Mimicry Redux

I can't sleep no more
In my head, we belong
And I can't be without you
Why can't I find no one like you? 

--"Streets" by Doja Cat

 

Mimicry. A defense mechanism. A mantis hidden among the gnarled twigs. A milk snake masquerading with the colored bands of a venomous coral snake.   

The dress was backless, save two minimalist lines crisscrossing mid-thoracic spine. Inside the nightclub was dark, but the flashes from the stage that briefly illuminated the room revealed the fabric in different hues of yellow---saffron, canary, butter, marigold. His hand ran over his mouth, dumbstruck at the vision.

As she turned around, the colored lights shifted across her face like a kaleidoscope. He had never seen her hair undone from its ponytail or topknot. Black waves tumbled down from a slicked side part, veiling her right eye. She looked up at him, peeking through the luminous hair. He felt a thrill burrow in his chest as she bloomed towards him like a sunflower towards the sun.

Everything he had ever felt for her, tamped down and suppressed under the weight of duty and responsibility, bubbled up like a hot spring.

Mimicry. A predation tactic. The nectar-guide web of a Silver Argiope spider. Female Photuris fireflies luring male Photinus fireflies to their demise. 

Even amidst the dense haze of body heat and sweat in the nightclub, she felt too cold, too aware of every sensation grazing her exposed skin. Her roommates had collectively inhaled when she'd stepped out of the dressing room like the goddess spirit of a yellow ginkgo tree. They'd somehow talked her into buying this dress, so unlike any other clothing she'd ever owned: airy flowing fabric, vibrant color, daringly open back.  Then, back in the hotel room, Nina had convinced her to let her hair down, using her curling iron to give her vintage Hollywood waves. She and Nina ended up skipping dinner as a result, which was a mistake. Two shots and one cranberry vodka later, Elise realized how shite her tolerance had gotten one and a half years into residency.

She felt someone's gaze upon her. When she turned and saw him, the corners of her mouth lifted reflexively in weightless joy, untethered in her tipsy state. 

Mimicry. A reproductive tactic. The Copper Beard orchid, enticing male wasps with the scent of a female to pollinate from orchid to orchid. 

He was buzzed, but nowhere as far gone as her. She spoke slowly, phrases broken into fragments that she fumblingly strung together. He was hyperaware of the negative space between them, as if electricity charged from his fingertips into the dark.

"Can I kiss you?"

He nearly fell over. Head flooded into his face, body thrumming with energy, as he struggled to remember why he shouldn't do this. She was his co-resident. She was sloshed.

Before he could answer, she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss.