I’ve got about five PMs from different guys. Only one of them seems decent. His name is Owen, and he’s got jet-black hair and blue eyes. A nice combination. Still, I can’t help comparing him to the golden-brown hair and hazel eyes that have been starring in my dreams of late. Owen works as a chef in a city restaurant, one I’m actually quite fond of, so that scores him some definite points. He’s two years older than I am and lives in the city centre. Deciding to be brave, and also to take my mind off my stupid crush on Jay, I write Owen a message back.

Hi, Owen,

Thanks for writing to me. I actually LOVE your restaurant! It’s such a coincidence that I eat there all the time. Anyway, to answer your question, yes, I’d like to meet up. Let me know what day and time suits you.

Matilda.

There. Short and sweet. Just what the doctor ordered. My heart pounds as I hit the “send” button. I haven’t met up with anyone from the Internet before. I’ve thought about it a lot, forever telling myself that next week would be the week. In the end I kept putting it off for so long that it became a huge thing, and I had built up this unbreakable psychological barrier.

Now I’m deciding to face my fears; otherwise, I’ll just end up spending my days admiring Jay from afar, and that’s way too pathetic, even for me.

The next night I dress ambitiously for Jay’s show in a dark purple body-con dress and heels. I do my hair in waves clipped to the side and hanging over one shoulder. Owen still hasn’t messaged me back, and I admit it’s rubbed me up the wrong way slightly. I keep telling myself that he’s probably just busy. The work of a chef is notoriously stressful.

Anyway, perhaps I’ll meet somebody interesting tonight.

I’m studying my reflection in my full-length mirror, about to put in some stud earrings, when Jay appears in my doorway. He watches me for a minute as I stare at him through the glass.

“Don’t wear the earrings,” he says.

“Why not?”

Something mischievous dances in his eyes. “Just don’t.”

“Weird request, but all right. You look good, by the way.”

He’s wearing a black shirt and matching slacks. They make him look dark and mysterious and, if I’m being honest, a little like a sexy version of the Devil.

“You look better,” he replies, and I catch my breath at the compliment. “I have to leave early to bring some stuff to the venue. You and Michelle are going for drinks first, right?”

“Yeah. The same bar as last week. It’s not too far from your show, so we should be able to walk from there.”

Jay whistles. “In those shoes? I don’t think so.”

I laugh. “I think that might be a song, you know. Michelle and I once went to see this drag queen perform on Capel Street and the guy sang it.”

Jay gives me an indulgent look before rummaging in his pocket. “Get a cab. Here’s some cash.”

He places the money down on my dresser, but I have no intention of taking it. His eyes trail up and down my body before he tells me he’ll see me later, then disappears from my doorway just as quickly as he appeared.

Drinks with Michelle are as colourful as they usually are. She tells me all about her escapades with the man from last week and how he ended up tying her to his bedpost. It wasn’t as sexy as it sounds, though, because apparently the ties kept coming loose. The guy then proceeded to have a hissy fit because his attempt at bondage wasn’t working.

I laugh into my white wine, and after one more drink we make our way to Jay’s show. He was right about one thing — I shouldn’t have walked there in my heels. When selecting my footwear earlier, I hadn’t made concessions for the cobblestones lining the alleyway that leads to the venue. I’m thinking I’ll have a few pretty blisters to contend with come tomorrow.

Surprisingly, there’s a long queue outside extending onto the next street. Definitely an excellent turnout for something he’d only started advertising five days ago. Jay told me that he’d put mine and Michelle’s names on the guest list, so we wouldn’t have to wait to get in. Michelle takes great pleasure in the fact that we get to walk past those forming an orderly line and straight to the entrance. The bouncer checks that our names are on the list and then lets us both in.

A pretty girl with short purple hair comes up to us just after we’ve left our coats in the cloakroom.

“Hey, are you Matilda?”

“That’s me.”

“Great. Come with me. Mr Fields wants you sitting in the front row.”

“Oh,” I say warily. “Why’s that?”

She shrugs. “Not sure. I’m just following orders.”

The venue is underground, and the bare brick walls are all done in colourful spray paint. One side of the room is dark, depicting fire and demons, while the other side is bright and full of heavenly angels. It’s all seated, too, with rows and rows of old-style velvety cinema chairs. Cooler than any place I’ve ever been. Even some of the people here look too cool to be real, all tattoos, piercings, and unusual clothes. There are a couple of average-looking people as well, so I don’t feel completely out of place. The purple-haired girl tells us she’ll get us whatever drinks we want from the bar, and yes, we both opt for more wine.

“Wow, we’re really being given the VIP treatment tonight,” Michelle gushes, running her hands over the velvety armrests on either side of her.

“I know. Seemingly it pays to have an illusionist as a housemate. Who would have guessed?”

Michelle gets a sneaky gleam in her eye when she asks, “Does it pay in any other ways, too?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” I say just as the purple-haired girl returns with our drinks before hurrying back to the bar.

“Specifically, in the way of male and female relations,” she elaborates.

“Of course not!” I sputter far too defensively.

“Oh, but you wish it did. I know you, Matilda, and I know you like him. It’s written all over your face. Why don’t you go for it? It’s the whole reason I backed off last week, you know.”

Really? That’s why she backed off? She’s an even better friend than I give her credit for. Sighing, I lean my chin on my fist. “It’s not that simple. What if I came onto him and he was all like, uh, could you please not? I’d be mortified, and I’d still have to suffer living with him afterward. It’s too risky.”

“Life is risky. And anyway, I highly doubt he’d say that. It’s more likely he’d be all, yes, please continue.”

I laugh at her, and she smiles. She always manages to make me feel better, even if she was the one who brought up the subject in the first place. At least she repairs her own damage.

We drink some more wine, and then the venue starts to fill up. And I mean, there isn’t an empty seat in the house. There’s even a bunch of people who didn’t manage to get seats standing by the bar. I get a fright when someone taps me on the shoulder, and I turn to see Jessie crouched behind me.

“Just thought I’d come say hi,” she says to me with a smile.

“Hi, Jessie, this is my friend Michelle.”

Jessie gives Michelle an appreciative look up and down, and a head nod. “Hey.”

“Hello,” says Michelle with a grin.

Jessie’s all dressed in black, the same as Jay had been, and it makes me wonder if she’s going to be a part of the show. Before I have the chance to ask her, she tells me she has to get going and hurries backstage.

Suddenly, every light in the house blows out, and we’re all plunged into darkness. What the hell? It’s so dark that I can’t even see my hand in front of my face. My heart beats fast, and electricity seems to fill the air. Ironic, no? Excitement clutches at my lungs. For some reason, I don’t think this is a fault with the electricity.

A track starts up, blasting through the speakers, and I immediately recognise the song: “Till I Collapse” by Eminem. What? I had a rap phase. The lights don’t come back on, though. A few seconds into the song, a spotlight lands on the stage, illuminating Jay from the feet up, as though he’s appearing out of thin air. My pores tingle with the heavy beat. His black shirt from earlier is gone, replaced by a simple black wife-beater vest. His muscular arms and tattoos are on full show, held out in front of his body as he displays a pair of shiny metal handcuffs binding his wrists.