Haunted | h.s

seven » harry

I sit alone at the bar, my sixth or seventh shot resting in one hand.

The loud, thumping music is deafening, and the neon lights wash over the swaying bodies, transforming them into unnatural colors.

I tip the last drops of alcohol down my mouth, enjoying the burning sensation it leaves.

I scan the crowd again, though most of the faces are blurry and unrecognizable, due to the fact I'm getting more drunk. Yet I really don't care.

I'm searching for Victoria. She is much of a party animal, and this is one of her favorite clubs. I'm trying to avoid seeing her at all, so coming here was a stupid mistake.

But I couldn't sleep again and my mum took away my car keys. This was the only place with a bar within walking distance.

A girl with brunette hair has been sneaking glances at me for the past hour. I can't really get a good look at her face. All I can see is that she's wearing a tight red dress, which stands out in the neon lights.

She must have mustered enough confidence in the last few minutes, because now she makes her way slowly towards the bar, slithering through the crowd, no doubt to come and flirt with me.

I turn towards the bartender, requesting another shot.

"Hey there, pretty boy." The words are directed straight at me. I wouldn't have heard her over the loud music if her mouth wasn't inches away from my ear.

I glance at her, but her features are all muddled together.

"Hi there," I slur, grinning lazily. "Why are you so fuzzy?"

A small smile creeps onto her lips. "You're drunk aren't you?" Red Dress laughs.

"Isn't everyone?" I counter.

She smells a mix of achohol and smoke, no doubt as drunk as I am.

She hiccups, or giggles I'm not really sure. "I can help sober you up," she says, her lips brushing against my neck. "How about you come with me?"

Then she's taking my hand and leading me towards the back of the club. My head is pounding and I find myself longing for that shot I left at the bar.

"Where are we going?" I ask her, itching to go back.

Red Dress puts one of her fingers up to her lips. I'm too drunk to argue.

She shoves a door open, white tiles and dim lighting greeting me. I can barely register what is happening anymore. I feel numb, like I'm floating.

Then she presses her lips fiercly onto mine. It feels good, so I don't object. She pushes me against a door, which flies open and I almost stumble, knocking against a toilet seat. I can scarcely acknowledge the fact that there's a toilet and we're in a stall before her lips are on mine again, her tongue sliding between my lips.

The last bit of sense I have tells me not to do this. But I can't find any reasons why not.

I bring my hands to her thighs, pulling up the dress. She giggles as I kiss her neck, her chest heaving against mine.

But the movements feel mechanical and unemotional.

She bring her hands down to my pants, pulling down the zipper, smiling wickedly.

__________________

The rest is a blur. Red Dress passes out on the tile floor of the stall, mumbling and groaning. I leave her there.

I return to the bar. The alcohol clears my head a little.

I feel ready to leave all of a sudden, sick of this place.

It seems even more crowded now, bodies trying to dance while they're packed in like sardines.

I admit it was nice forgetting everything for awhile. Forgetting college. Forgetting Rima.

But no matter how hard I try, I'm always going to have to face my problems. I fucking hate reality.

I squeeze past the hoards of people, looking for an exit. I mumble apologies as I bump into people, but they're too drunk to notice.

But as I'm leaving, one girl catches my eye. She has bright blonde hair, straight and long. She's talking to a couple of girls and her back is to me.

It must be the alchohol that keeps me from thinking rationally, but I can't help the small hope that seizes me. I find myself shoving past everyone, trying to get a better look at her.

I reach the girl and place a hand on her shoulder, spinning her around to face me.

Time seems to stop. She has blue green eyes, just like Rima. The blonde hair. The small pink lips.

But her nose is too long and crooked. Her skin is too tan. And Rima would never wear that much makeup.

My hand slides off the girl's shoulder, who's staring at me with an expression of both surprise and curiousity.

I cannot hope anymore. Rima is not going to magically appear before me. She's dead.

I hate that I have to tell myself this everyday. I hate that everything reminds me of her. I can't escape her. Even though she's dead, the memories are still alive. And they haunt me.

"Hey shitface! You gotta problem?" I snap out of my haze to see a man spitting in my face. "Tryna flirt with my girlfriend?!"

I don't say anything. I feel strangely numb, and unattached.

"Gonna talk?" he shouts. "Your mouth too full of shit to speak?!" He shoves me back into the crowd, who seem to notice the commotion and have cleared a space.

I grit my teeth, trying not to let his words anger me.

The girl I thought looked like Rima, and apparently his girlfriend, puts a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

But the man pushes her hand off, not taking his eyes off of me.

"The little twit won't speak!" he roars.

Then it all happened in a split second: the man grabbing my shirt, punching me in the face.

I'm caught off gaurd but I get in a few blind punches, and I must hit him because he screams out in pain.

The man throws me onto a wooden table and I hear a snap.

I wince. Pain is shooting up my back and my left eye is throbbing.But I slide off the table with a grunt and stand, stumbling a little because the floor is whirling beneath my feet.

The man is walking off now.

"That's right!" I holler after him. "Run off to your girlfriend before I hurt you!"

The words hardly make sense to me. They sound distant and slurred together; I'm surprised I'm even talking at all.

The man stops in his tracks, his back tensing. His girlfriend looks at me with wide eyes.

I shouldn't have said that, every part of me is screaming for me to get away now, when I have the chance. The man is twice my size. He could kill me if he wanted.

But I'm furious. Furious with my life, furious with this coward of a man. The impulse to tear him apart is overwhelming.

He turns and treads slowly toward me, his eyes boaring into mine.

"What did you just say?" he growls.

I stand still and brace myself, ready to fight or die or anything. At this point I don't care.

But just then, the sounds of shouting intermingle with the noise of sirens. I see a red and blue patteren flashing outside the window.

Everyone bolts for the door, including the man and his girlfriend.

My first thought is: someone called the police.