Make me stay

So. Fucking. Cheerful.

Two years ago 

This isn't my kind of club. This isn't my scene at all. As I peer out into the crowd on the wayyyyy to bright dancefloor, there are mostly hunks. In rainbow clothes. And cowboy hats. 

I don't do this. Not normally. Tonight - it's not even late yet - Eli brought me here. You have to be there for your friends. You have to follow them to gay cowboy clubs. 

I love my friends. I don't love this. 

It's not that I don't find the color-clad asses attractive. Who doesn't like a hunk? It's just that these guys love God. They do. The call for him and Christ when they feel good. Because God makes them feel good. God teaches them to love themselves. 

I don't do that. I don't dance with happy people. I dance with the emos and the freaks. I dance with the outcasts and party with the selfhaters because we don't pretend that God makes us holy. We know we aren't loved.

We know we won't be loved tonight. 

Or ever. 

I don't do this. This bright dance floor or these cheerful queers. I'm not queer. I'm a fucking faggot. I don't dress in rainbow. I dress in black. 

Eli is on something. The way he smiles is creepy. An upper. No doubt. He should have shared. I'm almost drunk though. Just one more drink. 

The bartender looks like he want's to ask for my ID a third time but reluctantly hands me another sweet glass of poison. Kill me deer alcohol; you are my only hope. I chug half. Then I sip it because it actually tastes good. People in clubs like this care what it tastes like. I chuckle at that. Maybe I finally am drunk?

Someone is dancing with Eli now. An older hunk. In white jeans and a silvery cowboy hat. Eli lets the man slide his arms around him and matches his god-given smile. I wince at the sight. But Eli likes to kid himslef somethimes. In his ups. In his downs he's more like me. So frosty not even the uppers can make him smile. 

I'm glad he's high now. I'm also impatiently waiting for his low. Does that make me a bad friend? There are a lot of hunks here. Some hot. Some ugly. All cheerful. 

So. Fucking. Cheerful. 

Three proud americans enter, all in blue jeans and awful shirts. One so hot I kind of want to score. Of course they go to the bar. Order beer. Laugh and smile like the God-loving gays they are. 

Easy target. 

My hand grasp at the choker to take it off. I just manage to shift my eyes towards the floor before his eyes find me. Hm... I let my hand ruffle my black dyed hair instead. He's interested. Time to switch up the crazy then. 

Though I'm actually not that into kinks. 

I leave the choker on and slide off the barstool. Walking up to him I let my body shift carefreely. When I lean against the counter I scratch at one of my black painted nails. 

"Should I beg for forgiveness?" I start while looking up from under my long bangs, knowing my eyes look big, rounded by black make-up. His eyes are all over me. He's definently interested. 

The brown hair is dark and a bit curly. 

"That depends; for what?" he asks. The sexy lips move perfectly and there is a slight stubble climbing his straight jaw. 

"For interrupting your view. This is a beautiful place" I lie. "And I cast a long shadow." 

"Sticking out is not a bad thing in a place like this" he says, suddenly amused. "What's your name?" he asks casually but he's very focused on looking at me.