Waiting for Superman

Chapter 9: My Superman

In his arms, yeah, she’s waiting for Superman

Andy’s P.O.V.

I sit on the counter in utter shock, trying to understand what just happened. Louis kissed me then walked away. I wasn’t that bad at snogging, was I? I realize that I’m sitting in a men’s bathroom, and unless I want something interesting to happen, I better get out.

I quickly hop of the counter, testing my cut leg with my weight. It almost buckles so I decide to limp/ hop my way out. As I hobble out of the bathroom, I’m greeted with several whistles but I ignore them, not in the mood for male attention at the moment.

I scan the crowd for Louis, trying to find him so I can make him explain why he kissed me then suddenly left. When I can’t see him through the haze of dust that always inhabits clubs I sigh and try to find Beau. Maybe he’s sobered up, but I find it highly unlikely. If anything, he’s probably only drunk more.

I slip off my heels and find a stool. Sitting on it, I sigh. I’m so tired of having to wait for Beau and thinking about Louis. I just need a break. I absently rub on my leg, pressing harder and harder until blood seeps through.

Someone walking past brushes against my leg and I wince, putting a hand to it. I shouldn’t have pressed it, but it was like pressing a bruise; you did it once and you just kept doing it.

A girl barely wearing clothes is literally pushed up against me as a man she’s with is almost eating her face. I move away from her in disgust but she removes herself from her partner to glare at me. That’s when I notice the red patch on her leg.

It’s blood from my leg.

I meet her eyes and she’s absolutely furious.  Why, I’m not exactly sure.

“What is on my leg?” she asks, venom dripping from her tone.

“Um, skin?” I offer, but I don’t think that’s a satisfactory answer.

“Is this a drink? Your lipstick?” she guesses, looking at it.

The guy she was with kisses her neck, but she’s too busy yelling at me to pay much attention to him.

“Why did you put this on my leg?” she screeches.

“I didn’t,” I defend. “You’re the one that bumped into me.”

Her eyes narrow. “What are you even doing in a club, you little slut?”

I blink. “Well,” I stammer.

“What, no smartass comment this time?” she taunts.

“Mach es dir selber,” I say in German.

“What did you say?” she asks snottily, her nose in the air.

“What’s the matter? You can’t see your face to put your makeup on as it’s all over your face, and now you can’t hear?” I say.

Her mouth drops open and she takes a step closer to me, jabbing her finger in my direction. “Listen, I don’t know who you are, coming into this club and wiping some disgusting shit on me and interrupting my night, but you better back the hell off.”

I stand up too, but being so short, it’s not very intimidating. “Look, I don’t know who you are to come and bump into me then accuse me of ruining your night. My night is already busted and I don’t feel like fighting you.”

“Why?” she mocks. “Scared you’ll lose?”

“No,” I say. “You’re not worth the effort.”