le-duchesss
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take your time, they said.
the words will come to you, they said.
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Predatory Behavior
Masquerades possess an ineffable allure, with their promise of mystery and luxury. Most people expect a Cinderella story: meeting a beautiful stranger and feeling an undeniable connection only for both parties to lose each other by the end of the night. People fall for the false pretense of a fairytale and forget what a night out in this day and age can actually deliver. Complete. Utter. Bullshit.
Take this one guy I met on the dance floor. Face fully concealed by a metallic wolf mask, top buttons undone and finding any excuse to brush up against me; a cookie-cutter dance-floor predator. I hid in crowds. I used my friends as shields. I even isolated myself in the fucking bathroom but, like the expert hunter he was, he found me every damn time and bared his fangs in a devlish smile.
“There you are.”
Our dance was calculated on both fronts. Every time I found a temporary haven in a crowd of sweaty, swerving bodies, I’d catch a glimpse of his hair or his suit. He stalked closer and closer, using dancers as coverage much like I was, albeit for an entirely different reason. I gave every indication that I was uninterested without saying anything at all. Maybe that’s what he wanted. Maybe that’s what he liked: the chase.
No. This wasn’t a chase. This was a hunt.
Maybe I should have spoken after all.
I remember the paranoia as a constant that night. I paired a glance over my shoulder with every other step and used mirrors to survey around corners. Curious how quickly a woman can change from a party-goer into prey. I truly believed trudging across town in heels and stumbling home drunk would be my most troubling issues that night. However, there I was, stone-cold sober, back facing the wall, and eyes on the door. While I can never truly predict what I will do once alcohol enters my body, I had a rough idea of what his actions might entail.
The hunt changed when he seized my hand, yanked me into a massive twirl, and somehow cut me off from everyone I recognized. He had practiced this maneuver before. It was simply my turn. Within seconds, he was all I could see as he towered over me, blocking any view I had of my friends. His fingers dug into my waist and he pulled me so close that I had no choice but to place my hands on his arms to create even a semblance of space between us. To anyone else on the dance floor, it might have even looked romantic. It wasn’t. It was terrifying. It was a scene from a video I was forced to watch at orientation. I was alone. Words hit the back of my throat but never reached my lips. I almost gagged at the distinct smell of beer radiating off of him. Strange how your senses can numb and heighten all at once. I could feel the heat of his body contrasting the chill running down my spine. I could hear his friends wolf-whistling from behind him and my pulse pounding in my ears. Yet I could feel my body shutting down. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. The only thought I registered as I was paraded towards the bathroom was a weak and timid voice pleading, Not again.
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