She is

Lou licked his swollen lip and winced, hurting. And I want to drink. I moved my fingers on my hands. I looked at the ripped knuckles. The bones are whole, that's okay. I touched a simple leather bean with a large bead. Goosebumps ran down my skin.

It's already dawned, most likely, he missed the plane. With a sigh, I rolled over the hard hotel bed, searched for a mobile, looked at the time - so it is, late. Fuck... I didn't really want to fly away. Live, though, too. The mobile was sluggish, but Luis shut it up. Not her. So, I don't care who is calling or why. Just don't care. Everything that happened yesterday was in front of my eyes in a series of pictures.

A small, cozy, smoky club, barely half full. A small scene. Inexpensive equipment. Someone is playing something there... How good it is that you can smoke! He lights cigarettes one from the other, and his fingers squeezing a glass of whiskey still twitch slightly. She's gone until she arrived.

Louis seems to have finally snapped. Hundreds of miles from home, alone in a completely unfamiliar country. Okay, I was smart enough to check in with a local travel agency. Met at the airport, settled in a hotel. They helped me to orient myself, to get to the club. Fortunately, at least the waitresses here speak English.

Lou chooses a darker corner. The last thing I want now is for someone from the local public to recognize him. You can't fight back later... It wasn't then that he drove that far. Deep down, Luis hopes he won't like her. Disappoint. That he would see her and that's it, a veil out of sight. And that morbid crush will evaporate like a nightmare.

Thank God, those on stage finish playing and remove instruments. There is a pause and in this silence he clearly hears her voice. He recognizes him from hundreds of others... Boiling water spilled under the heart splashes, giving birth to a tsunami. He is thrown into the heat. He knocks over the remains of his temple in a gulp and exhales. He inhales, as before jumping into the water, and turns his head.

And — nothing. No veil falls. And only the heart accelerates like abnormal and pounds so that it seems that now the ribs are broken. She's welcome, she's being hugged, kissed... Friends, acquaintances, fans. With her appearance, the public in the club increases. She smiles and dimples appear on her cheeks, making her look like a little girl.

Lou watches fascinated as she walks towards the stage, leisurely undressing, leaving her shoes at the very edge, at the speakers. On the ankle is a thin lace with a couple of bells and they gently rattle as she walks back and forth, adjusting the microphone stand to her short stature. This barefootness makes her so open and defenseless that Louis takes her breath away.

Musicians are rebuilt right on stage. That seems to be the custom here. However, this does not last long, and after the first chords, he finally hears her voice ... The audience pulls closer to the stage. Part sits directly on the floor, forming a kind of amphitheater. Lou does the same thing, trying to sit as close as she can so she can see him. As a result of simple maneuvers, he is as close as possible.

It's such a forgotten feeling to be on this side... Listen, not sing. Catch the eye, not circle the human mass raging below. What she's doing, Louis doesn't understand. It's some kind of shamanism. Just hypnotizing this motley, shaggy, pierced crowd. They sit and watch her every gesture like rabbits... The voice is gentle, like the ringing of her bells, then heats up to desperate shouts. Despair and sadness – almost all of her songs are permeated with them.

Look at me... Look, oh please... Look, sweetheart... Lou mentally repeats it so passionately, he wants it so much... She conjures them. He is hers. And when her gaze stops on him a little longer than on those around him, he smiles back, dying of happiness.

In between songs, she looks at the palm of her hand and Luis realizes that she has the order of the songs recorded there. So childish. Like the dimples on the cheeks. And long, almost doll-like eyelashes. In the light of the spotlights, tiny wrinkles are noticeable in the corners of the oblong green eyes, and only they, and some special gaze turned deep into oneself, betray her real age.

She whispers. Just a little bit. This is noticeable when she sings whistling sounds. This unexpected discovery pleases Lou, as if he had found a treasure. He likes her more and more. And everything in it, every little thing, too.

Sitting on the hard floor hurts his skinny ass, but it's such that he hardly pays attention to it.

Alas, the fairy tale ends, as always, too quickly. She thanks the audience — Louis understands that. The sounds of music freeze. Musicians cover their instruments. Lou remembers the armful of roses forgotten on the table. The most common roses. Blood Red. Spiked. No smooth stems, to hell with them... Thanks to the travel agency, and they helped with this. It's good that he even remembered that women love flowers... You have to love.

Mentally, he imagined this moment a thousand times. Imagined, lost, rehearsed... And in fact, all she had the courage to do was put the flowers at her feet while she was putting on her shoes. And mutter:

— Hi, I am Louie*...

She looks in amazement at the armful of roses at her feet, then at him. Smiling. Greets. He says his name. And he apologizes for not speaking much English.

The desperation that let Lou out of his clutches rolls in again. How so?! How is that possible? The whole world already speaks this fucking English, but not her! And he wanted to tell her so much, ask her so much...

He unceremoniously catches the waitress running by by the hand and literally demands that she translate everything he says. She listens, nods, smiles. Then he replies something to the waitress.

- She says that she is very pleased to meet you, she would be happy to chat, but, alas, she is in a hurry.

Louis hurriedly hands her the card - there are all the contacts.

"Call me... or write. If you want to, of course...

She looks at him, raising her curved eyebrows in surprise. He must have a completely stupid, loving, puppy look... Then it is decided to untie one of its baubles. She has a lot of them, almost to her elbows. Ties do not lend themselves and she helps herself with her teeth. Makes an impatient gesture, demanding that he reach out. Quickly ties a bauble around his wrist, thickly covered with a tattoo. As her fingers touch her skin, Lou winces.

Then she leaves. And he stays. With a huge emptiness inside, as if everything he felt, she took with her. All he has to do is fill that void with alcohol.

At the bar, he is finally identified by some local post-hardcore lover. Half an hour later, Louis's eyes ripple from faces, hands, glasses. And then... it's business as usual. Someone said something wrong... Or he's just on a roll, with twisted nerves... Fight... a broken lip, blood that he spits on the floor. Someone screams, someone steals...

Taxi, hotel room... Shower, at first warm, then ice, so that the skin is covered with sharp pimples and the tooth does not fall on the tooth. He's not drunk at all, not the way he wanted to, at least. And after water procedures, it is impossible to fall asleep at all.

He scrolls through in his head every second she was in... How beautiful she is... Now he wants her even more. Somewhere in this city, she's now lying in bed... Maybe not just one... And someone touches her body, her hair, caresses her... Kisses swollen lips... But it could... it has to be him! Jealousy, love, passion, despair – this bitter cocktail fills it to the brim. Lou feels the excitement build up. He bites his teeth on the bauble she gave, touches it with his tongue. It hurts. My lip was blown apart. Such a welcome pain. Leads his hand down his wet flat stomach. Closes his eyes. Well, it's not the first time he's...

*Hi, I'm Louie.