The Who - Short Fiction

Creep(y) - Pt. 2

The club was already crowded by the time you and Melody arrived that evening. People in varying stages of intoxication milled about, making it difficult to find a place to sit, or even stand, while still having a good view of the stage. John's band was much more popular than you'd realized, it seemed. He wouldn't be able to see that you'd actually showed up if you had to stand at the back, nursing your beer against the back wall.

"You seem a bit...off, Y/N," Mel tittered, frowning at you disapprovingly. "How're you supposed to beguile any of these blokes if you look as though you've just heard news that your gran died?" You rolled your eyes at your best friend, but did your best to change your attitude and expression – not because you wanted to impress anyone, really, but because you had gone out tonight with the intention of having fun.

"Just hungry," you lied, shrugging. "Might order some chips from the bar, if the kitchen's still open. Do you want anything?" Mel, having caught sight of some tosser who'd promised to call her back after a date but hadn't, shook her head vehemently.

"You go on," she encouraged, "I'll catch up with you in a minute." Mel disappeared into the crowd, abandoning you in your least favourite situation – standing alone in a group of people you didn't know. To make matters worse, you could feel the eyes of some of the clubgoers lingering on your body, which was much less clothed than usual, thanks to your best friend's influence. She had loaned you a brown corduroy mini skirt and a smart-looking white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, which you wore with a pair of brown leather Oxford pumps. Mel had insisted that you looked fantastic, but you weren't so sure now that this had been a good choice.

"These chips had bloody-well better be worth it," you grumbled, stalking off toward the bar. Melody's high-pitched voice was audible from across the room, and it seemed she was reaming out the man she'd recognized. Five quid says she goes back to his flat tonight, you thought. Your best friend was well known for leaving you (and anyone else she went out with) high and dry, so she could get off with whatever Neanderthal of a man she thought half decent after she'd downed a few drinks. This had never been your way of meeting boys, but you did your best to put up with it because you loved her dearly.

Once you'd given the kitchen your order and paid with what little money you'd brought along, you leaned against the bar counter and surveyed the room. If you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that you were looking for a head of unruly black hair somewhere in the crowd. It was unlikely he'd be out in the club so soon before his show, but you found yourself hoping for it nonetheless.

"How's it going, dollface?" asked the fellow nursing a Jack and Coke beside you, doing his best to appear suave as he casually rested one arm against the counter; he didn't succeed. "Can I buy you a drink? You look lonely, all by yourself." His breath smelled like cheap beer and stale cigarettes, which you weren't thrilled by, and he had clearly neglected to shave for at least a week. At first, you ignored his advances with the hopes that he would leave you alone once he'd realized you weren't interested. However, he really wasn't getting the hint.

"Which one here is your boyfriend?" he inquired, leaning in closer. He pawed your arm, clearly wanting your attention. There was no way you could not acknowledge his presence, now that he'd invaded your space. "Come on, doll, talk to me," he insisted, "I won't bite!" Rolling your shoulders back to make yourself appear less ruffled than you actually were, you opened your mouth to reprimand him for touching you without permission, but were beat to it by a low voice you recognized instantly.

"I would appreciate if you kept your hands to yourself," John growled, wrapping a protective arm around your waist. His eyes flickered down to meet yours, and you saw a spark of jealousy flash across his face – as if there were any reason for him to feel that way. "Sorry, there was a long line for the loo. Let's go find Keith and the other boys, yeah?" He shot a dirty look over your shoulder at the drunk who had tried to chat you up, making it clear that his advances had not been appreciated.