"I thought we were going to some bar!" I shouted over the music as Miranda dragged me through the crows and straight to the dimly lit VIP area of a nightclub I had never been to. People were crowded together as the music continued and the night could only grow young to the people we had passed–drunk off their minds and something else.
There sound of our shoes being audible was impossible and as she turned just one last time, just before she spotted a familiar face and bob, she simply offered me a toothy smile and leaned a little towards me shouting above her voice. "I lied!"
I rolled my eyes as I laughed and threw a loud enough answer. "Should've guessed it!"
Of course, she would let me believe we would simply have a few drinks and that was that, because she knew pretty well how I chose not to get heavy with my partying–I had issues. Much to my disappointment and excitement, I was there and all dolled up too. Perhaps it wasn't such a horrible thing. They weren't the sort of people to get embarrassingly intoxicated. Tipsy? Yes, but heavily drunk that they would need to be dragged out and neither was I, though one drink always led to another and me being too happy–I was so screwed.
The drinks got to the table fast as if by some order of some sort of magic–shots for all. I had no clue as to why I had gone with the masses and hadn't just gone for a cocktail or two, instead we hit hard immediately. It burned as it went down my throat and after more shots my body felt warm as my tongue threatened to numb–I hadn't stood a chance in the first place. Music continued as the night went on, my thoughts melted as I led myself on one cocktail after the other and danced in the bubble of the alcohol pumping through my veins.
I felt super free of something I couldn't y, within myself was this bubble of warmth and everything felt right-sweet.
I was happy and so a trail of words I couldn't recall came and went.
My lips felt heavy.
"How well did it go?" Miranda at least sounded as if she could pull a conversation off. I guess we were somewhere in one of Cora's dates and to my awareness what had led to Cora's failed relationships was the conversation of how hard it was to date as an ethnic woman these days when it was meant to be somewhat easier things since the times were changing. I had only listened and had maybe added on the part of 'change' and we had laughed about it and then found ourselves diving into one of Cora's dates.
I didn't even dream of being in a relationship.
Cora, on the other hand, rolled her eyes at the presented question. "The date? Awful."
"Again?" Miranda wrinkled her nose as the other girls laughed with me.
"It was weird."Cora picked up a shot, paused just to shake her head, and then, after a sigh, she threw it down her throat.
"The rest of us stand no chance." Mia tugged her wavy locks behind her ear. Her day look involved glasses and a pair of pants and a frown-worthy blazer, at least according to her. By the rest of us, she meant herself, a 5'10 Asian woman with legs to kill and a heavy chest she did her best to hide and hips somewhat difficult to turn 'professional', Sienna who was part Filipino and quite slim and 'tiny' and hated her boss, to of course me and my wide hips and big thighs and my stubbornness which I felt was justified, which some argued wasn't going to take me anywhere, and then my past with a gross and creepy manager–the desire to date was, in itself, just torture.
"What happened?" Sienna let out a giggle.
"He was. . .nice, tried too hard, and just when I thought he might get it right he started making. . .jokes." Cora shut her eyes before she pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Why?" I managed to let out, dipping my head as if I was staring at the blueprint of this supposed bad date's brain.
Cora sighed. "I kept asking myself the same thing. Why?"
"He was trying to impress you." Miranda laughed.
"Why?" Cora let out a laugh herself.
"I don't know why being a woman is this hard." Mia went for a shot and then two–she was going to have to be dragged out of there with the rate at which she was going.
"Men are just. . .terrified ambitious women." I picked up my glass and held it for a while.
Mia leaned close. "Your ng woes?"
"You could say." I shrugged.
"Then there's the body thing, I can't take it!" Mia threw as she went for another shot.
I joined her–life was hard.
"Miranda's so lucky!" Cora looped an arm around hers.
"You guys always say that." Miranda rolled her eyes. "Things will get better for you too."
"But Daniel's so sweet!"
"Handsome and smart. . .and doesn't expect you to lose weight because–"
"I'm fine this–"
"You know what I mean. It's like people expect you as soon as you get into a relationship to lose weight because now you're happy and being fat was just. . .the depression of being single!" Mia threw her hands in the air.
"The audacity!" Sienna high-fived Mia proudly.
"It's not like we need a man to be happy." I tugged a free curl behind my ear.
"Try convincing people that." Sienna sighed heavily.
"I wouldn't." I laughed.
Sienna leaned a little forward. "Good for you then. It's miserable to try and your sex life dies with it."
"If you have one." I sighed as I muttered.
"You don't?" Cora widened her eyes. It wasn't something to cry over to me, especially with my divorce and everything. I had barely been thinking about intimacy the past year and of course, every human had his needs but I wasn't sure I needed to care about mine that way or about dating in general when my life was as messy as it was–I had better things to consider. Or at least I felt mature thinking this way.
"Is it that bad?" Mia arched a brow as she leaned close in concern and probably for comfort.
"It depends on how you look at it." I let out a laugh. "A year of no. . .action isn't that bad to me."
Cora's jaw had probably hit the floor. "A year?"
"Why?" Miranda arched a brow.
"I guess I've gotten used to it." I found myself shrugging and emptying the last shot. I wasn't even sure just what I had gotten used to exactly, but the words had tumbled right out of my lips. My curls weren't tied on top of my head this time and their texture didn't make it that hard to work the hairstyle–and black was my close friend. My dress practically clung to my hips and dipped low along my chest. And my body was way too warm and I had way too much alcohol to care.
"I'm sorry, but that sounds awful." Cora offered me a sympathetic smile.
"My life's a mess anyway." I tried my best to avoid eye contact and do not get all worked up over this or feel old because of what I had just said. The table couldn't offer me a distraction and so my throat felt dry, almost constrained–the music wasn't loud enough.
"You'll. . .get back on the horse easily," Mia said, cheerfully or at least attempted to.
"Date? The thought of that gives me a headache." I let out a laugh and tried to downplay this whole thing. I guess I wasn't a fan of pity, it made me feel tiny and was threatening to leave me sober. My thoughts themselves were getting frigid and so was my smile probably, the way I had eyes on me wasn't even easy–suddenly this was no longer fun. I felt hostility toward my whole body as I kept shifting in my rubbery leather seat and cleared my throat, attempting to find the right words to send all this away. To distract them and put everything away, because my palms were already sweaty and my head weighed quite heavily–it was threatening to give in.
Even last year I had hated the way my family had been so careful and sorry around me–I hated it when people felt sorry for me. What had happened to me had happened and I couldn't remedy it. My heart had probably torn apart to the point that I hardly felt a thing anymore. How could I say that? Where was I going to start? My divorce and the loss of my child suddenly made me feel too old as if I had lived for far too long and had too much baggage to fit into their swanky lives.
Who was I trying to fool? Who was I trying to prove something to? I didn't belong there.
I completely didn't.
I was just not rude enough to just get my butt up and just run–I stayed for the remainder of the night. I guess at some point even the conversation had lightened and laughter returned. And I tried to pull it right out of me and tried to not worry about what they probably thought of me now, and shoved a smile against my face I failed to make myself believe it.
I felt alone and surrounded by strangers, which somewhat made me feel unwanted.
I missed my bed, but mostly, and truly, I wished I hadn't shown up.