She walked towards her car, keys clinking together with the sound resembling champagne glasses at a toast: soft, and subtle. The show was resting on its final applause and the singer was quickly packing up as if he were going to miss the last bus ride home. The parking lot was devoid of life, seeing as the girl was surrounded by what looked like storage crates with spray painted numbers designating each box. The girl wasn't very far from the applause, but her distance was enough to have an uneasy feeling settle in. Sketchy, was all she thought of the area she was invited to, even if the others didn't share the same concern.
The lights of her black civic beamed like twin beacons in the night, and she felt comfort swaddle her like a warm blanket. Her car meant she was one step closer to getting home. One step closer to what was familiar. A fluid hand opened the door, but the clearing of a throat in the near distance made her freeze. Her phone was in her hand while she turned to face the eager showman. His skin was ghost-like in the dim lighting——translucent, one might say. A stark contrast to his dark eyes, the girl noticed.
"Leaving? We were all about to get some dinner. You should come." His voice resembled tumbling rocks after all of his entertaining—coarse, but oddly soothing. The girl didn't think to mention her rationale for her Irish goodbye: many girls, even the one she invited, weren't there for the club's promotion, but to catch a glimpse of those dark eyes. She smiled with a polite glint of her teeth as a thank you for the offer, but it was one that shaded with decline.
"I'm sorry, but I have an early day tomorrow; next time, all right?" He noticed her fidgeting with her phone, and recalled during his set of "All of Me" by John Legend, a song that meant something to the both of them, another man took her to the side; they laughed, she smiled, and the man took a step closer to courting her in today's times: with a phone number.
Boy, did the times really change. The girl patiently waited for the showman to reply to her question, but he merely looked down. "Did you enjoy the show?" The change of the subject felt like a stall tactic to the girl, but the two have been down this road before—he moves forward, and when she reciprocates, he steps back. She smiled again "Yeah, course, you rocked it out there." She had to concentrate a little more to make her tone light, and it worked when he smiled at his accomplishment. Alas, the girl felt it was her cue to exit, stage left.
"You should get back, it's rude to keep all of those pretty admirers of yours waiting." She continued with the light teasing, since the girl and the showman were friends, but there was a undercurrent of sadness with how she spoke, for they were just friends.
"Don't think I didn't see you flirting with that guy, Missy." His tone leveled with hers, but his voice felt like it had an implicit sense of awkwardness. She knew how he felt: just friends... but, if that were true, why sing their song again? She chose now as the time to start pushing. Why not? They were truly alone after so long.
"He was nice, so I gave him my phone number." She didn't think anything of the second man. It wasn't in her nature to fall for the superficial.
"You know, he most likely just wants sex, right?" He tilted his head to the side, and the girl felt like she was being chastised by her father. It was his jealousy that made him say this, but she knew it was temporary.
"So it's okay for you to go out with other women, but the moment I show interest elsewhere, you decide to get all territorial?" She leaned back onto her car, and crossed her arms. His posture changed to mirror her own. She was being ridiculed, and he was the one getting mad? Ludicrous.
"I'm not getting territorial, I'm just looking out for you."
There's that reply again. With a sigh of breath, she reclaimed her composure. Her face went blank of everything but a thinned lip.
"I'm not worried about you, so you shouldn't worry about me." She unlocked her car door once more; when she turned toward him the first time, it closed on her, so she was left to it again—like an old wound. The showman watched her movements with silence as the realization stuck to him: she didn't care about him as she used to. It was bittersweet, that epiphany; on one hand, he wanted her, but on the other, he knew she deserved better.
"You're right, I don't." He retreated a couple of steps backwards.
"I mean, what are a few stolen moments compared to one of your biggest 'What If's?'" She continued.
He stopped with confusion clear as day written across those pale features.
She left the car door ajar, this time, and slowly closed the distance between her and the showman. Every step was met with another point in her argument:
Step 1: "Those girls only have your attention for a few minutes, maybe a night if they're lucky."
Step 2: "Me, on the other hand, we stopped that night. You stopped it. Even made the point to tell me if it happened again, you wouldn't make the same mistake twice."
He remained silent, but those dark eyes moved as she did. Closer and closer.
Step 3: "I'm now a What If?"
Step 4, and she stopped, a mere half foot from where he stood: "What if we didn't stop that night? What would have happened afterwards?"
Step 3, she closed a third of a foot: "What if I told you my feelings for you right now?"
Step 2, she was a quarter of a foot away: "What if we finished what we started?"
Step 1, a little closer: "What if you were only mad at me for flirting because you know that you care enough to let me under your skin?"
Step 0, they were now touching toes: "And, the scariest question—what if I chose to walk away right now?"
He was silent. Her brown eyes were trained onto his, and those lips that she unconsciously bit-something that still had its effect on him-and he leaned in closer. She pulled herself away from his reach; she wasn't going to let him win.
"Have a good rest of your night. I really did enjoy the show." She slowly backed away, finally closed the open car door, and drove off into the night. She was going home, but as she saw his fading image in the rearview, she remembered what he said to her in that one drunken phone call at 2 AM:
"You feel like home to me."
~
Haven't posted in a while.... tell me what you think?
xx
- r.
