I’ve been missing you a lot lately. My heart is heavy with the thought of your arms around my waist and the warmth of your lips pressing against mine. I wonder if you’re overthinking about me, too, in a way? It's as if the sky turns grey and sad, and they are all mourning about the miles we are forced to share. Fuck it, I need to get over you, at least for tonight. My lonely soul wants to run away to places where I’d be less likely to be followed by your shadow. So I’m driving my car and wandering through the empty streets.
I don’t know how it happens or what brings me here, but I end up at one of our favorite bars. In the corner we used to make out, I see him standing with a glass of margarita, your second favorite drink. He glanced at me for a precise 3 seconds before he decided to make his way out to me. Damn, I’m feeling nervous as fuck, and it’s not because of his witty charming smile, or his messy sexy manbun, but mostly because I feel like I’m about to cheat on you. But hell no, you could be doing anything God knows what, with God knows who, and probably not feeling bad about it. Why should I?
“What’s one pretty lady doing here alone?”
That’s the first thing that comes out of his pretty mouth. His voice feels like a cold water down on my throat, and I’m pretty sure it makes me choke.
A little giggle, and then I answer, “Some fun?”
“That I can promise you after a glass or two. Let me guess, Gin and Tonic kinda girl?”
Boy, he bites it all too quickly.
“A not so wild guess, but it’s a wrong one. Tonight, I’m more of a good old-fashioned girl.”
I know I subconsciously said that because I secretly wish that when I get to my first sip, I could taste your lips on mine.
He grabs me a glass of my own poison and asks me if we can go somewhere much more quiet because he has trouble listening to my voice. The bar is quite packed tonight. He leads the way and is somewhat able to find empty seats for two in the middle of the crowd. He doesn’t pull out the chair for me, and honestly, it bothers me a bit because you always did. You said it was one of the few things your mum taught you. I guess he just failed to tick the first box that comes to mind, huh?
We sit side by side, and he leans his pretty face near my cheek as if he wants me to smell his average niche perfume. Boy, I swear it isn’t nearly as nice as yours, but somewhat I am triggered. It’s awakened some nerves inside my body, and right that second, I know I’m fucked. He tells me where he’s from, what he does, yada yada yada, and I have to tell you now that I don’t really care about what he says, but it’s sure starting to feel like a nice distraction.
Halfway through the conversation, I keep picturing your pretty face sitting in front of me. Like the one when we were sipping a lovely espresso martini somewhere down the alley, and you told me about your wildest night from your very younger year. Or the one where we walked down the beach admiring the peach sunset that life had us offered. Me insisted that our fingers interlocked while we were holding hands. Oh, how I desperately wish he was you.
For the next 6 minutes, he kept trying to reach out to my right hand and wanting to hold it, but I felt so hesitant. And he keeps trying to kiss my cheek and sort of wishes to make its way to my lips eventually. I won’t like it for sure because it’s not yours, that’s why. I don’t think I’m ready to be held or touched or even kissed by someone who is not you. I will never be.
“Tell me, what’s on your mind, baby?”
Oh fuck no, I wish he didn’t just call me that. I hate it because it doesn’t sound romantic at all, unlike the way you used to call me baby. That was the real music to my ear, which I just realized that has been disappeared for quite some time now. Tell me B, where did it go?
“World, destruction, loneliness… Nothing interesting at all.”
“Well, let me make it interesting for you.”
“Bet you’ll fail miserably if you try. But go ahead, amuse me.” I pull back, wink, and bite my lip.
The DJ starting to play Thinkin' Bout You by Frank Ocean, just right on cue.
He grabs my hands and invites me to an awkward sexy dance. He pulls my hips closer to his, puts his lips along my neck, and tries to bite the Mille Feux by Louis Vuitton off my throat. My heart beating so fast as I try to fight him off of me long enough that he finds his way to the inside of my cup breast.
What the hell am I thinking?
Right now, I’m thinking about the first time you ever touched me. For a brief second, I remember how that feels. The kissing, the grinding, the panting. How you moved inside my body perfectly, slowly, beautifully. I realize that our love is still good, so good that it makes me nauseous to think about this stranger who’s trying to fill the hollow I’ve been feeling for a couple of weeks now. That I let him substitute the only happiness I have had in years.
But then the reality kicks in; it always does. It’s the only reminder of all the demons we’ve been thrown at each other recently, brutally. All the sadness inside my lungs, the pain along my veins, the slow destruction of being neglected. It feels a lot like my longing for you. The funny thing is, I have never been mad at you for ruining me like that. When have I ever, though?
I just want this misery that you’ve helped create between us to stop. I used to love to sit inside my own hell, watching my other self burn, but for now, please show me a way out from here.
To quote Lana Del Rey — Don’t make me sad, don’t make me cry. And I know that love is mean, and love hurts.
Oh for God's sake, just love me right, you fucker.
“You’re so fucking hot.” His voice brings me back to the packed bar right away.
Those are painfully predictable words. It’s my cue to get out of his thrust and get rid of his head that is buried deep in my neck slowly.
“Hey, I think I’m gonna call it a night. I don’t feel too well.”
I kiss him on the cheek, thank him for the exchange, and do my walk of shame towards the exit door. I didn’t even say yes when he asked for my number.
As I walk back to my car, I can’t help but think that there’s something about tonight that feels so dangerous thrilling, but also aching. Over time, I’m always good at hiding and not being seen because I have too many dark parts for people to see if they ever turn on the lights on me. Another thing that I’m for sure good at doing is always trying to sabotage my own happiness and trying to look for comfort where it hurts. Sometimes, just sometimes, on the bad days, it feels a lot, if not less sad. By the end of the night, I feel much more miserable than when I left the house just a few hours ago.
I drive my car back home, put In Your Atmosphere on the USB player, and cry my heart out of it. I let the pain take over my body and surrender.
I’m the loneliest girl in the world.
