around again. I wasn't even sure why I did, aside from the obvious...

That tall, gorgeous dark Adonis of a man had already started making his way toward me. The crowd seemed to part for him as he moved nearer, a sly smile pulling over his full lips, his eyes intense beneath the lights. A gorgeous shade of blue. Almost reflective. I had never seen eyes like his before, and as he came to stand before me, I wondered where the hell he had gotten such high-quality contact lenses.

He extended his hand to me, and I felt myself falter. I couldn't tear my gaze away. My heart beat just a bit faster. I felt warmth flushing over my high cheekbones, and tried my damndest to shy away, slowing to a stop among a sea of individuals jumping to the pounding bass. The only thing I could focus on was this man—this stranger. His hand hovered in the air between us as he gazed into my eyes.