This night was different from before.
The music played on as usual in the jazz club, full of whirling bodies, grinning faces, and a whole lot of swanky musicians. Elijah went along as he normally did, smiling a little, laughing a little, and this time, playing only a little. But this night, he did not drink. Instead of beer, he had only a glass of water, to parch his throat when it began to chafe. Drinking had begun to be dangerous for him. …At least while Jerry was in town.
The last time, his hungover mind had imagined something… beautiful, and yet, terrifying. A dream of his old lover, and the white-haired girl, bestowing his body with tender kisses. At the time, he had enjoyed it. Relished in the touch. But now awake, it frightened him. He hadn’t dreamt of a girl in a very long time.
Seeing once again that she had stayed away from the bar, and having no desire to be the only one sober with his friends, Elijah left the club earlier than usual, hands shoved in his pockets. Lazily he scanned the streets as he walked, part of him hoping to find her while the other part tried to smother the longing; an old, long-lasting habit. Besides, who would be out at this hour just wandering the streets of Olan?