Neon lights flashed in time with the thumping bass line all over the club. He sat back in the booth, almost empty glass in hand, as his friends joked and drank around him. The group of girls they'd invited to join them were just as rowdy.
It was not the night he'd wanted after the day he had but they wanted to help him get his mind off everything. Maybe a drunken night was what he needed but he'd wished he done it alone at home now. He removed his jacket as he stood and headed for the bar. He stepped over his friends, pulling hands off of him, signaling he was heading for a drink. Never mind the bottles sitting on their table, he needed something different, or maybe just a break.
Down the steps and across the crowd, he finally reached the least packed bar. He grabbed the last seat on the far right side and got the bartender's attention. Some minutes later, a drink slid in front of him from a line being distributed across the bar.
The first sip was stronger than he expected but it mellowed as he continued. He could actually people watch now that he was here without someone wanting him to interject into a story to impress some women he didn't care to know.
He watched flirting and consumption and dancing happen without much feeling of his own. His eyes began to gloss over everything and his annoyance only grew stronger.
"Fuck this, shoulda kept my ass at home."
He wasn't feeling the music or the crowd but at least the drinks were strong. He leaned over to signal for another glass when he caught a glimpse of a ghost.
Fuck fuck fuck, the words rang around in his mind over and over as he stood up to get a better look. It can't be, it better not be. He squeezed through the random pockets of strangers trying to get a closer look. He knew he shouldn't have, he knew he should take his ass right back to his seat and pretend he didn't see it. His mind was calling him a dumbass trick but he ignored it all the same. Even after the betrayal, after the anger, after everything, he could not stop. It infuriated him how she still had this hold, after all these months. He'd left messages demanding her time, to know why, her attention. She ignored it all.
Eight months was all it took. Eight months of flirting, racing, dancing, fucking. Eight months of her telling him don't get attached. Eight months of him remarking don't worry about it.
First and second month, they danced and raced. Third and fourth month, they danced, raced, and fucked. The months continued to pass and he enjoyed them more and more as they went on.
"A good time, not a long time." Yeah, fine, fun is fun. "Don't get attached." Yeah, I hear you. But the weeks turned into months and his heart began to forget those statements. He was slipping, no matter how much he tried not to. Maybe she'll open up more he told himself, trying not to think about what would happen if she was being honest.
Then he got sloppy. He got attached. She'd told him not to. She seemed to hold on to her own advice but he had not and it hurt like a bitch. It hurt and it burned and it was infuriating. He called, he messaged, he went the spots they went to but she stayed away. He let her in through the cracks and under his skin and she felt so damn good until she didn't anymore.
She had warned him. She insisted that he keep a distance, that he keep things breezy because she was. He didn't listen. He didn't want to. It was too good to let go until he had to. Until it left him holding scorched remnants of what they had. What he imagined they had.
As he passed through the crowd, almost desperate to get a better look to ease his heart, he hoped over and over to be wrong. He'd already had a shitty day but if he'd just seen who he thought it was, the ghost that haunted him over the past few months, his night was about to be complete shit too.
He reached the edge of the other bar across the room and stopped. His skin felt warm and his heart raced, he was almost eager to see if it was really her.
You fucking fool, what are you doing, he told himself as he gripped the counter. She doesn't want you, she betrayed you, she told your dumbass to have fun and leave her be. You didn't listen. You didn't take her seriously. You paid for your own stubbornness. He berated himself and yet he still took a look across the club.
He glanced over, bracing himself, and there she was. It was her, the elusive ghost that had a hold on him still. Her purple braids were pulled up in two big buns on top of her head. He watched as she downed a shot and threw the glass to the ground. She appeared to scream and laugh as some woman wrapped her arms around her neck and kissed her cheek.
He felt fire in the pit of his stomach as he watched her. Watched her having a good time, watched her get pulled to the dance floor by the woman who'd kissed her, the two of them acting like there was no one else in the room.
He was angry all over again. All the feelings from those days came rising back up. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. He was furious as he remembered why he hadn't seen her again since the deal went down. He'd left her at least twenty messages that day. They had planned for months what she stole in mere weeks, if even that long.
How the fuck could he still feel even a sliver of hope or giddiness or whatever it was he was feeling right now. He didn't even notice the bartender had been right in front of him until a bodyguard yanked him away. He'd began to crack the edge of the counter while he was lost in thought watching her.
His hands were raised as he backed away from the bar. Be easy he mouthed as he turned around to go grab his coat. His stomach started churning and his head began to ache. He had to leave. He had to get out of there before he made a mistake. Before he let himself get caught in something he know he had no business even thinking about anymore. If she wanted to talk, to explain herself, she knew how to reach him and where to find him. But it was best she didn't. It was best they stayed away from each other. Even after everything that happened, he found an inkling of himself wanting to go up to her and pick her up by her waist and kiss her. He was fighting hate and anger and passion and inklings of what he thought he once felt for her and he needed to get away.
Fuck this place and fuck her he'd muttered to himself as he walked outside. He'd try once again to leave the presence of her behind as he sped off on his bike. The effort would be futile but leaving would be the only sensible thing he did that night.
