𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 | 𝐏𝐑𝐍 ❦

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

. ROXANNE .

december 8th, 1983
minneapolis, minnesota

°:. *₊ ° . ° .•

I feel disarranged. I know for certain I don't belong here.

The raunchy nightclub reeked of alcohol and marijuana, two things I didn't indulge in. My discomfited appearance was seemingly perceptible, hence the two women giggling at me from the corner of the bar.

My sister had to be in attendance for a show in Vegas tonight, giving me the golden opportunity to roam the nightclub as I pleased. I wouldn't normally do this, sneak off in the wee hours of the night to watch an artist perform. But it was for Prince and my heart couldn't refuse.

He was my friend, after all.

I walked toward the front row of the crowd, women giving me envious scowls while I did so. I was at a close enough distance from the stage, enough to be able to reach for his hand if I truly wanted.

The lights within the nightclub dimmed, causing the flock of fans to fall in a cheering fit. Prince and his bandmates walked toward their respective instruments and if it were possible, the audience's excitement heightened.

"Good evening," Prince's velvety voice addressed into the microphone. His eyes scanned the crowd, in search of me I presume. The moment his eyes hovered over my direction, the corner of his mouth curled upward. I wanted to turn away from his gaze but I couldn't. There was something about his presence— his stage presence— that I just couldn't seem to shake.

The irritable screams and chants emitting from the crowd seemed to fade as my focus geared toward the man that made my heart beat significantly faster.

Bobby began to rhythmically drum, the audience slowly becoming unhinged. I'm sure they knew which song Prince and his band intended to perform but I had no knowledge. Almost everyone around me seemed to have gotten someone to jive with and a man was even courteous enough to extend his hand out to me. I politely declined and continued to watch as Prince prepared to sing.

Matt's keyboard playing followed suit, creating a sound that was most definitely pleasing to the ear. I wasn't familiar with Prince's music. It was no secret that I wasn't a fan of his vulgar aesthetic but I loved the way he expressed himself through it. I watched as he seductively walked toward center stage, placing the microphone on its stand.

"Excuse me but I need a mouth like yours," he softly chanted, his index finger grazing his bottom lip before pointing at a random woman. "To help me forget the girl that just walked out my door."

The synergy between him and the women that so desperately craved for his attention was intoxicating. These surroundings— this place— it was deplorable to see young ladies flash their breasts and throw their undergarments on stage. It was as if Prince had casted a spell on these women, as spell that I could never fall for.

My mother always told me that women of that nature, women that had no shame, were easy cherries to be picked. I was never one to judge and at first, it amazed me that Prince had that much star power to make women fawn over him the way they do. But, after noticing how reciprocative he was, my amusement dwindled.

"My girl's gone and she don't care at all," the entertainer belted out as he seductively creeped toward center stage. "And if she did, so what?! Come on baby lets b-a-all." His hips bucked back and forth in sync with his words, my eyes widening at the use of his lower region.