Asocial Existence | Eminem

15

From this point on, there was no more "alarm clock"

From this point on, there were no more visits to the convenience store for ice cream

From this point on, there were no movie nights

No visiting the hill

No biking

Nothing.

It all went dead. He claimed we weren't over but didn't invite me to come to his next concert trip, and hasn't contacted me in weeks. I attempted to call him twice, but he didn't pick up nor respond to my voicemails. Could I have tried more? Yes. Did I want to? No. I expected this to happen. I'm ok with this... I think.

Sure I feel like some part of me was ripped away. Yeah, I stopped watching his interviews. Yes, I cried one night listening to Landslide by Fleetwood Mac which I find quite embarrassing. Yeah, I talk to the convenience store lady more and more now. I think she considers me an acquaintance now, which is progress I suppose. Sure I stopped imagining him bursting through my front door.

It's fine, it happens, people leave you. Sometimes it's without notice, or after they promised to stay. I'm my case it was both. He got what he needed out of his relationship with me and I got what I needed out of my relationship with him.

I did learn something. To never ever let that happen to me again. I can't believe it even happened. I can't believe I was stupid enough to "fall in love" with someone as unreliable as him. He was a smooth talker, I'll give him that. He did a fucking annoyingly good job at convincing me this shit was gonna last.

"Mr. Blue sky, please tell us why you had to hide away for so long..." I mumble the lyrics that play from my record player, just trying to lighten my mood.

I pour myself a shot of Vodka, downing it with a flick of the wrist and then wandering over to my couch.

Movie, I'll watch a movie... Comedy? Yeah, comedy. Ferris Bueller's day off. Yeah, classic.

I don't even bother to use the shot glass anymore, I just press it onto the coffee table and hold the entire bottle in my hand. I turn to alcohol on occasion. I'm not an alcoholic per se but taking the edge off sometimes is enjoyable.

The movie's duration kept me distracted from thinking about things too hard. I haven't even been missing him, I've just been beating myself up over allowing him into my life in the first place. It's all my fault. Why couldn't I have pushed him away like everyone else? Like god damn, I'm a fucking dumb bitch.

I'm drunk already, that's for sure, but it's only eleven. I'm bored, I want to do something. A club. I wanna go to a club and get stupid amounts of drunk.

I'm not going to go to find someone else, that'd be stupid, but rather just people watch. It can be fun imagining other people's lives and trying to figure out what led them there that night.

"Yup, a club it is" I announce to no one out loud, walking slowly into my bedroom and pulling open my closet. I feel hazy and incredibly tired, but I just ignore this feeling of incredible fog.

I grab a tight black slip dress out of my closet and a pair of fishnet stockings.

"Poor Marshall didn't get to see me in anything like this..." I mutter before breaking out in stupid laughter. "Oh well, he doesn't deserve shit"

I don't hate the guy, it's fine he left, but it's much easier to move on when you hate the person. So for now, my drunk state is going to pretend to hate Marshall.

I dress up at the rate of a fucking turtle and pull my phone out to call a cab that will hopefully arrive by the time I get downstairs. I feel like throwing up, something rising in my throat, and my stomach aches in some way that I don't recognize. This is the first time I've been this drunk in well... ever. I'm only twenty and while the drinking age is twenty-one, I crafted myself quite the fake ID once.

I know, I'm shitty, really shitty. It's whatever, what difference is a year? Ok so technically I can sign myself up for the military, go to a third-world country and terrorize people there, steal their resources, come back here, and pretend to be a hero or some shit? I can take people's lives in other countries which is totally fine at the age of eighteen but God forbid I intoxicate myself at twenty!

It's all bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit.

I get down to the lobby and watch as the cab pulls up, making me grateful I don't have to sit around in the chilly weather.

"Where to?" He asks me and I sigh, trying to remember the name of that nightclub that was in a news article I read a while back.

"Uh... Men... Menjo's... yeah, there, the night club" I mutter, sounding like I'm talking to myself. Thankfully he nods with a knowledgeable expression.

I'm pissed off at myself as my brain instantly points out every place we've biked to, every street we've crossed, as the cab takes me about thirty minutes from my place.

Fucking asshole, can't even call, even if we're done, which we are in my books, at least answer a fucking voicemail!

"This is your stop ma'am" the driver alerts me, stopping in front of a disturbingly run-down-looking building that does in fact have the name Menjo's written on it.

"Ma'am, I'm just letting you know that this is a gay bar" he softly warns me and I remember seeing those words in the review. Oh right... shit. I mean, women are hot. Do I wanna a relationship? No, but it's not like I'm straight.

"Yep, I like women" I simply respond, slipping him the fare, before getting out, slightly slamming the door behind me.

Ok... let's see how this goes.

***

Despite the way it looks on the outside, it was incredibly well done on the inside. The lights, the disco balls, the drag, the booze, oh damn, anything you could think of.

I've found myself sitting at a high-top table with another woman. She's got really gorgeous eyeliner on, a beautiful green velvet dress, and these sweet black velvet pumps to tie it all together. I really want to touch her, it seems like her skin is very soft.

Could I kiss her? That'd be uncalled for. Not to mention invasive, so I just imagine it in my head. Her lips look so soft. She's got a natural-colored gloss on her lips, making me imagine what it tastes like.

"The atmosphere is so good here, I come here every Saturday, it's just a lot of fun," she tells me, her voice soft and mature, making me want her even more.

I won't do anything tonight, cause I'm drunk and will most likely regret it, but imagining it isn't a crime right?

"Yeah, from the outside I didn't expect this... but it's really nice..." I mutter back, loud enough for her to hear over the music.

"Mhm... so how long do I have to make mindless small talk before I get your name?" She asks, resting her head on her palm and looking at me with a flirtatious smirk.

Well, I appreciate that she calls the shots, but she isn't getting my name under any circumstances.

"You aren't getting my name, I'm not getting yours..." I tell her, getting an eyebrow raise, "we're going to talk the rest of the night, get even more wasted than we already are, and then we're gonna go home, wake up the next morning, and wonder what happened last night. We might be thinking, 'I'm quite sure I met someone, but I don't remember their name' because we didn't get them. We'll move on, having only met once, possibly with a story to tell, I don't know" I ramble, explaining to her how the night will conclude.

"Sounds like the plot of a movie... I like you, anonymous pretty woman" She giggles, raising her shot glass, hoping I'll respond with the same gesture, which I do. 

From that point onward I proceeded to remember absolutely nothing that went on. Yeah, shocker? I woke up with the worst hangover I've ever felt, but it felt deserved. 

This is what happens when you interact with the outside world. Knowing this, never fucking do it again.