Nothing More

Chapter Eleven.

Songs for this chapter are:

Fool For You- Zayn

Love Love Love- Of Monsters and Men

Gasoline- Halsey

...

Getting ready to go to a club is something I'm not even close to familiar with. I would say I'm right in the middle of being able to dress myself. I usually wear plain t-shirts with jeans or slacks, and since I've moved to Brooklyn, I've gotten a few jackets to add to my wardrobe. 

I don't know what type of club we are going to, or what Nora will be wearing. I don't know much about clubs in general and she's only given me the name of the place, no details. 

I opt for a gray t-shirt and dark jeans with rips in the knees. My hair is getting long in the front, it curls down slightly on my forehead but I can't decide if I want to cut it. I put some of Tessa's spray stuff in my hair and try to comb the unruly hair on my face. I like the scruffy look but I really wish I didn't have the patches of skin at the bottom of my cheeks that refuse to grow hair. 

I check my phone for the time and realize that I need to hurry the hell up, or I'll be late. I quickly roll my sleeves up and push my feet into my brown boots. When I put the address into Maps on my phone, I'm relieved that I can walk there in ten minutes. I'll use the walk to quiet my mind and try to think of interesting conversation points to keep Nora and her friend's somewhat entertained. Will they be into politics? I hope not, that never ends well. 

When I get to the club it's smaller than I expected a nightclub to be. I've been to a club once in downtown Detroit and it was twice the size of the brick building we are waiting in front of now. The setup of this club isn't like the movies, where there's always an over muscled, bossy man controlling the door. His little clipboard and earpiece hold the power to make or break the self-esteem of women who would never give him the time of day.

A simple nod from him while he unhooks the velvet rope, validates the two hours they have spent getting ready. If you're made to wait longer, you are nothing. That's what he wants you to feel like anyway and it's pretty messed up.

It's all a charade though, he still sleeps alone at night and he doesn't feel any better about himself the next morning. His power trip has a twelve-hour expiration. After that, he still hates himself and he's still mad that he didn't get that one big shot he deserved or that one hot woman who he didn't make an effort to treat with any sort of respect. It makes me a little sad to know that in 2016 people still care about getting into nightclubs based on their looks, I try my hardest not to buy into that, but I know it's easier said than done and in some circles, it's just what you do. 

I'm extremely relieved that this club isn't like the clubs in Detroit, or in the movies. The small red brick building is on the corner of the street, right next to a row of food trucks parked on a vacant lot. The street isn't as busy as the sidewalk, only a few green cabs and a Tesla drive by. More than a few people join the three of us on the sidewalk as we wait to go inside.

"They already have a table," Nora says, pointing inside.

I looking out of place. I text Tessa while I follow Nora inside and tell her I'm here. I feel a little bad that she's coming out with us, knowing that she would rather be in her bed, reading the highlighted pages of her favorite book. She would much rather be buried under her blanket, crying over the mistakes and regrets of these characters, wishing her relationship had ended like one of her novels. 

I had to take Nora's side there; lying in bed being miserable isn't good for her. I walk toward the door of the club and when it opens, smooth electric music tumbles out into the sidewalk. The beat is nice, slow yet fast, soft but complicated.