Thoughtless
An entry for LJ Idol, season 8, week 9: "Counterintuitive." Second in a series. See the first item in the series here: Perigee.
It had been a long time since Sam had been this drunk. Even his long-cultivated ability to hold up under the force of a few drinks was failing him; he found himself leaning ever more into the raven-haired beauty in his arms.
Somewhere in his haze, though, he realized that he hadn't had any alcohol tonight - not even a club soda that someone could have doctored. Which could only mean one thing.
This woman - this Elara - was the intoxicant.
Sam looked down into her piercing green gaze, and a whisper of her perfume tickled his nose again, warm and inviting. She smiled and laced her fingers through his, pressing closer as the ethereal song drifted around them. It felt right to him, like something he'd have done a hundred times over if only he'd seen her before. Which he hadn't...had he?
Doesn't matter, he thought, eyes closing as he leaned his cheek against the top of her head. Brett had given up quickly, even seemed to approve of the unusual turn of events, and Sam neither knew nor cared where his brother had gone off to now. It was his turn to do what he wanted and damn the consequences.
"Sam," she said softly into his ear, and his eyes popped open in surprise. Even her voice was like a drug...what was that accent?
"Hmm?"
"Would you like to...go?"
Sam could see the lights spinning around them, but it still seemed hazy in his brain.
"Go?"
She nudged him gently away to look at her, smiling in some semblance of coy he was suddenly certain she knew nothing about. "Yes, Sam. Go."
He had to blink slowly before he could speak.
"Oh." Blink. Blink. "OH. Um, yes, we could go. I don't..."
"...live far from here, yes. That will be fine."
Weird... "How did you know?"
She grinned, nudged him playfully. "You told me, crazy. How else?"
Sam was fairly certain he hadn't...but another waft of her vanilla-and-spice scent changed his mind. He must have said it, or she wouldn't know.
"Of course," he said blandly, and she looked pleased. Just go with it.
He wanted to, probably more than he had in quite some time. Even though he kept getting the notion that the shoe was on the wrong foot here...or something. It didn't help that Elara reminded him of someone. Yeah, she looked like some starlet, but she seemed much more familiar than that...much more real.
It didn't help that every time he'd almost put a finger on it, his head started swimming. This time, he staggered a bit.
"Oh dear," she said, smiling mildly. "That third drink must have been the kicker, eh?"
Third drink?
"No, no, no." Sam shook his head emphatically. "I didn't have any drinks."
Elara raised a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. "Of course you did, honey. Dear god, that bartender must have a heavy hand," she said, patting his face as if he were a child.
"But I didn't..."
...yet when she touched his cheek, it suddenly came to him: a flash of him standing at the bar with her, downing first one glass, then another. Sam shook his head with confusion. He was sure...
"That must be why they call them Mind Erasers," she said, and winked at him. "But I hope it wears off soon. I wouldn't want you to forget what comes next."
At that, Sam felt...warm. Also eager. Never mind that everything in his vision had some sort of halo. He wanted to know...
"And what's that?" he said, unable to resist letting his gaze wander down her body.
Elara didn't seem to mind.
"Oh, you'll find out soon enough." She moved to his side, linked an arm through his, took his hand in hers and slowly slid it down her body. Sam's eyes widened. So did something else. And she laughed.
"I am, shall we say," she purred as she led him out the door, "full of surprises."
~~~~~
There was another woman, somewhere. Or maybe nowhere. She had no way of knowing, and as far as she could tell, no way to find out. And she desperately wanted to know...was this place even...a place?
The surroundings were...strange. No sharp edges, no corners anywhere. Some shapes that were like furniture, others like walls, and yet none of them like anything she knew. There was light, somehow, but no day or night. No clocks, no windows, no words, no way to communicate.
She'd tried. Talked to the walls, or whatever they were. At one point, she'd even shouted, maybe even threw some choice words in. But no one spoke, and no one appeared; this...whatever it was...seemed devoid of electronics, speakers, vents, screens.
Yet with all she couldn't see and didn't know, there was...something. When she was tired, there would suddenly be a soft place to sleep and an object resembling a cover. When she lay down, the surroundings would darken; when she awoke, they would brighten. Maybe strangest of all, there would be food - food she knew, food she liked - and utensils, and a place to sit to eat it.
...no. That wasn't the strangest thing...there wasn't a single thing she could name as the most...unnerving, unusual, unfamiliar. It was as if her mind had lost all its edges, too. She couldn't say when her captivity had begun, or why. She knew vaguely that when she slept, she dreamed of home...but when she awoke, she could hold on to nothing. She knew she had a name, but was at a loss as to what it was now. What did it matter, anyway, if no one was around to hear it?
No. That wasn't true. In the absence of a voice, of a sign, of a conscious memory, there were still a few things she knew. No harm had come to her, and it wouldn't as long as she remained. She would be angry later, but she couldn't muster it now. She would survive, even thrive, until she got out.
And she knew someone could hear her. So she talked, sometimes nonsense and sometimes reason, always pleading. Always hoping.
And when she lay down, her plea came from somewhere deep within her: Let me remember. And let me find a way out.
It had been a long time since Sam had been this drunk. Even his long-cultivated ability to hold up under the force of a few drinks was failing him; he found himself leaning ever more into the raven-haired beauty in his arms.
Somewhere in his haze, though, he realized that he hadn't had any alcohol tonight - not even a club soda that someone could have doctored. Which could only mean one thing.
This woman - this Elara - was the intoxicant.
Sam looked down into her piercing green gaze, and a whisper of her perfume tickled his nose again, warm and inviting. She smiled and laced her fingers through his, pressing closer as the ethereal song drifted around them. It felt right to him, like something he'd have done a hundred times over if only he'd seen her before. Which he hadn't...had he?
Doesn't matter, he thought, eyes closing as he leaned his cheek against the top of her head. Brett had given up quickly, even seemed to approve of the unusual turn of events, and Sam neither knew nor cared where his brother had gone off to now. It was his turn to do what he wanted and damn the consequences.
"Sam," she said softly into his ear, and his eyes popped open in surprise. Even her voice was like a drug...what was that accent?
"Hmm?"
"Would you like to...go?"
Sam could see the lights spinning around them, but it still seemed hazy in his brain.
"Go?"
She nudged him gently away to look at her, smiling in some semblance of coy he was suddenly certain she knew nothing about. "Yes, Sam. Go."
He had to blink slowly before he could speak.
"Oh." Blink. Blink. "OH. Um, yes, we could go. I don't..."
"...live far from here, yes. That will be fine."
Weird... "How did you know?"
She grinned, nudged him playfully. "You told me, crazy. How else?"
Sam was fairly certain he hadn't...but another waft of her vanilla-and-spice scent changed his mind. He must have said it, or she wouldn't know.
"Of course," he said blandly, and she looked pleased. Just go with it.
He wanted to, probably more than he had in quite some time. Even though he kept getting the notion that the shoe was on the wrong foot here...or something. It didn't help that Elara reminded him of someone. Yeah, she looked like some starlet, but she seemed much more familiar than that...much more real.
It didn't help that every time he'd almost put a finger on it, his head started swimming. This time, he staggered a bit.
"Oh dear," she said, smiling mildly. "That third drink must have been the kicker, eh?"
Third drink?
"No, no, no." Sam shook his head emphatically. "I didn't have any drinks."
Elara raised a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. "Of course you did, honey. Dear god, that bartender must have a heavy hand," she said, patting his face as if he were a child.
"But I didn't..."
...yet when she touched his cheek, it suddenly came to him: a flash of him standing at the bar with her, downing first one glass, then another. Sam shook his head with confusion. He was sure...
"That must be why they call them Mind Erasers," she said, and winked at him. "But I hope it wears off soon. I wouldn't want you to forget what comes next."
At that, Sam felt...warm. Also eager. Never mind that everything in his vision had some sort of halo. He wanted to know...
"And what's that?" he said, unable to resist letting his gaze wander down her body.
Elara didn't seem to mind.
"Oh, you'll find out soon enough." She moved to his side, linked an arm through his, took his hand in hers and slowly slid it down her body. Sam's eyes widened. So did something else. And she laughed.
"I am, shall we say," she purred as she led him out the door, "full of surprises."
~~~~~
There was another woman, somewhere. Or maybe nowhere. She had no way of knowing, and as far as she could tell, no way to find out. And she desperately wanted to know...was this place even...a place?
The surroundings were...strange. No sharp edges, no corners anywhere. Some shapes that were like furniture, others like walls, and yet none of them like anything she knew. There was light, somehow, but no day or night. No clocks, no windows, no words, no way to communicate.
She'd tried. Talked to the walls, or whatever they were. At one point, she'd even shouted, maybe even threw some choice words in. But no one spoke, and no one appeared; this...whatever it was...seemed devoid of electronics, speakers, vents, screens.
Yet with all she couldn't see and didn't know, there was...something. When she was tired, there would suddenly be a soft place to sleep and an object resembling a cover. When she lay down, the surroundings would darken; when she awoke, they would brighten. Maybe strangest of all, there would be food - food she knew, food she liked - and utensils, and a place to sit to eat it.
...no. That wasn't the strangest thing...there wasn't a single thing she could name as the most...unnerving, unusual, unfamiliar. It was as if her mind had lost all its edges, too. She couldn't say when her captivity had begun, or why. She knew vaguely that when she slept, she dreamed of home...but when she awoke, she could hold on to nothing. She knew she had a name, but was at a loss as to what it was now. What did it matter, anyway, if no one was around to hear it?
No. That wasn't true. In the absence of a voice, of a sign, of a conscious memory, there were still a few things she knew. No harm had come to her, and it wouldn't as long as she remained. She would be angry later, but she couldn't muster it now. She would survive, even thrive, until she got out.
And she knew someone could hear her. So she talked, sometimes nonsense and sometimes reason, always pleading. Always hoping.
And when she lay down, her plea came from somewhere deep within her: Let me remember. And let me find a way out.