Circles

Monstrous. The power she has over these people. Is she really a mere belly dancer? Propped on the table in her high heels, swaying her sensuous hips to the slowly pulsing drumbeat, arms winding, bathed in the Jasmine smoke exhaled by my business associates. Disgusting. I look to my left and Irk’s face is mesmerized by her mysterious force. The tension is tangible. I can taste it. I resist the urge to wave my hand in front of his face but instead turn away to stare at her silhouette, surreal and exaggerated against the dimly candlelit wall. A moment of weakness convinced me to agree to come to this place. This is an important celebration and I’ll not ruin it by my misgivings.

But her guise. It’s mind bending. Her small stature fills the entire room. She is everywhere, superimposed but her motion is fluid, exact, seductive, calm. It’s as if the world is no longer governed by the natural laws of physics, but by her whim. Right angles aren’t 90 degrees anymore. The universe is bent, slightly, to her will. I can’t look at her. Because when I do I am small, insignificant. And so I look away. No one should have that much power.

My lungs shiver. Uncontrollable.  My heart beats faster, tinged with electricity. I feel it in my blood, in my belly. What is this feeling, is it hate, jealousy, disgust? Confusion makes me unfocused, tired. This catches her attention. She smiles, misinterpreting. She leans forward and a wisp of black hair falls out of a clamp and onto my cheek. I hear Irk’s breath intake, sharp and painstakingly aware. Under the heavy scent of Jasmine there is Myrrh. I know that I will hate that scent for the rest of my life. I can’t lean back, or push forward. I’m immobile. She’s not looking at me anymore, but at him. It’s a show. For the effect. Only a show. She turns towards him, smiling.

My hand shoots out. Half way there I amend the action and touch her shoulder jolting her attention back towards me. What was I going for, the throat? Come on Sugar, you have faster reflexes than that. Control yourself. Think. I don’t dare force myself to smile. I merely stare; intense, forcing myself to reveal no weaknesses.  Her facial change is subtle, but I read it like an open book. She thinks she has me, she thinks I’m hers. That she’s won. A wave of rage washes over me and dissipates without a trace. She feels it. I remove my hand, and lightly massage it to stop it from shaking. Irk pats my leg, amused, interested. Wrong feeling. Try concern.

More later.