~ Part One ~
Let me just take off my Loubs, pour myself a glass of wine and I’ll tell you a little story about the one and only feeling that makes the world go round: some like to call it love, some like to call it money.
Who am I? The name is Eva and that’s about everything they know about me. I was once like each one of you; few things have changed since then – first true love gone, ice cold men in tuxedos, flashlights, countless thousands of dollars, first millionaire that ripped my sheets, champagne freezing on crystal glasses, unknown parties lost in the darkness, glimpses of memories and myself right now sipping some wine on the 15th floor.
My entire past is painted in 50 shades of grey and not those soft-core stories you’ve read, but way more darker and in the same time brighter.
I came to this city when I was just a naive teenager, craving for something still unknown, something that my mind couldn’t possibly understand by then. I never belonged anywhere, there was always something missing, something throwing me away from every place I tried to settle in, but I was never capable of putting my finger on it.
But I fell in love at one point – truly, madly, deeply in love with every woman’s curse, an artist. He would’ve made any 20 something forget she has knees at all, he was that kind of charmingly messy man. Dark hair, full wild beard that hurt my lips in the most sensual way there is, a scent of cigarettes that drugged me to my very core and a pair of deep blue eyes– my ocean, my love.
He was a singer, not a very popular one, but a rockstar in the underground music scene. With a cigarette always between his lips, a raw leather jacket and an arrogant look on his face, he was my James Dean. My insignificant James Dean whose real talent was big dreaming. I still remember how he would grab my face and tell me with a madness in his eyes:
“Listen to me, baby girl, one day I’ll buy all these f*ckers I can’t stand and make them pour you the finest wine in the world every night.”
Meanwhile, we were living like junkies, making love all over the city and drinking ourselves to sleep on a shitty mattress with spring interiors that hurt my back. But I loved him, I truly loved him. He was the first man to ever make me feel like I somehow belonged.
But it wasn’t long until that hidden feeling that was eating me alive came back. That stupid craving that kept me awake at night and even if I tricked myself into falling asleep I would have the most vivid dreams, waking up in the middle of the night screaming out loud.
I was always an unusual girl, I never quite understood emotions or knew how to deal with love, but he made me feel for a second like there’s something else out there. For seconds because that was one tour on my emotional rollercoaster, it was all changing over and over again to the point it was driving me crazy.
I never knew what was truly wrong with me, but nothing was ever enough – not his eyes, nor his lips, nor an orgasm, not even his love. I always wanted more, everything, too much. But how much?
That’s a question I paid a huge price to find out the answer a few years later. Be careful what questions you become obsessed with, a curious soul is a dangerous, dangerous thing.
Sooner or later everything began to slowly fall apart and we eventually hit rock bottom. Lost ourselves in alcohol and we were in completely different worlds – he was trying to build an empire and buy the world, I was still trying to figure out what my life was constantly missing and was torturing my soul.
Later though I understood that’s the most terrifying point in one’s life, the moment you hit rock bottom. A hurt animal down to the ground is a dangerous creature, it would do anything to survive and there’s only one way left to go – up.
Anyways, that one night eventually came. My James Dean had pulled some strings and got himself to perform at the opening of the new most exclusive club in the city. Rented a backless long velvet dress, black from head to toe, painted my lips in a fiery red that could’ve burnt anyone to ashes and went to the event to support what was left of my man.
It was like time stood still in that place. I was filled with dim lights that turned on every erotic sense in me, intoxicated with a different kind of cigarette scent – one that I would’ve worn on my skin for days, diamonds walking past me and champagne tingling my tongue. I’ve lost myself in a blink of an eye, I was no longer James Dean’s Eva. I felt it deep inside my veins, I felt my eyes changing their pupils like a feline, the way I blinked, my body movements, everything changed the moment I stepped inside and inhaled that world.
I tried to hold myself together and took a seat alone at a table, sipping a drink after another and listening to my man living his dream. Even at that point I loved him, he still got that special something that drawn me next to him in the first place. But everything turned dark in a second.
I felt a firm manly hand on my shoulder, slightly turned my head to notice the most crystal clear watch I’ve ever seen and felt the shivers going down my spine. He pulled out a chair and sat down next to me. He wasn’t like any men I’ve seen before, not even close. Wearing a tuxedo from the most exquisite sheen fabric, an impeccable white shirt and starring me deep into the eyes, but I couldn’t help it – I was completely hypnotized by his manly jaw-line and all dizzy from his extravagant fragrance. He licked his lower lip and asked me:
“What’s a woman like you doing all alone?”
I was so embarrassed to tell him I was with the singer on the stage who was the last man on Earth compared to this God seating next to me, but all that strength and vibe that filled me earlier came in hand and confessed with a foolish dignity in my voice.
He gave me the most arrogant laugh, took a sip of his double Scotch on the rocks not breaking eye contact with me for a second, slightly turned around and looked at my James Dean and then back into my eyes:
How do they call you?
Alright, I’ll see you around, baby.
And then he left. Just like that, leaving me with even more question than when I came there.
Luckily for me, my singer finished his performance soon after that and I could finally escape from that place, from the shadow of that man that I knew was going to haunt me long after that night.
A couple of hours later, we were already back in our apartment that made me sick to my stomach, out of the shower and naked under the sheets. And while all my James Dean wanted was to celebrate his success between my legs, I couldn’t get that man god out of my head that had bewitched me body and soul.
I had to snap out of it and just when he laid on top of me and grabbed my hair, someone knocked at the door. Nobody ever comes here, especially at three o’clock in the morning. Definitely not a moment when a man wants to be interrupted, so my love went cursing out of his lungs to open the door and there he was. The man god, in flesh and blood, standing at our door. He entered the apartment like he owned the place and frankly speaking, the value of the entire building was probably worth as much as his lunch.
My James Dean went crazy, shouting, cursing and wanted to grab the man who was inexplicably entering our apartment at 3 AM, but another man immobilized him.
I couldn’t breathe as the man god with divine perfume approached me, stopped in front of the bed, looked me dead in the eyes and said:
Put some clothes on, baby, I can give you what you want.
So if you want to find out my next move, here’s Part Two.