"You were set to marry my father's heir. My oldest brother," She picks up a cup, "Due to unforeseen circumstances, he has died. As second oldest, it is my duty to fulfill my father's wishes." I'm still utterly confused. She takes a sip, "You will ma...
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Ruth Foster
Being in public scares me. As a child, I feared people. I didn't like being around them, because each time I was, I was reminded of everything that I was not. It's the same way that I was convinced that everyone involved in my life, was secretly trying to kill me, and that I didn't belong anywhere.
Despite hating everyone and everything, I still found myself sitting down this cold barstool in a club that I didn't even want to be in. It's a miracle I haven't hurled myself right out the door. I should.
Instead I tapped the bar table, and caught the bartender's attention quickly, "I'd like to order a bottled water," Even after I said that, he still stood in place, and watched me with a look of confusion plastered all over his pale looking face.
He looked almost the same age as me. I'm barely twenty, and this was my first time at a club, attempting to drink at a bar. I've barely lived, and this man looked liked he's lived countless lives.
His skin was tattooed, and I mean noticeably. His arms were decorated in ink, skulls, snakes, words. It was frightening. Excellent career choice on his part, but scary. Did I really want to trust this man? It's bottled water, but I still like to keep it safe.
Playing it safe got me this far in life.
"Listen, lady. Take a look at where you're sitting," He responded back in a partly harsh tone, "It's a club. We have no bottled water, but if you're thirsty, feel free to drink from the tap." And with that, he walked away to go serve other people.
I furrowed my eyebrows, what did he mean by that, and why was he so rude? This is why I proudly hate the human race, "He meant that there's a sink in the bathroom where you can hunch over, take little sips, and wonder in your head if the water's contaminated or not," A voice spoke up.
I turned to find a nice looking woman standing besides me. I didn't notice her before, so I wondered how long she was standing. Clearly long enough to hear my conversation with the man.
"That makes more sense," I laughed awkwardly as she invited herself to sit besides me on the empty stool that was right next to me. I took another glance at her, and once I did, I couldn't stop at all.
Her hair caught my attention first. The length, the way it was wavy, dark, and the way it shined in the luminescent lighting of the club. The techno music played in the background, and it was as if everything moved in slow motion. I've never seen anything like her. Her eyes caught me next.
I instantly felt like a creep, and so I broke contact with her. I managed to keep my eyes off, until I heard her tap the bar table, just like I did before.
"Two margarita's, salt on the rim for both," She told the same rude bartender from before, and then turned her attention towards me. It was like she was analyzing me from head to toe, just I was doing to her. In the few seconds that I looked at her, I've already etched her into my brain. I know that she was wearing a black dress, and matching heels.
"Not a drinker, right?" She questioned.
I nodded, "Nope, never tried." I refrained from telling her that I wasn't exactly legally allowed to drink, but I had a feeling that she already knew.
"That's good," She said, "It's scientifically proven that drinking takes away years of your life."
"And here you are, trying to buy me a drink." I chuckled softly, "I could've lived forever."
"Trying?" Her eyebrows raised. "Tell me you don't want to drink with me, and I'll leave right now."
I do, so badly. "How do I know you won't poison me?" I smiled back, "For all I know, you could be some murderer who targets poor lonely girls."
"You don't. One drink can't hurt."
Despite my mind, which told me to ditch, my body stayed still in place. I wanted her, and I can't remember the last time I've wanted someone.
I knew as a child that there was something wrong with me. I didn't feel what other children felt. While girls my age were gushing over mediocre guys, I was gushing over them. I always knew I wasn't straight, not entirely anyways. I once kissed a boy. Was it good? No, and would I do it again to save my life? Also no, but I dated the boy for years.
His name was Bob. I hated the name, but when everyone was getting asked out to prom, no one asked me except Bob. So I said yes. I kissed him that night, and then the next few years that followed after, were torture. Fuck Bob.
Like on cue, the bartender came back with the margarita's. The unfamiliar lady, the one who's name I still didn't know, slid me a glass, and then saved the other one for herself. "Can't hurt."
"Can't hurt," I repeated it after her, and then took a sip. It wasn't as bad as I expected. I watched the woman lick the salt off the top of her glass, and so I did the same. I made a face, one she laughed at.
"What?" I giggled.
Her shoulders shrugged, "Nothing."
"Definitely something," I rolled my eyes playfully at her, "Tell me something you've never told anyone before," It's bold of me to ask something so personal of her, but I was suddenly feeling risky.
She placed her glass down, "I don't know. I'm an open book," Somehow I knew I doubted that.
"Fine," She rolled her eyes at me, and smiled, "I guess people have this idea of me. This idea that I'm this bitch all of the time, and I am, but I just believe that deep down the reason I am what I am, is because I don't know how to be anything else."
"I get you fully," A truth. I understood her.
"I'm afraid to be alone," I admitted, "I'm normally fine by myself, I'm used to it. But it scares the shit out of me sometimes. Not having someone." As someone who's been mentally alone their whole life, you'd think that I would've been used to it by now, but oftentimes I still wished I had someone.
I'm not talking friends, or family. I meant someone to hold at night when all I could dream about was my dead mother, or my dead father.
She raised her glass, "You'll always have alcohol," I raised my glass the same as hers, and smiled.
"Always have alcohol," I repeated.
For the rest of the night we drank, and talked. I didn't learn much about her, but at the same time, I did. I overshared on my part, way much more than I intended to, but I didn't care. I wanted to.
I wanted to be heard, seen.
By the time it was time for me to leave, she walked me out of the club, "Don't I get a name?" I felt like I was pressing. Maybe she didn't feel anything.
Maybe she didn't even like women. "Goodnight," Is all she said back, and just like that, It ended.
