Chapter 132 - The Slippery Slope

Even in his whisky-addled vision, Miguel sees an "angel." He could see more or less clearly what a vision of beauty Claire is, with that sėxy little black dress, wearing what his other friends would describe as fück me pumps. The trouble is, he doesn't have a solid control of his own body; he's trapped in the back corner of his brain, watching this all unfold, like a backseat driver. Excitedly, he greets her with the most gracious greeting he could muster, but somehow he has a sense that that went down rather poorly, he's just not sure how. He couldn't read the emotion on Claire's face, but who could blame her? He tried to grab her in the dark, for pete's sakes! So whatever Claire's expression is, he will ignore it; he'll understand. "Please, sit here, and thank you," Miguel says.

Claire glances at the men who came with her. Mike nods, as if saying, "It's alright. We're managing this." Then he turns around, touching his earpiece, speaking to someone. She sighs; there are people here, and Miguel seems fine, only drunk. But she highly doubts if a real conversation is capable of happening, given the situation.

Gingerly, she takes the seat proffered to her, while Miguel seems all smiles. He takes the seat opposite hers and puts his hands on the table, as though waiting for something. He fidgets; he couldn't even look straight at her. Like he's looking at someone behind her. "How are you?" he says after a while.

"I'm good. And you?"

"I'm superfine." Miguel laughs. "You know, with all things considered."

"So what is this about?"

He scratches his chin. "Remember our talk earlier? You said you wanted to speak to me."

"But you hung up on me before we could agree on a time and place."

"That's the thing, Claire. I don't want you to set up the time and place. I want to set it on my own terms."

Claire tries hard not to scoff at him. "And your terms include barging in here at this hour?"

"Oh, I didn't 'barge' in here," Miguel makes an exaggerated shrug. "I came with an escort. An escort. See that guy over there? Big muscular arms, twice my size, but I'm pretty sure very, very little dɨċk." He laughs at his own joke for a long awkward moment, then he settles with a giggle. "It appears my brother has sent his army here. All for you, Claire. All for you. Is he that afraid of me?"

She shakes her head. "He's not afraid of you, Miguel. He's afraid FOR you. He's afraid of the damage you can do to yourself."

"Oh, really?" Miguel's laughter is hard, desperate, drunken. "Did he say that? Or did you just make that up?"

"It is the truth," she says, and wonders why Gabriel has not appeared yet. What's the game here? Is she meant to shake Miguel up, compel him to say what he really wants to say? But Miguel's intention is plain as day; what this man needs is to be straightened out. "But let's get down to business, Miguel. Are you capable of that?"

"Sure," he says, but he's still giggling.

Claire sighs; there's no point in speaking to this man. Not in this state. "Listen. If you don't take this seriously, I will stand up, go back to my room, and have these men escort you out of the premises."

Miguel looks at her, not believing a word she says. He giggles. "Really?"

That's it. She stands up and appears to walk out, but Miguel also stands up and changes demeanor and tactic. "I'm sorry, but let's talk now. I was just kidding."

He smiles, and for a moment he looks like he's going to laugh again, but Claire points a finger to his face. "Miguel, I respect you as Gabriel's brother, but if you laugh again, I will walk out."

The smile promptly leaves Miguel's face as he sits down. He rubs his eyes with his palms, clears his throat. "What do you want to talk about?"

Claire stares at him. "The big drunken elephant in the room."

"Elephant?"

"You, Miguel. You've gotta stop. You have to promise me that you will respect me from now on. No more inappropriate advances from you. Or else, God knows what I will do."

Miguel says nothing. He's staring at Claire's hands as she makes these cute gestures while she talks, like she's up on some stage delivering a speech. "I'll…I'll think about it."

She glares at him, unable to believe what she heard. "What? You're not going to think about it. You're going to do it. For the sake of your brother. For your own sake. Don't you love and respect Gabriel anymore?" Then in a softer voice. "What happened to you, Migs?"

"You happened to me," he says, smiling sadly. "The heart wants what it wants, Claire. And I don't know what to do. All I think about is you. Nothing else. I love you so much!"

"How can that be true? How can you love me? We don't have memories together. You just like me, not love me. You just like what you're seeing. You can only feel love after we spent years together, sharing our happiness and pain, and enduring through it all. That's love. That's what I'm willing to have with Gabriel. I hate to say this, but there's only one me. If I could split myself in two, bizarre as this may seem, I would willingly give half of me to you. But you know that's not possible. I only have one heart to give, and I've given it already to Gabriel." And for the first time in a long time, Claire reaches out on the table to hold Miguel's hand. "You're not like this, Miguel. You're an alpha male, as Gabriel once told me. You make conquests easily. But true love, it can only be found once, and you can't force it to be given to you. Let it come to you, when you're ready. But please, understand that you must learn to recognize when you have lost, and when to move on."

Miguel says nothing; he just lets her hold his hand. She's begging, pleading, and there are tears in her eyes. She really must hate him, wants him out of her life. Part of him understands what she's saying, and he wants to give in to that; yet, part of him tenaciously holds onto the thought, maybe an illusion, that perhaps if he plays his cards right, he could still have her. Gabriel can easily find someone else. Gabriel does not love her as much as he does, this Miguel believes. This, Miguel uses to justify everything he's been doing.

He gently squeezes Claire's hands. "Alright. I will do what you say. But can you give me one last favor?" Yet, before Claire could speak, he suddenly stands up and throws his arms around her, then begins smothering her with desperate kisses. And all Claire could do is try to squirm away from him. In the corner of her eye, she sees a figure pouncing toward them, bounding angrily, like a predator to his prey. Then a pair of hands grab Miguel by his shirt collar and yanks him away from her so savagely that Miguel stumbles backward, in an awkward drunken dance, until he slips on the floor, his head hitting a nearby table's edge hard.

And all Claire could do is scream—because even in the lounge's subdued light, she could see there's blood on the floor.