Moths and flames

“Look at that weird guy, him and his long hair. Pacing up and down like that for ages, I’ve been watching him. I pity whoever he’s here for, he’s obviously entirely deranged.”

Darklis didn’t recall precisely what he looked like, having met while under significant influence all those weeks before. But her immediate recognition of the ‘nutter’ was because, in fact, she had invited him to attend.

Something in his silent stalking movements did indeed scare her, a fear tinge seeded deep within her belly. Screaming – OBSESSIVE! A characteristic she had learned to turn and bolt from with Olympic speed and precision.

Rather unfortunate then, that intrigue snagged her in the same moment and by equal measure. Of this dark moody looking man, waiting outside the theatre all this time in the puddled cold to catch her as she left.

By loudly declaring his judgement, Darklis’ opinion of her companion diminished right there and then, never to be regained. She understood all the reasons why he’d said it... but he was shallow and irrelevant.

She also knew inside herself, driving away from the scene as quickly as she dared, that from that exact instant in time she was well and truly fucked. And that it wasn’t necessarily going to be good.

Trouble was not, and still isn't, what Darklis wanted. For her sake, or his. If you were one of these two, at least slightly, off-centred people - tell me what would you have done next?