Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
He told me about his past, and that meant something.
Then I made a jerk out of myself on the phone, coming so close to revealing my crush as if it would make a difference. It’s been a week since that phone call.
I go to the restaurant and imagine I’m somebody else as I wait tables, forcing myself to smile and be as approachable as possible. At home, I try my hardest to work on the podcast, but it’s difficult to summon the enthusiasm.
Tonight, I’m sitting on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through Netflix on the TV, struggling to find something to watch, something to distract me from the endless whirling thoughts of Bryson.
I dissect every moment we shared, from his hand on my leg to our first kiss in Adam’s kitchen to Bryson guiding us through the night like the world was ours and ours alone.
When Tiffany returns from work, she takes one look at me and throws her hands up.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m taking you out.”
“Out where?”
“There’s this club I know. They’ll let us in.”
I sit up, already shaking my head. Tiffany’s been going to clubs since she was seventeen, using her prom-queen-like beauty and guile to fool the doormen into letting her in.
I’ve never been the clubbing type and never understood the appeal.
“What are you going to do, hmm?” Tiffany drops down on the couch next to me. “Sit here on the couch scrolling Netflix for hours without picking something like the last few nights?”
“I’ve done all my work. If I want to waste my time, then that’s my business.”
“You’re my best friend. So it’s my business too.”
“I don’t know… you know I don’t drink.”
“You don’t have to have a good time.” She smiles, fiddling with her ponytail. “I won’t force you. I think it would do you some good to get out of the house. I was going to meet with Liam, anyway. It’ll be fun.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind me tagging along?”
“Not even a little bit.”
I sit up, knowing I have to do everything possible to pull myself out of this funk. If I don’t, I’ll just sink deeper and deeper until it swallows me whole.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
We walk into the club, Tiffany hugging close to Liam, her boyfriend, and a few women I sort of know gather around us.
The music pumps loudly, lights flashing, and I already wish I was back home.
I don’t want to be the person bringing down the mood, so I do my best to keep my thoughts from my expression, smiling broadly when a woman called Jeneva throws her arms around me and yells in my ear.
“I love this song.”
“Me too,” I lie, as the unfamiliar pop music starts to play.
The club is full of young men, all seeming smaller and less impressive than Bryson, but it’s not their fault. They could be the same height as him, the same broadness, the same everything.
They still wouldn’t be him.
They wouldn’t come close to being my obsession.
Tiffany and the other women were born for the dance floor, spinning, laughing, and knowing the right moves in the right places. I do my best to join in, Tiffany taking my hands, spinning us in circles with a broad grin on her face.
“Are you feeling it?” she yells over the deafening hammering music.
I’m not sure what it is, but I don’t want to be a buzzkill. I nod vigorously, spinning around with her, feeling slightly foolish in the sparkly black dress. I can’t help but think what Bryson would make of seeing me here… if he’d want me more or less.
“Do you want a drink?” I shout in Tiffany’s ear, eager for any excuse to leave the dance floor for a little while.
She tells me yes, another vodka and coke. I navigate through the crowd, not liking it one bit when people brush up against me, especially the men. They’re not doing it on purpose. It’s just the general crushing throng, but any contact that isn’t Bryson feels like a betrayal.
I need to stop any thoughts like that and end them before they begin, but it’s difficult when I’d rather be with him, in his arms, quiet and relaxed, and just us.
After ordering a regular coke for myself and a vodka and coke for Tiffany, I look over at the dance floor, checking she’s in the same spot. I don’t want to navigate through the crowd if I don’t have to.
I wonder if that’s it—turning for maybe thirty seconds—the moment when the man slips something into my drink. One second, I’m at the bar, and then I’m in the parking lot, and a man has his hand wrapped around my waist as I struggle to stay upright.
I moan as I try to push his hand away, and he just laughs.
“Easy, you’ve had too much to drink.” He raises his voice as the world blurs, and I struggle to make sense of what’s happening. “No, she’s okay. She’s had too much… yeah, no, she’s going to be fine.”