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My heart was on the verge of collapsing. I could almost feel it sliding up my throat in a fit of defeat. That night I gagged on my own words perpetually, and to placate such a feeling I made sure that the drinks were continuous. Prior to my departure I called my girlfriend to confirm her feelings regarding my plans for the night. She put up a brilliant front, completely concealing her previously evident insecurities, and convinced me that for once she was perfectly content with my immutable desire to go out. Her voice cracked slightly as she said goodbye. Before I had the opportunity to console her, I heard the dial tone. I’d been forced to deal with those incessant fits for three years. I wasn’t so sure how I tolerated it, but a large portion of my stomach had been torn away from all of the anxiety she’s caused me. I often perused the thought of leaving her for other women, but thus far I’ve failed at meeting anyone of actual aesthetic and emotional merit. Any pretty face can mislead you from the path in which you are comfortably pursuing, but ultimately it is what is most comfortable that will set you into place immediately.
At times, I couldn’t bear looking at myself. All of the horrible acts I’ve ever committed seemingly catch up to me as I began to deem myself hideous. My face sometimes becomes transparent. That evening I slipped on a navy blue blazer that my girlfriend had given me for our year and seven month anniversary when I realized that it looked terrible on me. I gazed shamelessly into my reflection in search of flaws. My eyes were rendered glossy with disappointment and immense shame. I considered myself to be a good-looking person, once. My face was nicely structured, and though my features were not extravagant, I always assumed that I retained this charisma that intensified my patently bland features. Then, I reached a point in my life in which I fell into what most would consider an “unmentionable” life style. When truth no longer was told with ease, I deemed myself a terrible person. I spent my days in a constant state of restlessness. When my love for my girlfriend could no longer placate me I searched elsewhere, often in a deep state of inebriation. I sunk into alcoholism, among other things. My family was in complete understanding of the downward spiral I was effortlessly slipping into and despite that, they allowed me to proceed.
“ One day, I will be a better person.”
I decided to keep the blazer on hoping that I would gain confidence in it throughout the course of the night. I closed my eyes briefly and assured myself that I was attractive through the means of a superficial mantra. The alarm was set, dog tied, and within minutes I was gone.
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“Someone got sexy for me tonight.”
Following a brief grin, I embraced him tightly. He pulled away and began to laugh. My insecurities intensified immediately.
“That little blazer is complimenting your beer belly well, Julian.”
“Thank you.”
The thing about Alexander, my supposed best friend, is that his blunt statements and insensitive nature are what initially attracted me to him. I was spineless the majority of my adolescence, but when I met him he effortlessly cemented my insubstantial structure. Throughout high school we were infamous for pursuing our lives according to whatever pleased us regardless of any repercussion for our actions. The male portion shared a sick combination of envy, hatred, and fear towards us while we had every female at our disposal emotionally and physically. Any trifles that usually dominated the mind of the typical high school student never crossed ours. Any substantially serious issue did not faze us.
We both considered ourselves to be somewhat attractive, and as a result of this I suppose we beamed this immutable sense of confidence that made girls beg for us. Alex was heartless by nature, but it took time for me to build myself up and begin rejecting those frail little beings once feelings were professed. The only person who could break through my false exterior was Alex and he knew of this quite well.
“Where’s your bitch tonight?”
“Doing what she does best.”
“ Bjs to the neighbors, or what?”
“No, no she’s at home probably crying.”
“ Christ. How do you fucking live with yourself?”
“You say that like I care.”
“I just thought you’d bring her tonight since she hasn’t come with us in a while.”
“ You would think that I’d been avoiding dragging her along for a reason.”
“ Oh, alright alright. Y’might want to shit out that dick that’s stuck in your ass before tonight gets started. Just a tip.”
“I’ll try.”
“Well let’s fucking dip. I’ve been saving stomach room all night for this shit..”
We left the parking lot behind the plaza in which we would call home for the evening. It was rich in clubs, bars, women, and least importantly- music. We were regulars at each of these venues, being infamous in the plaza for all of the same reasons our names lingered in the mouths of our former peers. We had been regulars for at least four years, and for some reason unknown to both of us, our usually fickle appetites had yet to been jaded by the clubs there. Our club of preference was the most renown of all the places in the plaza. The people who attended were considerably attractive and cultured in comparison to the crowd that hung around the other places with cheap drinks and a stale fucking soundtrack that seemed to remain the same for months until the owner decided to retire it for an even older and tasteless one.
The women at our club, Suede, were well kept. Their eyes were usually thick with eyeliner, which was tactically applied, and they kept their hair trimmed and dark. When there was color in their hair, it would usually not be subtle. I’d never seen so many girls with shamelessly vibrant heads until I became a weekend regular at Suede. Many wore red lipstick to contrast with their pale skin and black outfits, and others purposely lightened them to emphasize their elaborate eye makeup. The girls were always so optimistic and so easily persuaded. As far the gentlemen, most of them were like Alexander and I; well-dressed horny assholes who were in hopes of catching a fade and some easy pussy. Some of the guys were quite questionable, being that Suede is usually the venue of preference for the interesting and fashionable crowd; many of them were gay. I’ve been hit on many a time and am often confused for a homosexual. I couldn’t count how many times I’ve brutally beat the shit out of the ones who have hit on me, and for some reason the bouncers and other forms of authority are perfectly content with our perpetual attendance to the place. Perhaps, like every other person, they feared us.
We entered effortlessly. As a result of the time, the crowd was nearly at the peak of it’s inebriation. I breathed in the air without hesitation, and knew that something was different. Alex and I went straight to the bar and after a few drinks we were ready to mingle.
[to be continued]
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