Chapter Fifty-Eight
Tristan’s POV:
With a sigh, I walk up to the building filled with hundreds of hormonals, yelling, excited teenagers.
Molly, my closest friend, never misses any chance to tell me that I have a special knack for torturing myself, making myself do unnecessary things that I hate the most.
As much as I don’t agree with the torture part of it, the other part is very true, especially in the line of my current actions.
I honestly don’t understand what I’m doing, walking into a hall of sweaty, noisy teenagers, with a higher percentage of them high on dope, booze and weed.
I’m pretty certain I won’t be wearing this T-shirt and jeans again; Yay for the human charity association who would be getting this right after.
However, one thing is sure; my gut feeling, and instinct is never wrong, and my mates have learned to depend on this ability of mine and trust it in the face of fights.
It’s one of the reasons I was selected, 10 years ago as part of the team prepared to sniff out the rival’s hideout and bring him to book. It was an honor, a chance to serve.
Since we had been unable to perform the task as expected, Mr. Harrington decided to disband our team after five years and requested our return to the slum. It wasn’t that easy for many of us, however.
For one, we had pretty much gotten used to living around here after making the necessary adjustment in our lifestyle to fit in; living in the slum would definitely feel different.
Besides, we had been sent off with pomp and pageantry; to return now, empty handed was asking for shame and mockery.
That would be more demeaning than death, considering most of us were set up for prime positions before the attack that led to the death of Mr. Harrington’s wife, and the disappearance of the only rival.
Success in the search for the rival was supposed to be our atonement and guarantee for a life as good as what we had before and since that failed, there was no going back for us.
So, we stayed; four out of the initial twelve. I, Drew, Molly and Jesse, got odd jobs and tried to live a regular life. There wasn’t anything left for me to miss, anyway.
On nights like this, however, the old me peeps through and I do things on a whim. As usual, my instinct is always right and leads me to a mission.
Most times, it turns out to be an encroacher from the netherworlds and I’m able to dispatch whoever or whatever it is on my own.
To my right, three friends are walking up to the building, looking euphoric. From their expressions, I can gather that it was a treat for them, coming to a concert by their favorite band.
Despite my dislike for bars, nightclubs or generally, places with loud music and bodies in close proximity, it’s the best spot to stay outside them to people-watch, one of my favorite activities.
My gut instinct and sharp hearing combines to entertain me as I make up stories for the characters’ next action and watch them come true.
The man among them looks the most excited, jumping like a little kid and grinning from ear to ear. For a second, I wonder if he has a romantic crush on one of the band members.
His friends, two ladies looking as different as chalk and cheese look at him with varying degrees of amusement.
The lady with hair a loud purple color rolls her eyes at him, her annoyance burying an indulgence and maybe something deeper.
She looks interesting, a spangled jumpsuit on black combat boots. I think she’s one of those people who can pull off such an otherwise ridiculous look and still rock.
The other lady with the glasses seems lost in thought; half here, half there with the most obvious ticks; glazed eyes now and then, a distracted smile but her friends, engrossed in the anticipation of the music and fun seem not to notice.
Something tugs within me, and I stand up from the body of the car I have been leaning on and walk towards them as they reach the front of the file.
The line is becoming a little crazy; I guess the concert is starting soon. They needn’t hurry though; in my little experience of going to concerts when Molly had wanted to “try everything”, I have learnt that the first song most often isn’t it. It’s just to pick up the tempo.
I suddenly wonder how it would feel to jar the other lady back to full consciousness. I don’t know why, but something draws me to her, wanting to tease her and see her up close.
I don’t ponder on the absurdity of my action for more than a minute before I walk forward and wrap my left arm over her shoulder.
“Thanks for saving me a space, babe”, I say, dropping my voice to the sleaziest note I can manage.
I swear the world stops. I don’t know which hit me first; the force of glaring eyes or the beauty in them.
She looks up at me, her eyebrows furrowed and I almost gasp. It feels like I’m standing in the hallway of the Harrington, the royal palace back at home and looking up at the portrait of the late supposed rival, Mr. Lawson. The straight nose, the royal chin lift, and I can almost swear that it was him.
My arm slides off her shoulder on its own volition and her look of irritation and annoyance converts to one of concern.
Her friends are walking in now, so she hurries after them, her jeans brushing against my lower leg. When she’s inside, she throws a glance back to find my eyes still on her.
I’m well aware that I’m staring, but I can’t help it; it feels like my whole life has led to this very moment. I just found a rival.