Chapter 5- Vi

I still don't know how Dyna managed to drag my ass here. But past the gyrating bodies, the neon lights and the ear-deafening bass, I can see just why she did. Crazy red lights and amnesia-inducing alcohol are just what I need to forget how scared I was last night. 

In minutes, I am drunk. Not wasted enough to topple from my heels- which are four-inches from the ground, by the way, attached to leather boots that reach up to my thighs- but slow enough to finally relax. Tequila therapy. 

I didn't know I needed lots of it; didn't think I would have to get so drunk I can barely see straight anymore. But while Dyna and I were dressing up to come here, laughing over the misfortunes of our haters at work, the police had come. 

The duo had dropped by "in respect to a murder that occurred in the area," and since I live close to the scene of the crime, wanted to know "if I saw something." They've been asking my neighbours a couple of questions too, so I'm not the only one they've visited. Naturally, that conversation had ended on an easy 'no, I don't know anything about the incident. I'm sorry.' And while I had been quaking from fear on the inside, thinking that they would somehow find out from my eyes that I had seen everything, I had had the most serene expression on my face as I spoke with them… Minutes later, they had disappeared.

And frankly, I think I handled that conversation quite well. What my major problem is exactly, is the fact that ever since then, I haven't been able to shake the feeling of being followed. Every part of me is hyperaware- from the tiny hairs at the base of my neck to the goosebumps that have risen along my skin. I definitely know I'm being watched. By whom, and why? That's the part that I haven't been able to figure out yet. 

But I'll admit that the alcohol helps with the nerves. That's why I've been topping up on it. And I'm so glad it's Saturday tomorrow, because there's just no way I'm waking up at five a.m. from the hangover that will result from this. 

"Coming here was a bad idea," I tell Dyna. She's standing next to me by the bar, emptying a shot glass.

She looks just as tipsy as I am, a lopsided grin on her face as she laughs. "Definitely not my brightest." 

"We need to leave," I say. I don't know how much of this I can take before passing out gracelessly. 

"But… But… You haven't gotten laid yet," she whines. God, she's so embarrassing.

"I have no idea what to do. I can't beg a random stranger to fuck me now, can I?" Apparently, I still have an ounce of self respect left, in some unmapped part of my brain that hasn't been knocked out cold by alcohol yet. 

"The term is 'seducing,'" Dyna corrects, rolling her eyes. "Vi, you're a hottie. Go out there. Strut your stuff. You've got this."

We both know I don't. And I feel like I'm going to face plant or ugly vomit very soon, yet her motivation and manicured fingers push me to the dance floor. Friends are the worst. 

As for the strip of tiling and flashing blue, pink, yellow and green lights... it's swarming with people- hot, sweaty bodies vibrating with the music- and while I can barely see anyone, or understand what is going on, I feel the excitement. It's contagious. Soon, I'm dancing against a total stranger with eyes that look green in the crazy lights. He seems nice and for a moment I forget that my last breakup was terrible enough to leave me celibate for two years, avoiding the male race like a plague. 

His hands are all over me as we move to the beat and he's whispering all sorts of things in my ears, even though I can barely hear them. Does he know that my drums are literally pounding from the music as every other sound blends into oblivion? Probably. Does he care? No. Five minutes into dancing, I know he just wants to fuck me. But that's what I'm here for. Right? I can't quite decide anymore. Because I've never done one-night stands before, and I'm not sure I want to start. But then also, I can't even enjoy the attention I'm getting because, for some reason, the hairs at the base of my skull are standing on edge again. 

A text pings into my phone. 

Unknown Number: Get the fuck out of there.  

I stare at the words for a while and it takes me a moment to even understand what they mean... and then another to convince myself that it's all just a prank or a case of 'wrong numbers', because it simply makes no sense that something like that will be directed at me. Especially from an unsaved line. 

My dance partner doesn't even give me time to dwell on it. Soon, he's pulling me to the back of the club, for some more privacy, right about the same time another text drops on my phone.

Unknown Number: If you go anywhere with him, I won't be held responsible for what happens. 

This naturally gives me pause and starts my soberization process immediately. What exactly does my texter mean by: 'I won't be held responsible for what happens'? Heck, was anything supposed to happen in the first place? And who do they think they are, sending me unsolicited texts that may or may not be threatening?

"Are you coming?"

I turn to my dance partner, realizing that I've stopped moving. I really can't believe I'm letting this mystery person's words affect me. 

"Can I rain check on that?" I ask.

My almost one-night stand definitely doesn't like the sound of that, but my texter does. 

Unknown Number: Good girl. 

The nerve on this guy.

At this point, I'm convinced it's a man. But what I'm still not clear on is who gave him the right to address me like that. 

And as I watch my former dance partner go, I'm simmering in pure rage. The whole aim of this exercise in the first place was to relieve my anxiety, not worsen it with more mysterious happenings. Certainly, the plan wasn't to let a total stranger control my life. I can't believe I'm about to lose a chance at getting properly laid because I'm afraid of some vague threats by text. Which, the more I think of it, could all be prank messages.

"Wait," I say. 

Possible One-night Stand stops, mid-turning to leave, raising a brow.

"Fuck me, please."

The look that comes on his face is precious. "What?"

To emphasize my aforestated point, I pull him and head towards the back. It's at that moment that consecutive gunshots pepper the air. Pandemonium breaks loose around me as people scramble away. And the guy? He abandons me without a blink, running for his life. The asshole. 

I'm dizzy, tired, angry, and something tells me this is all my fault. Plus, I'd have to be dead to not be scared out of my wits. I should bolt too, before a stray bullet finds me too enticing. But I don't know which muscles move my legs. While everyone around me is running, I'm standing stockstill, swaying on my heels, deliriously drunk. 

I finally try to move, but the floor shifts one more time and I barrel straight for it. Yet it is not as hard as I expected. It is warm, protective, comforting.