Doctor Jekyll lifted the fourteen thousand-pound Armand de Brignac bottle, from the chiller, pouring her another glass of champagne. She was mysterious, eloquent, a delight to be with and an adventurous flirtatious being. He liked the flirting, even loved it, despite being his reserved self. He’d ordered the champagne, disregarding his reservations, against his better judgement. The content, the alcohol, would be absorbed far faster than he’d ideally prefer and that, simply, would not do.
Since he was a child, he’d known that he had something peculiar about his sensibilities. A difference. A feeling from within. He’d witnessed the mood swings, those temperamental moments that didn’t seem like his own. Slowly, like the falling of a shadowed moon, or the creeping of a solitary spider, the other personality worked its way into his life. That ying, with the yang, not quite completing his psyche.
He glanced across to her, holding his eyes to hers as he returned the fantastical bottle to the cooler. She was, simply, magnificent. She’d worn a bodice. An outfit that displayed her finer sensibilities to the world, both of them, pushed up and forward to ensure that she was provided the correct attention. No matter how much of a gentleman he was, at times, he did struggle with his own mortal nature. His hidden side, on the other hand, revelled in such matters. Bathed in such moments. Even, or he’d say, often, exclaiming to the high heavens of such debauchery with included mischief.
He would admit it, to the both of them, maybe even if she’d ask, that he did want her. He knew it as well. He tasted the desire, the need, the wanton pressure from within his male soul. Crawling, embarrassing, wishing for him to actually let go of his sensibilities and to live. Even if it were for mere moments, he often wished to give in to the darker nature of man. He wouldn’t. He’d deny such notions with all of his energy, despite feeling his other side gaining more and more control upon each new day.
If he felt fear, loathing, anger or any emotion, the other side would start to dominate his thoughts, pushing him aside. Jekyll could think, analyse, assume, even create the wildest plan imaginable, but emotion still escaped and filled him with fear of what was to come. Despite the view in front of him, his mind moved towards the very moment when everything changed. He was a small boy, adventurous, vibrant, filled with the notion of a world filled with such stories of grandeur. Nothing could hurt him as he, within an imagination of innocence, could virtually fly as high as the world could take him.
He’d climbed the tree, that tree, the mighty tree within the back yard of his safe place. His Father, upon that day, had left the both of them, the words being spoken by a sobbing Mother that had fallen to her knees, in front of the tree. His world, shattered, his arms, weak, no longer holding him in place as he felt the world fade from his view. He fell, his instinct sending him cowering into the folded arms of supposed safety.
He heard his Mother gasp, exclaiming her terror, as his world snapped back into place. He looked up, to see his hand holding a branch. Saved. Amazed at the reflex, until the hidden character appeared within his mind, speaking insidious words, “Stupid boy! I will never permit you to hurt us!”
He remained silent about that day. His stoic mind coming to terms with his predicament, learning, evolving, creating a stable life despite the inner instability clouding his flat thinking. Jekyll would party, would have fun, if it were not for his real fear of his other side taking control.
“Do you like these?” she asked, moving forward to rest her ample cleavage onto the table. Jekyll snapped away from his daydreaming, returning to the present moment and his obvious surprise. He never knew that she could be so forward, from the various hours of conversation and mild flirting.
“My Dear, they are very, very presentable!”
“Come now Mr. Jekyll, you know what you’d really like to say! And do. Why don’t you let Mr. Hyde come out to play?”
Jekyll rested back into his chair, his mouth mildly open in shock, in wonder, pondering as to how she knew about his other side. It was, of course, idiotic of him to think that people wouldn’t eventually notice. He was calm, mellow, polite, a consummate gentleman, while Hyde was a braggart, a ruffian, the brawler, a voyeur, a ravisher and an absolute thirst filled playboy.
He felt his eyes lower to her neck, wishing that he himself, could simply allow his emotion to run rampant within his defined world. From his own emotion, his own thoughts. His eyes lowered still, taking in the view of her presented flesh, her womanly prowess doing what it was meant to do. He felt his mind shift, just a small amount, letting go of control to become the passenger in a vehicle that was about to speed so very, very fast.
If Jekyll were honest with himself, if he were to be true, despite a part of him being the way it was, he, himself, ashamedly, altruistically, also enjoyed the things that his other side did.
“Good Evening, my Dear! You have my full attention. Mr. Hyde is…, “ Hyde paused, looking immediately at her chest, pursing his lips, nodding, agreeing to the sight before him, as he returned his eyes to hers, “… now at your service!”
Jekyll took a seat within his own mind, watching, realising, that sometimes a man had to be two very, very, different entities to survive within their own little slice of the world. The yang to the ying, the brute to the gentleman, the very ‘Hyde’, to the ‘Jekyll’.