The Red Hair

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
So once there was a girl. She was beautiful. He knew it. And he wanted her.

Submitted: September 18, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 18, 2012




It seemed like one of those moments in a movie, when a boy sees a girl from across the bar, and everything slows down and focuses on just those two people. 

Through the crowd, her hair shone like rubies cut to a shining perfection. It was caught by the glowing orange light behind the shelves of drink, making the whole scene look like a sunrise and not like we were in a bar in central New York.  The contrast between her hair and her eyes made the sunrise even more realistic – a bright oceanic blue, spotted with green flecks.  Her skin was pale and her lips full, painted with a glittering red that reflected the light as she spoke.  To whom she was speaking to I had no idea; I was too mesmerized by her beauty to notice. 

Every move she made, every angle I saw her from, she was beautiful.  There were no flaws with her skin.  I was beginning to think that either she was naturally flawless (which seemed all the more possible as I looked at her) or she had a hell of a good skincare routine. I could just make out her voice.  It was smooth, happy, warm. All the noise around began to drop away from my ears, leaving me in a muffled silence, only the fuzzy sound of her voice left, the only sound that entered my mind for a long while.  She laughed. She threw her head back, her hair blazing like a fire ascending a paper wall.  Her mouth was wide with laughter, her lips gleaming more and more, looking like a glass case tightly surrounded them, beautiful, undisturbed.  She looked round for a second, her eyes brushing over me, to speak to the bartender.  I could only see the loose, short curls of the back of her head, and her red dress that curved with her back and over the edge of the seat like a waterfall of blood.  Her figure was perfect, too.  Curvy, but not fat.  No, far away from fat.  Perfectly proportioned.  Like a magnet, she drew the eyes of other men around the bar to her by her loud presence, not in sound but in appearance.  But no other would go up to her, to talk to her.  She was intimidating – she seemed like the kind of girl to turn you down at one glance ­– but I was going to do it.

I shimmied off my barstool and fixed my jacket. It had creased as I was sitting, so I tried my best to smooth it out.  I took a final swig out of my glass before tucking a twenty dollar note underneath it on the polished wooden surface. Running my fingers through my hair and clearing my throat, I started towards her.

As I edged closer through the crowd I made out a figure standing in front of her.  A man, tall and muscular, well-built, not skinny. Could be a wrestler.  I was worrying.  If I started to talk to her and he was her boyfriend, he could cave in my skull with his little finger.

She was leaning with her elbows back on the bar in a relaxed position.  The muscular man was making her laugh again.  He was standing with his arms folded in a defensive manor, his biceps still defined from underneath his short sleeved grey t-shirt.  His jeans hung off him; his torso was enough to make girls stare, so he didn't need to show off his powerful quadriceps or tight gluteus. 

I took up a seat two away from the queen of beauty and her protector, with no one on the seat in between.  I ordered a large whiskey and sipped on it as I listened to snippets of their conversation.

"There was this dress…", she said.

"You look good…", he said.

"… Difficult decision… He wasn't right…"

"… He was so attractive! … Done things… Ass."

There was the defining point.  I could be safe saying he wasn't interested in her.  I don't think he would say something along the lines of  'I would've done things to that ass' about his friend's relationship.

I turned my body towards her.  She seemed like a goddess.  There was nothing wrong with her in the slightest. At least aesthetically, there wasn’t. I knocked over my drink and it spilled across the counter.  The golden liquid rolled over the dark grained surface and lightly touched her elbow, and the rest followed the same path and began to surround her soft white skin.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I began to say her as I called over to the bartender to throw me a cloth.  Her face showed confusion and anger, but duly relaxed and she removed her elbow from the tingling drink.

"No, it's fine, it happens." She smiled.  What a beautiful smile. Perfect teeth surrounded by a perfect face.  Her voice was as smooth and sweet as melted chocolate.  "Hi, I'm Roxie."  Only a girl like her could have such a suiting name as Roxie.  Roxie.  It suggested passion and fire, something beautifully destructive. Something different.

"Adam," I said, and took her hand to kiss it.  Old fashioned but worked a charm.  "Can I buy you a drink?"

She nodded and the conversation began.

An hour or so later, I knew she was a biochemist who grew up in Colorado.  She skied, as you do when you grow up in Colorado.  She had a brother, who she lived with until last year.  He was the muscular guy.  His name was Conor, and I was right in guessing he was gay.  He'd left us as soon as we got chatting.  After all of this, I asked her if I could take her home.

"My car's outside, if you're wanting a quick way home."

"That'd be great.  Thanks, Adam." She smiled again and took my hand.

Outside the air was nipping at our skin.  I gave her my jacket and held it tightly around her shoulders.  I was freezing in my thin shirt, but she was worth the discomfort.  We started talking again, about our evening.  She thanked me again, and said she was glad I knocked over my whiskey, otherwise she wouldn't have had such a great night.  We reached my car.  I opened the door for her and we stood facing each other.  I wrapped the jacket even closer to her fragile shoulders and kissed her on the cheek.  My lips pushed harder on her soft porcelain face as my hands pushed her gently down in to the car.  A sound of confusion left her mouth as she reached the leather seat. I pushed her sharply back and closed the door, her dress riding up to reveal red lace underwear.  She realised what was happening and let out a yell.  Soon her screams were silenced by a gun to her head.  She let me have my way, no matter how much she didn’t want it.

© Copyright 2017 nathaliegardiner. All rights reserved.

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