Fatal Pursuit

seis

We weren't even at the club for a full hour before G ran off with some bleach-blond Swedish guy who claimed to be a model. He didn't even look my way once, I felt a sickly familiar feeling in my stomach as I always do when this happens. He wasn't even cute for real, his skin was practically translucent as he was as pale as a ghost yet I was the one being treated as if I wasn't there, okay Casper.

The enamored stares from men that I had received before were now lust-filled rubbernecking and the women looked down at me snootily. While yes, I want to be looked at, I want to be admired.

I passed by a group of boys that looked high-school aged and they started hooting and hollering at me in Spanish, I wasn't sure if they were talking to me until I turned around and one of them made a jerking-off hand signal at me.

As my confidence deflated, I started to forget why I even came out. Slipping into an empty booth in the most secluded part of the club, I laid my head in my hands, once again feeling stupid for getting my hopes up. I suddenly felt so ridiculous and exposed in this slip of fabric held together by two threads and sheer hope. I really should stop letting G hype me up. She has no idea how different our experiences are.

I crossed my legs tightly and folded my arms over my chest in an attempt to cover my most vulnerable parts.

As the night progressed, I thought to text G but every time I went to grab my phone I just imagined her in bed with that Swede, her legs wrapped around his alabaster hips, her nails dragging deep red scratches in his back, that would be the only color he would have.

Suddenly I heard a husky voice behind me, "Is that my American baby girl?"

I whipped my head around hopefully. It was the Portuguese bartender with the weird tattoo. His hair was scraped back into a man bun and he wore a muscle tee tonight, making sure everyone got a look at that... confusion on his bicep.

"Oh, hey." I replied sheepishly.

He frowned, "Something wrong?"

I looked away, my eyes starting to well up with tears again, "don't wanna talk about it."

He slipped right next to me in the booth, "Hey... what's going on," when I didn't answer he cupped my cheek with a brawny hand, directing my face towards his, "Look at me."

A traitorous tear spilled out from my eye, and down my cheek, "Oh, minha amada." He looked at me with tenderness and sympathy. As one would look at a stray puppy whose mother abandoned them.

"You are too beautiful to waste your tears," he said softly, using his thumb to wipe my tear. As he attempted to cheer me up with rehearsed feel-goods, I couldn't help but take him in.

Why not hook up with him? Fuck it. He's good-looking and he actually wants me,"Wanna make out?" I sniffed, his eyes widened and he wasted no time in taking my face up in his hands and planting his lips on mine. He breathed me in while our lips were together and breathed out in the brief moments that they were apart, almost like a sigh of relief. Like, finally I have you.