Page 46 of Breaking Sanity
Are we dreaming?
That voice is familiar.
But from where?
Chapter 9
Alley
3 years ago
I cannot believe that Marney got me the VIP ticket for this club. I readjust my mask and tap my foot to the vibrations of the base. It has been awhile since I have gone out to a club or bar so I am trying to get comfortable in this environment.
“You sure you don’t want something stronger, love,” The bartender asks, Brittany I believe is what she said her name was.
She has been super sweet and shooed away a few creepers. Not to mention the several guys and couples I apparently insulted by saying no.
“I’m good with ice water,” I yell over the obnoxiously loud music.
It almost reminds me of walking into Hot Topic when they still used to blare heavy metal. Though here “break me!” By Maggie Lindemann & Siiickbrain plays instead of “Tears Don’t Fall” by Bullet For My Valentine.
“You got it,” she smiles and refills my drink.
I am too nervous to actually be drinking; in case something happens I need to be alert. It’s been a couple of hours since I got here and still haven’t found anyone I find remotely interesting. They all seem pretty plain and not to mention boring.
Can we go home, please?
“I think I am done,” I get her attention. “Thank you so much!” I slide her a twenty and hop off the barstool.
My eyes scour the walls looking for the bathroom sign. I have had about 9 glasses of water and I am dying. When I finally locate the bathroom sign, I almost jump for joy. Unfortunately, the restroom appears to be on the other side of the dance floor.
I try to make my way through the crowd of people dry humping each other; some are even having sex on the couches by the dance floor. Pushing through the crowd, a warm body glues itself to my back. I feel fingers graze the hem of my dress then another finger traces my neck. Forgetting about my bladder, I lean back into the familiar warmth. As quick as the person appeared, the warmth disappears and I am being pushed forward. I catch my balance before I take out one of the oblivious dancers. I look around but everyone I see is lost in their own little worlds with their partners and I am too short to see if someone was walking away. I return to my mission of getting to the bathroom.
Luckily there is no line for the restroom and I dart in before the poor janitor has to clean up a puddle of urine along with all the other fluids I can only imagine are all over this place.
After I relieve myself, I walk out of the stall, readjusting my dress. I decided to go with a dark purple minidress paired with my sexiest black studded stilettos. Which took two hours of practice to remember how to walk in, without looking like a newborn foal. Looking at myself in the mirror, I actually feel pretty. I can’t remember the last time I have had that feeling or even enjoyed looking at myself in a mirror.
I actually did my make up with a smokey cat eye look and waved my long coffee colored hair. I decided to go with a deep purple almost black lip to tie the look together. I definitely look like a gothic pinup. The addition of the monster masquerade mask gives a little confidence boost. It’s the same color as my dress but encased in lace and a black beaded border with sharp monster teeth on the bottom barely covering my top lip.
You look stunning!
I want to go home.
Let’s go then.
I take a deep breath, a little disappointed that this whole look went to waste but at least I can say I tried. Leaving the bathroom I head toward the staircase that leads to the exit, when a dark shadow snags my attention. It’s just looming in the corner, wearing a deep blue mask that shimmers under the flickering light. I feel as if it’s tracking me, but I could be just paranoid. I have felt, more and more, like I am being watched everywhere I go, including in my apartment. More than likely it’s staring at the group of younger women who could’ve stepped off a magazine cover.
Don’t do that to yourself! You are gorgeous.
Remember we are just the place holder.
Don’t go there.
Tears start to burn the back of my eyes as the entirety of my dating history rushes my mind. There are only so many times you are called or shown that you are purely the placeholder. My long on and off ex-boyfriend proved that 100 times over, then my ex-husband proved that during the separation and divorce. Well, it started right after I got pregnant but I didn’t find that out until after.
I guess my dad planted that seed a long time ago and their words and actions just kept it growing. Not to mention the friends with benefits relationship I had, where he would never commit. I couldn’t detach my feelings so I had to end it. Also, the amount of times I have been ghosted.
“Going somewhere,” a voice asks as I reach the stairs. His hand interlocks with mine on the railing.
