Page 4 of Crystal Iris
No sign of Akira at the coffee cart.
Coffee?Itext her.
Can’t right now, Spiral tonight? she replies.
Aaron has plans. Anything to avoid his stupid dinner. Still, there’s a hint of guilt as I text her back,Sure. I know it would make him look better if I went to those events, especially now that we’re engaged. I won’t be able to avoid them forever, and a part of me thinks he deserves better.
It’s a crisp night, and I wish I had waited a little longer before getting out of the cab. I’m meeting Akira at the corner of Melrose and Fayette. As I wait, I eye the long line of people waiting to get in. Spiral isn’t a large club, yet somehow, all of those people will fit inside. We know the guys at the door by now, so we don’t have to wait. Still, I always feel weird skipping the lines. I hear the usual words shouted from strangers watching us enter: “slut,” “whore,” and “bitch” among them.
Akira is wearing leather pants and a shirt that leaves her stomach exposed. With her body, I would too. From behind, you can see a couple of her tattoos. Her hair is loose, strands of different colors catching the light. She’s hot. And all the guys around notice. I envy her confidence—she doesn’t hide behind any masks—not the professor one, not even the genius one. She owns herself with such ease, it’s hard not to compare.
I opted for my usual combo of jeans and a tank top. My inherited red hair is in a top bun, mostly for lack of time. It took me an hour to do my makeup with the new eyeliner I decided to try out. I broke a sweat getting both eyes even.
“Can you believe that guy?” she asks, gesturing to a young man blowing her a kiss.
“Just ignore it,” I say, as we wait to make eye contact with the bartender.
“Thanks for dragging me out here tonight. I think I really needed this,” I tell her.
“Yeah, it usually takes another round of begging,” she replies, still bothered by the guy across the bar. She raises her glass. “To us,” she says, as we click our champagne glasses. Our habitual toast.
The first time I came here, Aaron was with me. Turns out, dancing wasn’t his thing. He just stayed in the corner, on his phone, drinking. I managed to drag him onto the dance floor a couple of times, but he was ready to go soon after. It was also an important night for my career—my first praise in the papers—and we were out to celebrate. I puked on the way home. Aaron said something about us being too old to be clubbing, and I never insisted he come again. So now, whenever I find myself either free of plans or hating the ones he has for us, I come here. Akira started coming soon after we met, and it’s been our thing for the past three years. We both agree it’s the music, the lights, the letting loose we crave. Some nights, I don’t even drink. My body moving with the beat is enough to set me free. Other nights, I drink more than I should. I made a point to stop doing the latter.
We have a great time dancing, and after a couple of drinks, I start to finally feel at ease. The music’s doing it for me… Who’s the DJ in the house tonight?I glance up at the top of the iconic spiraling steps. I find him with his eyes closed, his body moving perfectly synced to his own beat. DJ Jaxx is always a treat.
I’m on my way to the bathroom when I overhear bits and pieces of a conversation that make me feel relieved I’m not single. With everything that’s happened lately, I really need this night to help me release some stress. I hear someone snorting something in the next stall. Drugs are not my thing, but who the hell am I to judge?
Back on the dance floor, the song changes and I recognize it. One of my favorites. I’m not sure where Akira is, but I know she’s around. We have one rule: If either of us wants to leave, the other has to go too—unless we have other friends here. Not that I’ve kept in touch with many. I was the kind of teen who liked beingleft alone.Not much has changed.Our number-one rule is: never stay by yourself in the club. We both know that’s a recipe for disaster.
I close my eyes, letting the music move me. I let go of everything—the wedding, my family issues, my job… all of it.
Minutes later, Akira’s hands are on my shoulder, shaking me. “Iris!” she yells.
I open my eyes and realize that a lot of people have moved out of the way and are staring at me. I see the violet light reflected in her eyes, and I look down. My prism is floating in the air, like an invisible hand is holding it up. As I reach for it, it falls back down.
“What the fuck!” Akira says, her voice sharp with disbelief. She’s looking at me for answers, but I don’t have any to give.
People start to move closer again, quickly forgetting what they just witnessed. That’s the allure of the club: The harder you try to stand out, the more invisible you become. I don’t need to impress anyone here; I can just be myself.
“You should take that off!” Akira almost yanks it off me as we head for the door.
I can’t. Not only because it was a gift from my mother, but because there’s this strange, instinctive urge to protect it. “It was my mother’s,” I plead.
“Iris, this thing is possessed. I saw it. Everyone saw it.”
How many people had seen it?From now on, I have to keep it concealed.
“You’re telling me that you, Ms. Science Girl, believe in that stuff?” I ask her, surprised.
“Hell yeah,” she says, her voice shaky. She looks genuinely freaked out.
“Akira, relax. It’s just a necklace. I’m not sure what you think you saw—maybe they put something in your drink.”
She shakes her head, unconvinced. I finally manage to get her into a cab, reassuring her that everything is fine.
I think about going to sleep at Aaron’s, but theguilt of having bailed on him again weighs on me. I text him, saying I need clothes—I’m sleeping at my own place tonight.
But sleep is the last thing I get. I toss and turn, restless and hungover. At least now I know—wicked or not—somethingis going on with my necklace.
