Starving

“My dear,” Ignatius said to the crying girl. “Would you care for a dance?” He offered her a gloved hand and a slight bow. The girl looked at Randall who gave her a nod. She smiled and laid her black nailed hand lightly on top of his. Like a lady.

The boy watched them slide onto the dance floor, watched them sway and spin like a couple of birds, before Randall grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him outside.

When Randall returned, he watched Ignatius and the girl step deftly through the crowd, his hand guiding the small of her back, her arms hooked across his shoulders. Randall shook his head. He wasn’t like the others, Ignatius. He had peculiar tastes and a very human sense of decency. Or perhaps not human at all. Perhaps very non-human. Randall shrugged.  He watched Ignatius watch the girl. His expression was that of gallantry, concern, brotherly love. No hunger. No want. Ignatius was, apparently utterly satisfied and content. Full. So why was this realization like a knife in Randall’s gut?

He shook his head and sat down heavily in his chair to scan the crowd, taking great care to avoid watching Ignatius. The music was faster now and the dancing crowd responded in kind, twisting against one another in breathless, sweaty waves. One couple sidled into a darkened corner, their mouths open and panting, their hands already slipped inside each other’s jeans. Ignatius and the girl spun faster, a breath of color streaking through a dull mass.

Color. Randall stood. Scanned the crowd. Looked for a pair of purple headed vamp girls dancing with an idiot boy. They were gone.

“Shit,” Randall told himself. “You lousy piece of shit.” He ran down the stairs.





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