Starting A Club And (maybe) A Long-lasting Relationship

3. I join a club I think is a cult

3
I've had a total of seven roommates since I started uni. Each time we end a year together, I essentially disappear like a world-class magician. Sometimes I feel bad about it because they're probably really nice people that I just couldn't handle talking to. Other times I feel relieved that I don't have to force myself to talk to them any more.

Gosh, my days at uni have been boring. They'll keep being boring and my twenties will end in regret because I've just done the most boring things all my life. So, I figured if I tried practicing how to form a club, I should start by joining one. Experience is always the answer, sometimes. I find forced experience to be a particularly good motivator. Although I hate it, I tend to think 'Wow! I did that on my own. Well done me!'.

I mean, who gets excited just by going to a shop down the street to buy something as little as ramen packs? Me. I'm Who. And Who gets really excited. Just doing one little independent thing for herself makes Who happy.

I always keep my nose buried in my phone though, laughing. It's mostly because I want to avoid seeing someone I know from class or because I have no friends and would like people to think I do. Either way, it's no secret that I'm just staring at the blank screen and laughing like a maniac. It's either I do that or look at the ground when I walk but that usually ends with me hitting my head on a tree branch and feeling embarassed about it.

Whoever created eye contact should go to jail. They're killing people like me via mild heart palpitations, panic attacks and breathing problems.

For the first time though walking around campus, I actually have someone texting me. I've been asking for directions to the block the members of my club was supposed to meet at. Yeah, I've been around four years and I still don't know where the animation lab is despite being part of the Fine Arts faculty.

My strategy for the club meeting is to remain invisible most of the time. If I came too early, that'd force me to be the one who welcomes everyone. If I came too late, everyone else before me will turn around and look at me standing by the door as if I'd yelled some slur and ran off. I opted to come just in time but wait outside the room until a whole group of people walk in so I can walk along behind them and pretend I'm part of them. Sadly, just one person walks in and that's that.

I knew signing up for a random club with few members would be a bad idea. I hadn't thought of the possibility that I might have signed up for a cult. I mean, why else is no one heading in?

I just about turn around and bury my head into my phone screen. Unfortunately, someone decides to call. It vibrates in my hand suddenly and I drop it, startled by the sensation. I let out a swear unintentionally. Probably 'shit!'.

No one's ever called me and I'm scared shitless that I might have had the volume all the way up. I don't want people knowing my ringtone and I don't want to talk on the phone. It's weird. Where do I even look when I'm talking on the phone? Not like there's a face to look at. And how am I supposed to stand when I'm on the phone? People look effortlessly cool when they're talking on the phone. Like they're talking about some top secret mission or something ridiculous like that.

I bend over to pick my phone from the ground praying no one saw me drop it or heard me swear but it dawns on me shortly after that my prayers have absolutely not been answered. Somehow I'd accidentally accepted the call as I was scrambling to not drop it. I hear a bunch of 'Hello?'s and 'you there?'s on the other end before ending the call straight away.

The door to the room I was keeping tabs on coincidentally opens and I come face-to-face with Luke, the guy whose face was on the 'school clubs' pamphlet I'd downloaded online.

He smiles when he sees me. Not like he's excited to see me but it's just a friendly smile.

"You here for the Sex club?"

I look around the hallway and pray for the second time today. This time I'm praying I did not accidentally sign up for a club that concerns the one thing I can't stop thinking about. Or that I didn't just sign up for a different sort of Sex club altogether.

"I'm, er, Vizuri-- Viz. From--"

"From the texts earlier?" His voice perks up.

I simply nod in response.

"I just called a few seconds ago. I had no idea you were outside. Come on then." He tilts his head towards the door for a brief second. I look at the worn-out handle imagining poles and exotic dancers behind it but there's nothing of the sort. Just a bunch of chairs arranged in a circle. "You're the first one to show up so far. The others won't be here until next week. They're on a club trip."

I nod at him and take a seat right by the door. "Um, why are you, er, not with them?"

"I'm scared of looking at genitalia." He shrugs and thankfully clarifies. "They went to a museum filled with sculptures and pictures of the sort. Just hearing a museum like that exists makes my skin crawl."

"But you're the president of the club."

"Yeah. I made the club to help me with my anxiety and fear of sex."

"Oh." I nod and beat myself up for asking that. I of all people should understand. I did all this to start a club about mental health because I'm mentally unhealthy after all. It would make sense for someone to make a club about sex because they're afraid of it. Right?

"We usually open up about our struggles with sex, or lack thereof, here. Some of us are addicted to it. Some of us are immensely terrified of experiencing it. Some of us are scared of even mentioning it because of our beliefs but it's an open space." He pokes my arm with his elbow. "You can share anything."

I gulp. My teeth dig into my lip so hard this time round that I realize I'm doing the whole lip-biting thing because I can taste my own blood now. Without much thought, I slowly walk out of the door.

There's no way I'm sharing all my dumb thoughts about sex with other people. Keeping it locked and hidden in the depths of my brain never felt quite enough. Willingly letting them all out just spells D-I-S-A-S-T-E-R in bold. No one thinks like I do. No one is as obsessed as I am. No one would want to listen nor ever understand that I don't want any of these thoughts in the first place. Their experiences with sex are probably tamer compared to mine. There's no doubt about that.