The moon hung, the grass hoppers sang.
Summer vibe descended on the streets.
The streets bloomed with people.
Loving couples, arguing partners, lonely drunkards, brokenhearted fools.
A wide variety of people.
The smell of food from the street stalls lingered in the air.
Swoosh!
A young man walked down the street.
His step confident, his black leather shoes struck against the concrete.
The thin black cape he wore swayed in the air.
"Whoaaa..."
"What a handsome man."
The women turned to look at him.
His long brown hair tied in a ponytail drew attention.
And his black outfit.
Black trousers and shirt, defining his muscular arms.
He walked with purpose.
His gaze sharp. Indifferent to the world around him.
With each move of his cape, his perfume lingered in the air.
Strong vanilla.
He turned a corner and entered a dark alley.
Light flashed in the distance.
Colorful lights.
Vibrations shook the ground.
A club existed.
As he approached, the music reached his ears.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet.
Thick wallet with banknotes.
"Stop,"
Two guards stood before the entrance of the club.
Two suited guards.
"Id?"
The man took the Id from his wallet and handed it.
The security glanced at the Id and then at him.
"Martin Warren?"
But the young man didn't reply.
He started him in the eyes.
Confident and uncomfortable eye contact.
"Twenty-one years,"
The security confirmed and handed him the Id.
"Enter,"
Martin walked in.
His ears buzzed from the loud music.
The smell of cigarettes lingered in the air.
"Ughh..."
A look of disgust flashed on his face.
But he moved forward, pushing through the crowd.
He rapidly approached the bar.
The women around noticed him.
Women wearing revealing dresses.
But he paid them no mind.
Not even a single glance at their seducing bodies.
And as he approached, his gaze locked on a woman.
A gold-haired young woman.
Men gathered around her, yet she danced.
Her clothes revealed her proportions.
Her moves were unstable.
She was drunk.
"Move,"
Thud!
Martin slammed into a man blocking his path.
"Aghh..."
The man groaned.
"What's your problem?!"
Swoosh!
The man swung.
Alcohol clouded his mind. His self control.
Thud!
Martin grabbed his fist.
"Move!"
His words commanded.
The man clicked his tongue but he immediately understood.
They were not in the same league.
His confidence hit rock bottom.
He backed away.
Martin finally reached the woman.
Thud!
He grabbed her wrist.
"Let's go,"
He pulled her.
"Stop,"
The woman resisted.
But Martin didn't even glance at her.
"I said stop!"
She shouted, her voice muffled by the loud music.
Martin turned abruptly.
His palm slid into the back of her hair and he leaned in to her ear.
"Martina, don't act slutty like this,"
He glanced around with disgust.
"You look exactly like those cheap women."
The words were ruthless. Cold.
Tears welled in Martina's blue eyes.
She wore this ocean blue dress, it made her feel confident. Beautiful.
Yet he called her cheap.
Her confidence, beauty, did it not amount to anything more in his eyes?
'Am I nothing more than a cheap slut in his eyes?'
Swoosh!
She stopped her half-baked attempt of resistance.
She completely pulled her hand off.
"We already broke up."
She uttered, holding back tears.
Her heart ached, but she wouldn't let him see her like this.
Not him of everyone.
"I'm free to do whatever I want,"