¿ɪꜱ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴀʟʟ ʀᴇᴀʟ? ✰𝘼𝙡𝙚𝙭 𝙏𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙧 𝙊𝙣𝙚 𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙨✮

✰. 44

Stars

✰

Party culture became a bore. It was fun at first. Tipping back shots and puffing tobacco to the lungs delights all the while watching the pretty women dance to the music in the club.

Even the many advances these women tried on him were stirring feelings of excitement in his chest. He'd let them linger longer than he should have, letting them touch his shoulders and buy him a drink. Letting them talk about his fame and how good they would look next to him. Dreams of paradise he would give to no one. All of their advances went down the drain with a short answer.

"No."

Maybe it was considered evil that he wanted to give in to at least one. Let them house the idea that he actually wanted them for life, but by the end of the night, he'd be gone, and they'd be left alone, pondering what went wrong.

All of it was nonsense by the fourth hour.

Boredom came quicker than usual, and he had to entertain himself somehow when the tequila started to taste like water and the cigarettes like air. So he settled on watching the dance floor. Concentrated on each lady who danced, entered, and left. He memorized every single one of them and gave them false names.

There was Gabriela, maybe, showing off her skin that wasn't covered by leather.

Maybe there was Patricia, her makeup all smeared from her tears as she made out with a man in the corner of the club.

Possibly Nicole, chewing on her straw and giving him that look of pure desire across the bar.

Sofia, if he was right, was getting carried by her boyfriend out of the club as she had passed out from intoxication.

Perchance, Maria, applying the tenth layer of deep red lipstick that had been ruined by her expedition of kissing up to all the men in the club.

And for now, maybe Thalia, being all too comfortable with her girl friends, as they ordered another round of shots.

All these names, and he was sure he got none right.

But there was one woman that he couldn't name.

She stood by the entrance. Arms crossed over her chest, holding her jacket. She gave him a certain look he hadn't seen before. It wasn't the usual one of obsession or lust. Nor was it one of extreme need to be noticed. She was waiting. He thought she was crazy if she was waiting for him to pursue her.

"What's her problem?" Alex nudged his friend, keeping eye contact with the woman by the door.

"Who?" The man turned his head, squinting before giving a smile, his American accent filling his ears over the loud music, "She's a regular here. No harm!"

"That's great," he replied sarcastically. "But why's she staring at me?"

"Oh, she does that."

Alex gave his friend a weird look, but he had already turned away from him. He was left by himself, and this woman who won't stop staring.

It was like a challenge to see who would back down first, but the more he let on, he realized this could go on forever. Her eyes watched him, inspecting him from head to toe as if she was checking off boxes in a mental list of requirements.

Just as he was about to confront her, she went out the door. Through the window of the door, he saw her put on her jacket, adjusting the clothing on her body before walking away from the bar.

He could have just left it at that. Leave the chase she so desperately wanted to have, but he wanted to know what was the reason behind her staring.

And so he left the club, in the same manner as she did, tugging his leather jacket closer to him as the cold California air hugged his body. Turning right, he could see her figure up the street, just about to reach the curb.