Black Rain

 The alcohol Billie felt in her prefrontal cortex had automatically shifted to standby mode and her primitive self wholeheartedly put on its party shoes. It was undoubtedly the amber that brought resolve to her soul.

 Tottering on her ornately padded ebony black stool, Billie peered through a thick puff of smoke from Billy's cigarette. She craned her coyly curved neck discreetly scanning the dimly lit humid room as if she was on the lookout for someone or something in particular. But that was typical Billie who had always been a detective of her own, scrutiny being her primary language.

 ' If I could wholely melt into this bar, I'd be the main vibe, manoeuvring buoyantly like the cigarette smoke. Soaking deep in the laughter and the madness, I'd dance upon each octave in microscopic disco shoes like a puppet on strings. Meanwhile though, back in reality, I'll have to shun my imaginary world. I'm a grain of dirt in a thousand-acre piece of land, and so instead I'll step into the shaded room that tends to open my eyes all the way wider, see the muted colours of bottles and the glitter that finds every spark of light. As the night commences, I'll chew myself with the bleathe crowd intoxicated by spirits and the carefree moments all the same,' she thought to herself.

Her pinning for 'letting loose' was however short-lived. She was going to be sick anytime soon and the thought of it's inevitability made her quite uncomfortable. She hated when she was not in control. 

She pulled a makeup kit from her small titian-red purse which complimented her coral-black chocker dress further supplemented by ivy-red wedge high heels. Perhaps she had forgotten of her exquisite beauty and wanted a quick reminder since she had been a mess for a great deal of the night.

A red designer handbag dangled from her skinny arm, ideal cerise stitching over the finest smooth hued Italian leather. The cotton trims matched both the thread and the exact shade the lipstick she wore, her mouth resting in a characteristic sulk. A moment later, her new manicure was searching its contents, the lips now drawn into a meditative glare under progressively curved eyebrows.

 Her amazonian figure sat well on her wafer-thin body. She had a curvilinear waist and her complexion had an impeccable, ocherous hue. Her crescent-shaped pencil-thin eyebrows eased down gently to her black, languid eyelashes. Even a skilled sculptor could not have fashioned her seraph’s ears and pixie’s nose any better. When she broke into a smile, her beguiling, oyster-white teeth flashed lighting up the room. It could jolt anyone within the vicinity like an electric current when that megawatt grin gave you full attention. Her hair was a glorious tumble of star beam-gold and pools of it plunged around her photogenic face and hid a swan’s neck, elegant and smooth. Her eyes were like two beryl-green jewel stones melted on two snowballs.

 "Darn it!" She cursed lamenting why she had had the two or three shots of tequila. Her vision was impaled and blurry; and all she could see were grotesque images flickering before her. She alternated glances between Billy and the exit as if waiting for a glimpse of opportunity to be on her merry way. 

  She eventually settled on Billy giving him a sudden forlorn stare as if trying to draw him out of the conversation. Billy, her twin kin, had been her drinking accomplice for the night, just like every other night who since their landing in the scandalous Chuck Town suburban bar had reprehensibly caused her to feel imperceptible. He was unable to help himself as he found himself lacking and lustfully staring at all the half naked ladies exploring in and out the bar like a multitude of work ants. The vast majority of them were either more seasoned wedded people with a craving and taste for more youthful studs or 'sex workers' who worked in a massage parlor directly across the street.  

That was the least of his concerns though. He was an ever teaser who cycled lasciviously behind and beside women, pelting with his perverse chant.

 Billy had been impetuously bantering with two voluptuous cougars when Billie suddenly slumped her head against the hard oak table, dropping her purse on the cold marble floor. She wrapped both her hands around the rear of her head and proceeded to throw up violently. She simply could not hold it back anymore. 

 Practically up, she was startled by a firm grasp on her left shoulder. Her heart thumped tremendously considering the amount of alcohol she had consumed. She could feel the adrenaline rush through her body. As she finally mustered the energy to raise her head, all of her blood seemed to be huddling around her head which swayed back and forth like it had gotten heavier.

She flickered a couple of times prior to meeting eyes with an odd lady who was presently patting and caressing her back. Her fingers were drawing musical scales up and down her spine.

The lady assuredly appeared as though she was in mid fifties or her late forties. There was an inquisitive style, an incredible feeling of high voltage about her. She was wearing dark denim mid rise pants, a white tank top and dark high heeled boots. Around her throat, a panther designed scarf, and twisted around her head a turban of a similar material. Her skin was extremely pale, and she was wearing dull wraparound glasses. 

 "Who are you and what do you want?" Billie blasted at the top of her voice.

"Re..Re..Relax. I'm here to help you. I can see you're not feeling okay. Are you on alone? Is there anything I can do to help? Do you have a ride home?"

The woman asked multiple questions bathed in remorse.

"I'm fine. I can take care of myself. You can..."

She tumbled and nearly fell before she could even finish that sentence however the lady was snappy in her reflexes and snatched her. 

She piggy carried Billie to the women's restrooms and cleared her way through the blazing crowd. No one tried to stop her. Their undivided attention was focused on all 'resolving their own issues' including her own brother who was still deeply engrossed in the conversation he was having with the two older women.

Sheila, a little, pale, anorexic glancing bartender in her mid twenties, was surprisingly keeping tabs on Billie. Billie had unknowingly drew attention to herself. Short dark colored hair, penetrated eyelids, a wasp tattoo on her neck; presumably a few more under her dark leather coat, a dark shirt, dark pants, dark caterpillar boots. This was not a troublemaker but instead a 'avoid me' sign. She was consistently on her toes and had her sleeves dropped as knew all that occurred at the bar. Unsurprisingly,she had been intently checking the lady's over liberality which she named as 'faked kindness.' 

She followed them to the bathrooms and looked through the little entryway lock

She tailed them to the restrooms and peered through the tiny door lock hole to uncover the intentions of the 'kind' uninvited guest were. 

 She was quite surprised when she saw the woman's intentions were actually genuine. She pulled Billie's hair back patting her back, holding her as she nauseated yet again. She even offered water to Billie prior to safely guiding her back to the bar. Sheila was touched.

  They engaged in a long muffled conversation. Billie struggled to keep up as she had her fists clenched tightly, eyes staring blankly at Nina, which was the name of her hero.

"Are you with me?" Nina asked.

She nodded, but it took a moment for her to find her voice.

"Yes."

Her voice was cracked and raw and measured like a guy trying to overcome a stammer.

Through their less than ideal unconventional discussion, Nina had realized what was burning through Billie, disintegrating her to pieces.

 Her birth mother had surrendered the pair; Billy and herself for adoption at a young age of thirteen months. To be more precise, she surrendered them on their first birthday. Consequently they resented birthday celebrations and consistently went on binge drinking to divert their indignation and channel it to having supposedly 'best time of their lives'. They learnt this harsh truth from their adoptive parents. This therefore implied that the identity of the birth mother was an unsolved misery to them.

Nina could detect fear in her voice, anger and resentment, but also curiosity.

"I'm gonna go use the restroom. You wait for me here," Nina eventually said to Billie as she got up hastily making her way to the restrooms.

  Billie's gut and analyst instincts collaborated to send her snooping into Nina's blue tote bag . She pulled out credit cards, floss, pieces of wrinkled tissue paper, a pair of blue pens, slim and wraparound shades, multicoloured hair bands and a cellphone phone charger. 

 There was nothing out of the ordinary. At any rate not yet. Repacking the things back in the purse, she saw a side pocket on the correct hand side. She pulled out a little manilla envelope thoughtlessly tearing it open in a stubble.

Incredulous Billie was confused, washing in totally wariness and in any event, examining couldn't carry her to process into reality what she seeing.

A sudden dread hit her at the core, reaching up a hand to lightly clasp her throat. Her posture stiffened, and then at once, splayed fingers out in a fan against her breastbone.

 Even though she was intoxicated, she immediately noticed what she was holding; age progressed photos of her. And even though she worked as a forensic scientist, the skill was dispensable comparing the real Billie and her age progressed photos as anyone could easily spot the difference. The photos was acute and was tangled by errors, and to top it all, they were labelled by ages; from 'age one' to 'age twenty five.' 

 Also attached to her photos, were Billy's age progressed photos , neatly clipped together.

  Billie, sulky and contrary when her welfare was concerned and needed answers quick. She pulled out Nina's phone form her handbag and typed in 'Billie' as the password. 

She could not a clear explanation how she had anticipated her name as the password. She thought maybe she had lucked out. She worked it like a gadget of her own. 

Tons of Billy and Billie's photographs ran Nina's exhibition.

Who is she? Is she some kind of psycho or weirdo? Could she be stalking us? Why does she have our pictures with her? When did she take them? What does she want now? Or could she be our biological mother?

Billie's mind was swelling with questions.

 She was skeptical and tried to dismiss the probability of Nina being their long lost mother, but all circumstances highlighted her. For instance, she noticed some similarities in their physical traits. She saw a picture of Nina during her freshman year and she was the supreme clone of Billie.

They say gaze at the dull ceaselessly for quite a while, you may ultimately see what sneaks in it. All things considered, Billie in the end did.

 It was a recent photograph of Nina and Billie at an irregular eatery she had never known about. They were both seated with their legs crossed, Nina's hand calmly laying on top of Billy's head as though stroking his black hair. They both wore wide grins and seemed to be having the time of the lives.

Chocking on her own sobs, she mumbled incoherent things through her hands eventually an involuntary whimper escaping her lips. Her shoulders dropped in resignation.

"What do you think you are doing?" 

Billie's lips were fixed; sealed shut and it would take more arbitrary inquiries to even get her squeak.

"She's our mom, OK!" 

Billy said in a loud commanding voice, agitation creeping from his voice. He emerged staggering from an an adjacent booth where she had been watching every episode unfold.

"I realize I have a ton of explaining to do. I know the this is the most cruelest method of you finding out that I'm you're biological mother, you finding out by mistake. However, I can clarify everything on the off chance that you give me the possibility." 

Nina hopped directly in the cue. 

Billie did not respond briefly however then she abruptly stood up, saw Billy, presently calmed down from the stun and doubt and asked him, "How long?" 

"Thr...Thr...Three years," Billy addressed scratching his head. 

Billy and Nina saw the resentment in Billie's eyes. They had made their bed, they might as well lie on it.

They watched as Billie grabbed her stuff and charge towards the exit.