The week was finally over and Kim was prepared to drag Alix straight from the school halls to the clubs, but Alix had another idea. “I’ve set you up for tonight, luv. We can go club-hopping t’morrow. Gettin’ band mates can wait one day.”

            “Set me up with who?”

            “Promise you won’t get mad, Kimmy-dear?”

            “Set me up with who, Alix?”

            “Well, it was kinda’ a topic of discussion on Wednesday. Y’know... Well, it’s why I stayed in school later. I woulda’ walked you home, but I had to talk to someone.”

            “Who, Alix? For the sake o’ bloody hell, who?”

            “Gwen Tolden.”

            “Nah.” She shook her head. “Nah, you didn’t do that to me. I know you wouldn’t do that to me. Didn’t I tell you, I’m not ready to know if I can do that shit? I don’t want everyone ‘oo thinks I’m a lezzie to be right. D’ya want ‘em to be right?”

            “Lighten up, will ya’? She’s coming.”

            Wringing her hands, Kim started pacing on the spot. “You could’ve at least warned me. I look like shit today! But not her, never her, she’s perfect. How the bloody hell could you set me up with someone who’s perfect? Alix, I hate you!”

            “I know ya’ don’t.”

            Gwen had reached them. Her eyes seemed darker that day, but Kimberly told herself it was just her imagination. “Well, quite a nice day, ain’t it? All ... kinda’ cloudy and drizzly, but really, quite nice to walk in. In fact, I think I’ll take a walk right now.” She rushed towards the doors, but Alexandra grabbed her arm on the way past.

            Laughing, Gwen stepped forward. “I know you’re not into girls.” She had one of those very proper accents; probably a long line of rich generations behind her. Kim had never heard her speak before. “Your friend just seemed so desperate to set you up on a date with one, I figured I’d humor her.”

            Alix let go of Kim. “Well, now it’s no fun anymore.”

            After a moment of consideration, Kimberly turned around to look at Gwen. “How far d’ you want to humor her, then?”

            “That really does depend.”

            “On what?” That was Alix, mad because things weren’t turning out like she had wanted them to.

            “I’d never take out a girl, gay or straight, who didn’t pass a few tests first.”

            “Oh, so you’re a picky l’il bitch.” Alix was glaring at the ground.

            “Not that picky, actually.” Gwen looked at Kim. “Who’s your role model?”

            “Siouxsie Sioux. Was that even worth askin’?”

            “Apparently not. Favorite band?”

            “Sisters of Mercy.”

            “Hmm, I go for Bauhaus more.”

            “Yeah, but if you bring up Bauhaus, then you’ve gotta’ consider The Birthday Party and that just complicates the entire matter.”

            “There’s actually this local boy-goth band--”

            “Boy-goth?”

            “Yeah, a bunch of young teen goths with their own band. At any rate, they sound a lot like a very young Birthday Party. Their lyrics are more cohesive, which really is a pity, but they’ve got a good sound. They’re playing at The Boulder tonight.”

            Kim looked at Alix and mouthed “what do I do?” Alix shrugged, then she coughed as loudly and fake as she could. “Well, girls, I’ve gotta’ get myself home. Strict ‘rents an’ all. I’ll see you t’morrow for club-hopping, luv, and I promise we’ll find someone for our band-to-be. Now you two have fun, y’hear? Don’t stay up too late.” With a quick evil grin to Kimberly, Alix was off.

            “How do you put up with that?” Gwen asked.

            “Eh, she’s my best friend. Ya’ get used to it, I guess. I’ve been ‘round her so long, I don’t r’member if she ever annoyed me.”

            “Huh. Well, are you interested?”

            “In?”

            “Going to The Boulder tonight. Wasted Assumption is playing; they’re the boy-goth band.”

            “Are they any good?”

            “Their influences are a little too obvious, but they’re great for their age.”

            “Who else ‘sides Birthday Party do they have in their repertoire, then?”

            “A little Sisters, a little Depeche.”

            “Awright, they’re varied goth-boys then, aren’t they?”

            “Slightly. Look, their set doesn’t start until 7:00. I’ve got to get myself out of my school clothes and cleaned up a little. Do you know where The Boulder is?”

            “Who in their right mind doesn’t? I’ve been goin’ there since I was 16. Rumor has it they woulda’ let me get drunk ‘fore then, too.”

            “Yeah, they’ll serve anyone with money.”

            “So...” Kim shifted a little. “The Boulder at 7:00. This is just like ... friends watching a gig, awright? Not a date.”

            “I would never assume it to be.”

            “Good. Okay. See you there, then.” Kimberly turned around and walked away. She could feel Gwen watching her as she went, and was pretty sure she was smiling.

 ***

 The mirror had shown Kimberly a very sexy, bitchin’ girl in an oh-so-short red plaid skirt, black leather halter top, fishnets and fingerless gloves as she ran out the door, but as she stood outside The Boulder waiting for Gwen to show up, she was doubting herself. Not that it should matter what she was wearing, as this wasn’t a date. She didn’t date girls. It was that simple, and Gwen accepted it, and everything was okay. This wasn’t a date.

            It took a few minutes of Kim chastising herself for dressing so sexily before Gwen showed up, proving that she wasn’t the only one. She had on a full-length satin skirt that showed the black tights underneath, leaving nothing to the imagination, and a black peasant shirt that was hanging precariously off her shoulders. Kim blinked a few times. She had never seen Gwen out of her school uniform before. “Nice clothes. How d’ ya’ afford satin?”

            “Rich parents.”

            “Makes sense.’

            “Dressed up to impress the boy-goth band, I see. They’re a bit young for you.”

            “Nah, I’m dead set against anything with a prick right now. They’re all asswipes.”

            Gwen raised her eyebrows and Kim felt her cheeks flush. “Oh, I, this... I jus’ dress like this. It’s nothin’. No reason.”

            “Of course.” Gwen was smiling. “So do we stand around out here for the rest of the night, or go in?”

            As her reply, Kimberly went to the door and held it open for Gwen. She then followed her in. The place was filled with smoke and people. A loud, creepy guitar was pulsing and a young voice growled over top of it.

            “Unearthly tomb-smoke and choked up death. It’s chthonic! It’s chthonic! Broken up on alcohol, twisted down on extremes. Not looking for no bloody way out. Chthonic all the way!”

            “What the bloody hell is chthonic?” Kim turned to Gwen.

            “Something about the underworld, I think. Want to sit at the bar or find a table?”

            “I doubt we’ll find a table in this place.”

            “How about there?” Gwen pointed at a table that had just been vacated after someone who looked like he could be the manager talked to its occupants.

            “That was a l’il convenient.”

            “I come here a lot. That’s Fred, the owner. He does his best to keep me happy. Come on.”

            “Awright.”

            Kimberly looked around her as she walked to the table. The entire club was filled with goths, punks, and strange people of other varieties. More than half of them were smoking. Kim hoped that they would die of lung cancer; served them all right.

            “Do you drink?” Gwen pulled out her seat for her.

            She gave her a long look before sitting down. “Sometimes. Anything with that sweet red stuff.”

            “Grenadine?”

            “I think that’s it.” Kim sighed. “I usually only drink when I’m nervous.”

            “Are you nervous tonight?”

            “I guess.”

            “I’ll take that to mean yes.”

            The owner himself came over to ask if they wanted anything to drink. Gwen ordered a strawberry daiquiri for herself and a Shirley Temple for Kim. While the drinks were being made, Kim focused herself on the conflicting sounds of Wasted Assumption. Their latest song sounded like something Martin Gore wrote while being held at gunpoint by Nick Cave.

            “And I’ll take your bloodstained hand in mine, I’ll taste your rust; I’ll taste your lust. I’ll let you become a sacrifice, torn to pieces for the amorous god. Die for me, my broken baby. Die for me, my broken love.”

            “And is Kimberly Standen going to be coming back to earth any time soon?”

            Kim jumped and stared up at Gwen. The drinks had come. She blushed. “Sorry, just... The band. Y’know.”

            “Uh huh. Look, if you’re not cool with this, I completely understand.”

            “Nah, I’m just realizing ... this really is a date, huh?”

            “You can leave any time. No pressure.”

            Kim picked up her drink and took out the corny little umbrella. “Let’s get drunk, huh? Bring in some hard shit once this is done.”

            A few drinks down the line, they were talking avidly about everything. Every other sentence seemed to bring an excuse to burst out laughing, and there was also something really funny about the new band onstage. It was a punk band with a front-girl and a really bad guitarist.

            “Gah, I think that’s m’ ol’ band! The Dickless Shits, that’s ‘oo they were. They only ‘ad me ‘cause they sucked so bad, they needed someone hot to .. as distraction. So ya’ wouldn’t know they sucked so much.”

            “Quite a distraction, I must say.”

            They started laughing again.

            “There was this one gig with ‘em where the audience were fallin’ off their chairs snorin’. I screamed at ‘em all to listen up, then took off m’ shirt. Bloody ‘ell, then they were awake! Played th’ rest o’ the gig like that, and got ‘em cheerin’ and beggin’ for more!”

            “Think she’d take her shirt off?” Gwen pointed at the stage, where the chick was crooning out some words that couldn’t be understood.

            “S’not worth it. She don’t have no diddies!”

            “Yeah. No voice, either. Wanna’ get out of here?”

            “One more drink, Gwen m’dear. I can stand that at -- atroci-ous music for a l’il while more.”

            “One more drink it is, then.”

            By the time they were done at The Boulder, Kimberly couldn’t remember what city she was in, let alone where she lived. “Oh bloody hell,” she muttered, then ended up in a giggling fit.

            Gwen, much less drunk, offered to let her spend the night at her house.

            “Awright, what kinda’ girl you think I am? Ne’er on a first date, missy. Not ‘less I’m really drunk, not ‘less...” She started laughing again. “I’m really drunk, ain’t I?”

            “You’re piss-faced.”

            “Great, let’s head t’ your place.”

            “I just wanna’ make sure you r’member that I’m a girl.”

            “Yeah, sure, sure. Lips are lips, it d’unt matter ‘oo yer kissin’, and the other bits can be impro -- imper --”

            “Improvised?”

            “Yeh, that.”

            “Promise you won’t hate me when you sober up?”

            “Aw, gimme more credit than that. I’ve never once ‘ated a girl.”

            “Y’know, your speech shoots straight to hell when you’re drunk.”

            “Eh, ‘oo cares?”

 ***

 Kimberly woke up in a bed not her own. It took her a long time to remember why she would be in this room full of goth posters with a severe hangover, and when it did come to her, she pulled the blankets up over her head and wished she could die. Or at least remember what had happened once she’d left The Boulder.

            There was water running in a nearby room. Kim slipped out of the bed, thankful to see she still at least had her scanties on, and wandered over to where the sound was coming from. The door was slightly ajar, and Kim pushed it open the rest of the way to see Gwen standing in front of a sink, washing her face.

            “Glad to see you’re up and alive.” She looked at Kim in the mirror.

            “Up and wishin’ I were dead, y’mean. What happened last night?”

            “No worries, I’m a child of proper upbringing. I would never take full advantage of a drunkard.”

            “How far’d it go?”

            “No farther than what you’re standing in now.”

            Kim looked down at her half naked body. Strangely enough, she wasn’t feeling at all modest. She usually did, even when too hung over to care about most other things. “Huh.”

            “I guess you’re drawing the line here, aren’t you?”

            “I ... dunno’. I mean, it’s a lot to take in. My head’s fuckin’ killin’ me, too.”

            “So this might be able to continue?”

            “Look, I think you’re really cool and all--”

            “Stop there. I’ve heard it a million times before. Want the bathroom? I’ll go find your clothes.”

            “Nah, Gwen, hear me out. This is just weird for me. I’ve never done this before. I don’t know if I can. I need some time to think on it. I also need a phone. Alix an’ I are s’pposed to go clubbin’ tonight. I’m pickin’ up recruits for a new band.”

            “Well, get yourself cleaned up, then you can use the phone. I’ll drive you wherever you need.”

            “Cheers, Gwen.”

            “Any time.”

This chapter includes the lyrics to Chthonic, and Sacrificial Love off the Wasted Assumption's first album, A Torrent of Tears.
The lyrics were written by 'Elvyn Daray', and are © LL Hager, 2000.

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