A Night Out

It’s 1:30 in the morning and the bass is hammering so hard I feel it beat in time with my heart. It could be my adrenaline. 

No one sees me. I’m invisible to them. 

I’ve always had the ability to make myself invisible. Most of my life was spent being invisible to others. It’s a hell of a super power right now. 

The lights are flashing and the beautiful bodies of strangers are grinding against each other to music. It’s an odd mating ritual. I don’t understand it. You get dressed up, made up, and go writhe against a stranger in the hopes of either getting laid or a prospect of getting laid at a later date- and maybe just maybe this night of painted up grinding on a stranger will lead to a relationship. Isn’t that how I got here though? 

The bar is backlit and the bottles glow with ephemeral promises of a good time. The floor is sticky where hopeful patrons have bumped into each other, or tried to maneuver around each other unsuccessfully. Hopes and dreams and promises all spilled out, laid bare, and left as a sticky residue on a dirty floor. 

I amble through the labyrinth of bodies attempting to make my way to the bathroom. I’ve been here before - to this club, not this situation - a million times before. Wealthy frat boys and the girls that hope to marry them and become trophy wives congregate here. Beautiful people living beautiful Instagram lives. Worshipping at the altar of materialism and lust. I used to belong here. Not that I fall into either category of wealthy frat boy or gold digger. I fell in between. A guest by proximity. Being beautiful has its advantages. Yet, even being beautiful, standing out just enough to get the invite, I blend in and go unnoticed. Except by her. She noticed me. Everyone noticed her.  

Tonight, I’m anything but beautiful. I’m caked in dirt and blood. A backpack on my shoulder. It’s dark and everyone is so self absorbed or so intent on their mission of hooking up that they don’t see me. The bouncer was so busy flirting with a hopeful girl trying to get in that he didn’t even see me slip past him and through the door. 

I know I’m leaving a trail of evidence behind me. Flakes of dried blood in caked mud sloughing off with each step that I take. The vibration of the thrumming bass does nothing to help this. 

I’m careful to avoid the bar area where it is more lit up and I’m more prone to bump into someone and get noticed. 

But I’m invisible. I was invisible when I came in upon him tonight, too. Her and him. He didn’t see me coming.  She did though. She always saw me. 

A group of gorgeous girls come tumbling out of the bathroom, the one in the middle rubs her nose and sniffles- it doesn’t take a genius to know why. I move back into the shadows and avoid eye contact. They don’t see me. 

I slip in and thank whichever gods that exist the bathroom is blissfully empty. I throw the lock in place. Within seconds someone is pounding on the door. It’s ironic that this is where I ended up. It’s where it started  a year before. Her and I. Escaping into this bathroom. Locking the door. Her back against the wall. 

I throw my backpack on the floor and turn the faucet on. 

She fell in love with me. I fell harder. He never gave her up and refused to let her go. 

I begin to remove my blood and mud caked clothes. I take care to put them in the trash can, moving around the other garbage so that they slip to the bottom.

He promised her that he would always own her. She would always be his. We took our concerns to the cops. They didn’t care.  They didn’t listen. He never stopped. According to the cops, his feelings were just hurt. He’s a good guy with a promising future. He would eventually stop, they said. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. 

I pull the trash bags from the stalls and put it on top of the pile of garbage camouflaging my blood and dirt covered clothes. 

I stick my head under the faucet and let the hot water run over my scalp and face. The way she touched my face or ran her fingers through my hair. The way she told me I was the most beautiful girl she’s ever met. She saw me. Really saw me. Being seen is a powerful drug. 

The mud and the blood rinse from my hair and face down the drain with my tears and with my hopes. This is not what I wanted to become. I didn’t have a choice. He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t leave her alone. He wouldn’t leave us be. I have to hurry and finish cleaning up before the last call. 

The hot water reminds me of the feeling of his hot blood on my hands. I didn’t expect it to flow like that. Viscous and hot. And so much of it. 

There is more angry pounding on the door. Shouting. 

I need to move faster. 

My eyes look dead - I watched his eyes as he died. As the light went out.

I slick my hair back into a tight knot. Reminiscent of an old Robert Palmer video - if you don’t know what I’m talking about- Google it. It was iconic a million years ago. I’ve always loved the classics. So much more raw than today’s autotuned bullshit. 

She loved to listen to the classics with me. Laugh at the videos as we streamed them on our television. 

I add my heavy black eye makeup and dark burgundy lipstick. It looks dramatic against the paleness of my face. His face went pale as his eyes went dark and his blood drained so fast. 

I pull out a thin black tank top and black pants and throw them on. I rub the dirt and blood off of my chunky Doc Martens and throw on my necklaces. I look once more at my hands - hands that just killed a man and dragged his body to a river and dumped him like trash - and make sure to clear any remaining residue from underneath my nails. 

He shouldn’t have tried to do what he was about to do. Not to her. I wouldn’t let that happen. He had to know I wouldn’t let that happen. He had a death wish.

The pounding on the door is getting more intense. 

I take a wet paper towel and clean up the flakes of mud and blood that fell around me as I cleaned myself up. 

I double check that my clothes that I shed cannot be seen in the trash can. I check the sink. I check my makeup. Flawless. 

I open the door and make my way back through the crowd of angry girls who were made to wait. 

And she’s there. Waiting for me. Against the bar. Just like the first night where it all began. She watched me kill a man. And she is still here for me. She still loves me. Because she knows I did it all for her and I would do it again. 

The lights come on letting everyone know it’s time to go home. I notice that eyes fall on us - see us - as they adjust to the bright light. The music cuts off. The party is over. She takes my hand and we make our way out in the crowd. 

No one will ever know. Except for her and I.