The ice melted in Daphne’s glass as her eyes scanned the crowd. Without tasting the libation she lifted it to her lips and tried to not to lock gazes with anyone in particular. Standing among them draped in blue satin she mused, these are my people and yet they are not. Some knew her secret, others could only guess at the mystery behind her violet eyes, but whenever she walked into a room she felt the heavy bristle of tiny hairs lifting on every forearm as the air shifted to welcome her.
Mistress, she often heard whispered.
It had started so innocently, a friendly handshake, a shared joke nestled inside a confession of attraction that had taken her by surprise. Yet, with every romantic declaration, given to her in small amounts as if he were spoon-feeding her, Daphne cast her doubt and shame aside, choosing to sit in the small spotlight he would shine from time to time. It made her feel as if she had finally been given access to a private club, one that promised inclusion regardless of her past or marital status.
Coincidentally she’d never questioned falling in love with him, if only because she’d heard his voice proclaim it first. And when he’d finally touched her, pushing the stray tendrils away from her face and cupping her cheek before his mouth zeroed in on hers, it felt like a light turning on inside her, as if he’d walked into a dark room and illuminated it with passion and care.
Even as her head screamed, he shouldn’t be trusted; she had, with her whole being.
Which is what made it worse when without a hint of remorse he merely flicked the switch again and bathed her in darkness; rejecting her, reminding her that the membership to the inner circle of his heart had been revoked.
Daphne sipped at the water-downed vodka and watched the bustle of activity around him, wondering, not for the first time, who was being offered a guest pass now.
Trifecta this week: the word is CLUB: