This Little Book of Mine

The Lady Over There

I stared at the girl across the bar. Her blonde hair tumbled down her exposed back as she laughed along with her friends. She was gorgeous. You can do it, I tried to reassure myself.

But you can't, nagged a voice in my head. You're ugly and stupid and annoying-

"Would you like anything to drink, m'am? You've been sitting there for almost an hour," the bartender asked in a rather bored tone.

I was about to refuse until I glanced at the girl again. The way her blue eyes glinted in the dim lighting twisted my stomach into knots. She grinned from cheek to cheek, and I noticed she had cute little dimples.

"I'd like to get a margarita for that lady over there," I told him.

He raised an eyebrow at me, probably because I wanted to purchase a drink for a woman rather than a man, and then poured the beverage into a wine glass. He slid it over to the girl, her plump lips turning downward as he tells her who it's from. My palms began to sweat.

The girl walked over to me and I took note in the way she walks, putting one foot in front of the other each time to make her look skinnier. Her black dress barely reached her knees, flowing and swishing gracefully.

"You bought this for me?" she said to me sweetly.

I gulped nervously. Yes."

"What's your name?"

"Charlotte."

A small smile tugged on her lips. "I'm Layla," she took a seat next to me. Behind her, all of her friends were giggling.

"That's a pretty name," I chewed on my bottom lip.

I suddenly felt insecure about my choice of clothing, as Layla's dress hugged her curves perfectly. I was sporting an old army jacket and black tank top, but that didn't even show much cleavage. I wore a pair of gray skinny jeans- ripped, of course- and combat boots to top it off. She stared at my blushing face.

"You're a pretty girl, you know," she tugged a strand of brown hair behind my ear.

"Really?" I stared at her in awe.

"Yes. In fact..." she leans closer towards me. "We should go do something fun."

Her husky voice made my stomach churn. "I'd like that," I stammered, her pink lips only a few inches from mine.

Then it happened. The fireworks, the sparks, the butterflies, whatever you want to call it. She kissed me passionately, and I kissed her back. There were cheers around the room, men whistling and women whooping. My heart pounded hard against my chest. I had never felt so alive.

She pulled away, laughing in my face.

"God, you're really stupid, aren't you?" she spat.

I blinked. "Wh- wha-"

"There is no way in hell that I'm a fag like you! You're disgusting!" she sneered.

Tears began to well up in my eyes. "But-"

"Oh, you want to see my ass? That's too bad, because it's only reserved for men!"

"Why would you do this?" I cried.

Everyone in the bar was staring, either laughing or recording what was going down with their phones. I had never felt so humiliated.

"You kept staring at me the whole time I was here." she smirked. "My friends and I were laughing at you, you know."

I slapped her. "I- I hate you!"

Her jaw dropped, and she jumped at me. "You bitch!" she shrieked.

She was on top of me now. Normally I'd be turned on by this, but she was yanking my hair  hard. I could feel my scalp ripping from my skull. I let out a guttered scream.

"M'am!" the bartender yelled. "Quit it before I call the cops!"

He looked at the others pleadingly, but when no one came to help, he pulled Layla off of me. She tumbled backward and slammed her back against a table. Layla snatched her purse, her face full of rage, then she and her friends took off.

I lay on the floor in pain, blood flowing from my head. The bartender knelt beside me.

"What's your name?"

"Charlotte."

"I'm gonna drive you over to the hospital, okay, Charlotte? My name is Dave," he told me, his tone gentle and comforting.

I nod slowly, and he carried me in his arms over to his car, an old, beat-up red 1967 Chevy Impala. He muttered something about possibly quitting his job and placed me in the backseat. Dave climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine, but not before saying,

"You shouldn't have talked to that woman back there."

I didn't bother replying. This has happened before, only less violent, so I'm not too surprised. Rejection, I thought, I'm used to it.