Watch Out Micheal Myers is on the Dancefloor.
He's right there. Up on that stage. He's so close yet so far. My thoughts going back to his skin, how smooth it felt under my fingertips
I want to touch him but my mind and body somehow know I can't do that.
I'm frozen on the spot. Half paralyzed by his hypnotic movements the other half an unexplainable slow building rage.
With the amount of alcohol I've consumed, I'm surprised I was able to hold my ground and not make a huge scene.
He wouldn't have deserved that though and I wouldn't have either.
Instead, I stood there, watching him. My emotions numbing, my vision blurring. He's the star of the show, all these people watching him dance. He has all the attention he needs. He doesn't need it from me. But then why me? Why did he choose me back then? He's the one who sought me, the one who carpet-bombed me with love and affection. Which I found to be weird at first. I guess my instincts were working. Only why did I not follow them? I should've known. Did he really miss me that much like he said he did, 3 years after we last hooked up? I wasn't looking for anything serious back then, and neither after we'd rickendled 3 months ago.
Blacking out for a millisecond, I didn't notice that he had left the stage. Coming back to reality, I realized the empty plastic cup I was holding was crushed up in my hand.
Well, now that he's gone. I thought I'd get another drink.
I was finally able to move. It felt like my feet were cemented, and removing them from place felt like dragging heavy weight. I started toward the wide open doors that leads to the main dancefloor. Conscience of every step, I was making my way to the bar and although walking seemed like a foreign concept, I managed to get to the bar without swerving around as one would, carefully balancing myself as if traversing on a tightrope.
All the bartenders were nice, they've always been nice to me maybe because its their job but I did like the attention from them. After all, I was a new face, new to the scene and they couldn't believe I've never been out here before. It made me stand out and I've been recognized easily the few times I've been here, and I don't know if I like that or not anymore.
I ordered another drink with the best sober impression I could make from the bartender before. I couldn't quite hear what he said, but when he handed me the drink, I looked at it puzzled, I knew what it was. A paper cup of water filled to the rim. I looked at the bartenders face. He looked guilty, or was it pity? I accepted the water in defeat. I thanked him and began to walk away sipping on my water. The bartender saw the state I was in. How did he know when to refuse me alcohol or is it a rule that if one sees someone beyond a certain point, they can't serve them anymore? I felt something billowing back into me, the pain, waves of hurt. Tears streamed out as I stood there in the middle of the dance floor.
A girl asked if I was okay, got me more water, a lovely gay couple led me to a seat, but eventually got uncomfortable as they saw me in such a sad state. I think I made a scene, not a big one, at least. I wasn't dramatically sobbing or anything just quietly crying, shallow hiccups of breath, face all scrunched up and wet. They eventually left me alone to my pain. I don't know why I came here. For him, for me? I'm the one who said goodbye and that I didn't want him to text or think about me. Maybe I just needed to see him one last time. Maybe if he saw me, I'd hoped he would have come up to me and said sorry. To try to fix this, even though it's not entirely his fault. He knows what he wants, to live his life to the fullest, not settle for anyone. I just wish he would have said so. Everything would have been much easier, and i wouldn't have made such a fool of myself.
We both made mistakes, we didn't communicate what we actually wanted, and said things we shouldn't have in the heat of the moment. We let passion and lust take us over. Only I feel that he knew not to do what one isn't supposed to when just having fun.
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