by Charlotte Amelia
Afterwards, I found her at the bar. I didn’t want to approach, I just wanted to observe. She sat there, in her messy splendour, one finger swirling the contents of her drink, moving the ice cubes back and forth in the glass, before lifting that same finger to her ruby red lips and sucking it clean. I looked around and it seemed as though everyone else was equally drawn to that simple movement, and that she was utterly unaware of it. She returned her hand to the glass, and fished out an ice cube, popped it between her lips, her eyes widening at the cold of it, before crunching down hard. She smiled, and I felt half the bar wince. So, she did know.