Free penance. a love story (The Böhme Series) by Sarah Buhl

second as I watched her sadness consume her, then she blinked and the mask of freedom came back. She wanted the world to believe she was free, but she was enslaving herself in a prison built by her own mind. It was a bond we shared. She dropped her eyes and brought her focus back to her dancing companions.
    The growing crowd blocked the front door and the thought of pushing my way through them made my heart race. The stage’s exit to the alley was more accessible. I walked toward it, willing myself not to run from the building.
    The beer managed to dull my anxiety as I kept my back to the crowd while sitting at the bar earlier. If I pretended to be alone, listening to music, I could cope. But now, forced to face the crowd as I turned to leave, I needed to regain my bearings. I had to control this anxiety and relax.
    I sat at a table near the exit and closed my eyes. For ten minutes, I counted as I listened to the songs change. It was four songs. Four songs played over ten minutes. I heard Stinson, “When you start to run with your emotions, stop, breathe, and think of what scares you in that moment. Then make it your bitch.” I understood his point, dominate your fears. It was a lame try at humor though.
    I made myself do as he suggested and think of why I was afraid. I was afraid of talking to people. The memory of a woman who died seven years ago haunted me. I took several deep breaths and relaxed as I focused and controlled this moment, right now. I can exit the building, I can choose not to talk, and she is dead.
    After I calmed, I took a quick breath and standing from the stool, I pushed my way toward the side exit. As I opened the door and breathed the cool night air, my sanity began to return. I needed to leave before I lost this grip. I didn’t want to have a freak out moment in front of her. I didn’t understand why I was concerned as to what a stranger thought of me. I didn’t know her name and I never heard the sound of her voice, but fear for her opinion of me occupied my thoughts.
    I stepped into the alley and turning away from a group smoking, I headed toward the street where I parked my bike. I approached a dark part of the alley where two figures hid in the shadows of a doorway. As I drew closer to them, I heard moaning and heavy breathing. I kept my head lowered as not to bring attention to myself and avoid eye contact.
    I envied these people. I envied their ability to use the night air in such a primal way. I tried to keep my eyes forward as I walked past, but my voyeuristic nature of humanity caused me to turn toward the two entwined figures. A girl had her back pressed against a door with a guy encased between her long legs around his waist. Any normal person might continue on their way and give them their privacy, but I was never normal.
    He buried his head in her chest as he pounded her against the door and I envisioned medieval times and a ramrod breaking through gates. I took in her crossed ankles behind his back and followed them up her body until I reached her eyes. My breath paused as I met her eyes watching me. The girl I watched most of the night, the girl I saw in Petra’s store, the girl I tried to hold the door for, bench girl, now pulled her lower lip into her mouth in pleasure as her eyes held mine.
    She didn’t turn away from me in embarrassment as I expected. She didn't tell the guy between her legs I was there either. I wanted to continue walking away, but I lost the ability to move my feet in her gaze. They held me fast as I wanted to understand the contrasting emotions running through me.
    My once calm breathing now quickened again, but for far better reasons. The man between her legs vanished as we held each other’s gaze. I should be turning in disgust, as that was my usual reaction. Her eyes dropped to my physical reaction and embarrassment filled me. But as the abyss in her eyes consumed me, I found the embarrassment dwindling. I focused on her eyes and what they held.
    She