PRINCELESS by Cam Jace Storykiller
Copyright©by Cameron Jace 2019
D'Arc Paris Night Club, Paris, France
Losing herself to the music felt like therapy. Nothing mattered for a couple of hours. Life was a dance floor and shaking ass in every direction had no consequences. She didn’t even exist. Her body and soul were nothing but one among tens of other girls letting it go. A getaway to another dimension. An escape. And she worshipped it.
Boys tried to grab her hands and invite her to their tables. Others wanted to dance with her but she wasn’t even looking. She was being whatever the beat allowed her to be. A nobody. Just somebody. Not special. Without burden. Without a hit list.
But then two eyes caught her.
A boy’s eyes.
Why him, and not the others?
Because they were sincere. They were normal. He just wanted to get to know her. He had no expectations. He was as insecure as her. A lost butterfly trying its best to swing through this joke called life.
Sitting with Pierre at a table, Venus hadn’t laughed so spontaneously in years. Pierre was shy. He was such a nerd.
“So you like fairy tales?” She cupped her mouth.
He brushed the back of his head and pursed his lips, “I know. My male friends make fun of me, but I don’t see a problem with it.”
“Do you have a favorite then?” Venus leaned forward, admiring those eyes that shied away when she stared longer. “Cinderella? Maybe you like shoes.”
“Nah, Cinderella is okay, but…”
“Wait,” Venus got excited. “Red riding hood, so you can be the big bad wolf.”
“Do I look like a wolf?” Pierre combed his black hair with his hands to the side. He needed a better haircut, she thought. “I’m a programmer. The only thing I woof at all day is my computer screen.”
She loved when he said woof in his French accent. He was cheesy. Too cheesy, in fact. But something about his innoncence attracted her. “So you like Snow White?”
Pierre’s eyes lit.
“Oh my God, you love Snow White?”
“Prince Charming,” Pierre said, almost sounding gay. Was he gay? Did she have to ask?
Only way to find out was to push it and flirt more. Did she mention that this pineapple vodka made feel funny down there?
“You’re so bad, Pierre,” Venus brushed her forefinger against his chest. “You like to kiss dead girls.” She teased him.
“I like the idea that a prince helped her after what she’d been through with her stepmother and father, and just be there for her.”
Venus swallowed hard, and devoured his blue eyes for much longer. This nerd had no idea how he just touched a string in her heart. This must be why she liked him the first second she saw him. Something about him reminded her of a lost art of being yourself. Then again, wasn't she being reckless liking him so fast?
She didn't care. She had an old Nazi wanting kill her, and God knows what else, today. Pierre was fun.
“So that’s how you think of the girl you will fall in love with?” She asked him. “You’d want to be there for her?”
“That’s what my mother taught me,” He said then waved a hand in the air. “I know you think I’m a loser. My mother has this influence on me. She gave me this idea about love, that’s it should be like a…”
“Fairytale?” Venus leaned even closer.
Stop it, girl. Stop it. Can't you see he likes Snow White because you said Snow White first? Fairytale because you suggested it?
She hated that inner sound. Even if he did, she liked it. How bad can it be. He looks like a guy who can't kill a chicken. Venus could kill him with a back hand.
He nodded. “But fairytales aren’t real.”
“Nothing is real,” Venus said, staring at his lips. “Look around us, this club isn’t real, those people aren’t real, everyone’s hiding behind who they really are.”
Pierre was the one who devoured her eyes this time. She knew she had bull-eyed his heart.
“So what’s the point if we’re all fake?” He told her, staring at her lips.
“So we can spot the rare real people and find someone to show us how real we are.”
“Someone we trust?” Pierre shrugged.
“Someone we kiss,” Venus leaned in and kissed him.
She hadn’t felt so free before. She hadn’t felt so normal. In control, doing whatever the fuck she wanted to do. Mother had warned her of men. The tattoo on her arms was there to scare her. But life was too short for Venus. What if the helicopter had shot her, or if Alan Drax had killed her?
Who said this won't happen soon in the next mission–or the one after.
Tonight, she wanted to let go. Pierre was her first choice of rebellion. Her first — and maybe her last?