Creative Fiction

“What are you doing tonight?” He whispered in my ear. I felt my head get hot as I tried not to think about the blush that was probably covering my face.

“Um. I’m busy.” I whispered back. I tried not to smile too much at the prospect of saying ‘No.’

“So, when can I see you again?” He replied. I felt like I had come to a cross-road. Honestly, I didn’t want to see him again. His hazel eyes were cute, and the brown hair was soft, but other than a hot make-out or two, I didn’t see this going anywhere.

“Are you on Facebook?” I asked, suddenly getting more serious. I wiped my sweaty hands on my shorts and stared straight ahead at the dancers swaying wildly to Rihanna, I usually stare into the middle-distance when thinking about what to do or say next. Possibilities began racing through my head: maybe I’m making this all up and he really is an interesting person and I’m only trying to find things that are wrong with him so as to distance myself from entering into another relationship? Or, maybe he just wants to see me again so we can jump into bed and then he’ll buy me breakfast and then we can pretend that we’ll see each other again (even though we won’t).

“Yeah.” He murmured, coming in closer to my neck. I could feel his warm breath on my skin and imagined his lips touching mine again. I shuddered. Nope. Don’t want this anymore.

“Great! So, I’ll look you up and maybe we can meet up sometime.” I blurted, shifting away a bit and running my hand through my hair. It was really hot and humid in the club and my fingers stuck as they went through the sweaty hair making my seemingly casual act a more painful, awkward jerk than what I had intended. He sensed my nerves.

“You OK?” He asked.

“Totally.” I said. I smiled to give him the idea that I meant what I said. I was ok. Really, although I felt myself get annoyed. Why was I in this club? I got talked into going out so as to see New York night-life and I suddenly regretted going at all. Hazel eyes was kinda’ cute, but honestly, I wasn’t looking for a dude who goes out and fist-pumps in clubs until 4am. I picked up my cup of water and sipped delicately still focusing on the horizon in front of me. I felt the cold water on my tongue and down the back of my throat as I tried to reason myself into staying on the bench in the dark corner of the club rather than getting up suddenly and looking for my friends. I chose the latter. “Well, I gotta go.” I stammered, jerking to my feet and putting my now drained cup on the closest table. “Um. Thanks for the make-out.” I turned and walked away from his puzzled face. I felt like laughing, but dared not to within 20 feet of this guy. I found my friends over by the bar looking tired and ready to go home.

“This place kinda’ blows.” I said to the group as I walked over.

“Oh yeah? We saw you making out with that Guido over there, Nat. He’s still looking at you.”

I shut my eyes in embarrassment and felt his look boring into my back like two hot laser beams. “Yeah… Well, that was a spur of the moment thing.” I stammered. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Did you get his number? He seems really in to you.”

“No. He’s just… not my type. I’m not looking for anything serious right now. Plus, I’m feeling really overwhelmed by his after-spray. I can still smell it on my shirt. I think that’s enough of him for a lifetime.” I giggled, feeling really mean and vindictive. Am I being evil? I totally toyed with that guy and I don’t give two cents for what he might be feeling. I recalled seeing him on the dance floor and dancing a couple songs with him before sitting down on the bench and feeling him pull me into the kiss.

“Ooookay. Let’s get out of here then.” My friends said, making their way toward the door.

I followed, the last in the line. I chanced a glance back at the guy to see if he was still there. He wasn’t. He had gotten up and was now dancing with another girl. “Bastard.” I mumbled. Then laughed. I’m jealous over him not being totally torn up about not getting my number? He’s here to bag a chick, not to get his heart and hopes broken over one rejection. Next time I go out: I’m going to a cafe in Brooklyn, I promised myself.

July 3, 2012 at 10:35 pm by Natalie Allen