by L. U. Ann
I will allow her to rant because if I interfere, Lord knows how much longer it will take to get her past this issue. She hits the button for the next song and Candlebox’s, ‘Far Behind’ plays. She is going to have a shit fit. She skips to the next song and Cher Lloyd’s, ‘Want You Back’ begins to play.
“Holy cow Lacey, how the hell are you ever going to move on if you listen to break up songs? I’m hijacking this CD. You aren’t allowed to listen to this shit anymore! Do you hear me?”
I roll my eyes and silently pray she doesn’t look into my CD collection because the front holds my favorites. I have a feeling I will be out a number of CDs if she starts snooping. I try to change the topic so she will focus on something other than my self-destructive behavior.
"Just so you know, I will not be making friends with any guys," I inform her as I put the car in gear. "I just want to dance and feel alive again." I feel as though a weight has been lifted off my chest. I am tired of thinking about Caine's traveling eyes. If he wants to be friendly with other girls, he can do so without me by his side. “Becca, don't look at me like that,” I roll my eyes. “You can’t solve one guy problem by getting involved with another.” Becca is not one of Caine's fans. In fact, she acts as though she's going to projectile vomit each time I say his name, and has since Lucas told her Caine was cheating.
"Said no one ever!” she slams. “I'm done with all the crap he's pulling on you. You are essentially sucka free and not tied down anymore, so you deserve to have a night of carefree clubbing. In fact, we are breaking the glass tonight - pulling out the big guns for you." I smile at her. She's right. "Okay, enough talk about the douche bag, I'm starting to not enjoy myself," she says as she leans in to show me some cute boys standing on the side of the road as we drive through Baltimore. They are waiting for the crosswalk sign to change. “Check out the meat market Lacey."
I roll my eyes, "OH.MY.GOD. Becca!" I say using a louder voice. Becca looks hurt and shocked at my outrage.
"What? There isn’t any sexpectation.” She smirks.
"Becca, I agreed to come out, I didn't agree to harass the male population."
"That really hurt," she states full of sarcasm.
Yeah, I know how that feels. I hurt too, though it was by Caine’s dishonesty, and not something my best friend said. She knows I was being a smartass. The hurt from Caine is deep because I was too blind to the cheating blood oozing through his veins. Caine charmed me with his good looks and smile. I know I have to let him go, but I don’t want to. I miss him. How can you fall out of love with someone, even if he is a big jackass?
"Hello? Earth to Lacey... come in bitch... do you copy?" Becca is screeching at me, with her brown eyes wide. Oh dear. “Can you please stop doing double nickel and drive it like you stole it? For God sakes, we’ll be ready for the nursing home by the time we get there.”
"Sorry. I must have zoned out for a minute." I make a silent plea for her to her drop it. Knowing my best friend as well as I do, she knows what I'm thinking. Crap. My fingers are grabbing the steering wheel so tight my knuckles are white. Why the hell do I want someone who has hurt me? Why do I miss him?
"You need to just clear your mind girl. I know you are tired of my assvice but seriously, there is no room for that thing, we thought was a gentleman, in your head anymore," Becca gripes. Yep, so much for sneaking my thoughts past her. She's an amazing friend. "What the hell?" Becca's stare snaps me out of my trance. It's an intense stare boring holes into me.
Uh oh. "Sorry, I don't know what's gotten in to me. I won't daydream anymore." I try to reassure her. Thank heavens we’ve arrived at the club, because I can’t take her theatrics anymore.
"Come on Lacey, I’m ready for some serious eyeolating. I haven’t violated a guy by checking him out with only my eyes in forever," she says, getting out of the car. We round the front of the car and walk up to the familiar warehouse together arm in arm. The line isn’t as long as it typically is, though arriving an hour later than usual might have something to do with it.
“And what the hell is eyeleting?” I ask.
Becca laughs, “No it’s eyeolating. Lacey, eye-o-lat-ing.”
“Wow, thanks for treating me like a fucking child because I don’t speak 'Becc-lish’.”
I am so happy to step foot in the club. I hand the bouncer my license that states my correct age. I’m driving and not really in the mood to drink. I want to keep my wits about me. The last thing I need is more drama. This is my first time clubbing as a single lady since leaving Caine. Well, since I’ve decided that Caine and I are through. He has a different opinion on that matter, but I will make the message loud and clear on Tuesday.
We’re at Orpheus, which happens to be the same club where I met Caine. Shit! It’s one of the six decent clubs in Baltimore and Becca had to choose this one. The bar smell fills my nostrils, causing them to explode like dynamite; and I wonder if I should have used my fake ID to help the emotional battle going on inside my head. I guess it’s for the best since I don’t want to wake up next to a stranger tomorrow, or allow some animal to paw up and down my body on the dance floor. Alcohol would surely contribute to unnecessary heartache.
I’m going out of my mind and I need to get on the dance floor to release some of these pent up endorphins. I’m not really sure about anything other than my need to dance. It sets me free, like a medication prescribed for my dilapidated heart. I glance up at the DJ who is working his sets that I’m sure he put together days ago. Recognizing this DJ’s style in particular, I smile, knowing I will like the set list he prepared.
Regardless of how this club reminds me of Caine, I truly enjoy it. It’s a smaller venue where the music, lights, and crowd allow me the opportunity to hide and let go of myself. I know it's only asking for trouble sometimes, but it feels like I can let the real Lacey free from her every day, proper life.
I could watch the dance off show that some of the guys put on for the longest time with their fancy footwork. Girls join in to show their moves every so often. It fascinates me. Most people refer to them as hip-hop battles, where each person’s foot and bodywork become more impressive and intense than the next. I don’t call them battles, but dance-offs, because they are informal jams. In all the times I’ve been here, the dance dialogue has never become violent, which has been known to happen in hip-hop battles.
I love having my head filled with the loud, deafening music. I close my eyes and give an open invitation to the music to dictate the movement of my hips. I’ll never get tired of the way it feels when the music travels through my body. I have a hard time staying in one spot. I twist around and open my eyes to take in my surroundings, and glance around every so often to see who is dancing near Becca and me. Sometimes one of us will need to run interference if a guy is gets too daring on the floor. Most of the time, it only takes a shake of our heads to let the guy down. However, if they don't get the hint, then we haul our asses to the ladies room, praying they aren’t standing outside the door waiting for us when we emerge.
I am a hot and sweaty mess after about an hour of dancing my ass off. It felt so good and I’m glad Becca forced me into coming tonight. After taking a break to down a bottle of water, I get back on the dance floor to 3OH!3, ‘Starstrukk’. Listening to the lyrics, it’s very fitting to the scene before my eyes. There are daisy dukes, tight outfits, and so much more that the song is alluding to. But most importantly, I will not use the word ‘love’ loosely again.
I spin around and suddenly lock eyes with someone new. Holy Mary mother of Jesus, the sight of him is refreshing. He's fucking hot. Not tamale hot, fucking smoking hot. He has piercing blue eyes, a medium build and is nicely muscular. Not the overachieving muscles found at all the local gyms or on the guy who recently wasted too much of my time. Ugh, I need to stop thinking about that asshole. Don't get me wrong, this guy appears to work out, but I can tell he isn’t infatuated with his looks. He is clean cut and his presence is sending my body into flames. His clothes are a li
ttle more preppy than I normally find attractive, like trust fund baby groomed. It doesn't matter, his eyes captivate me, and I have to look away, as my eyes burn from staring too long. Moments later, I am hyperaware of his closeness. He moved to begin dancing with me. We shuffle to the music together and it’s amazing. It feels so nice to have his arms wrapped around me as we dance. I feel the tug and I’m on fire with in every part of my body that makes contact with him. He isn’t trying to feel me up or even push his hard on into my back, as Caine would. It’s nice to see he respects boundaries.
Is that how guys brought up in a five star lifestyle treat women? I’m not interested in the extras that come with that sort of lifestyle. I can clean, so why have a housekeeper? I can drive, so why would I have a chauffeur? I can cook, so why would I have a personal chef? I don’t understand the way some people live without using the easiest God-given talents they were born with. Maybe this guy isn’t like that and perhaps I should just let go and allow myself to feel the heat between us. After all, I’m still trying to get over Caine.
The guy pulls me off the dance floor and I realize he wants to talk. We move as far away from the speakers as we can. “What’s your name?” Mr. Blue Eyes asks.
“Lacey, what’s yours?”
“Devon. Can I get you something to drink?”
Oh dear, Caine never offered to get me something to drink the night I met him. Ugh, I need to stop comparing him with others. “Water would be great.” I smile and he leads me over to the bar to order a water for me, and a beer for him. Okay, he’s clearly twenty-one years old, unless he’s using a fake ID and I don’t think he is because he looks older. He hands me my water and I thank him. We walk over to where we were talking before. It’s a strain to hear each other. “Are you in school?” Devon asks.
“No, I just graduated high school and I’ll be taking a year off before I begin college. Are you in college?”
“Yes, John’s Hopkins.” Holy fucking shit! That school is hard to get into and if you’re lucky enough to get in, I hear the workload is insane. I nod my head, still shocked.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Oh, his breath just brushed my ear and sent goose bumps down my body. Crap, I forgot.
I shake my head no. He is staring at me intently reading my features. It’s making me nervous. “Do you?” I ask him.
He leans in to say, “No,” and then brushes his lips on my cheek. Ah, damn, that was nice. He and I finish our drinks and look out onto the dance floor, frequently catching glimpses of each other. Leaning back into me he asks, “Would you like to dance?” Oh my God!
I nod so that I don’t have to strain my voice. Devon pulls me into his arms and we dance against each other. There isn’t any bumping and grinding, thank heavens! I appreciate his regard for my dignity; I wish I could say the same about Caine. Dammit, what the hell am I doing?
An hour or so later, Becca and I are ready to leave. Devon and his friends walk us out. We talk for a little bit and plan to meet at the club on Thursday, which is five days away. I’m not ready for anything serious; and I am happy he isn’t asking me for my phone number or giving me his. We hug goodbye and he gently kisses my cheek as we pull away from one another. Becca was completely thrilled I met someone who I’m willing to see again. Granted, not go on a date, because I’m not ready for that, but to meet at the club. I am happy. This was just what I needed to help move me in the right direction away from douche bag Caine. Caine! I still have to face him Tuesday. I don’t want to ruin my blissful state. I’ll worry about that tomorrow.
Becca and I head back to my parents’ house. I crash as soon as my head hits the pillow.
The next day, I’m still on my high thinking of those blue eyes. I'm able to get a lot accomplished. I feel as though I have a bounce back in my step. As evening approaches, Becca and I don't feel like doing much, but need to find something to eat. Mom isn’t feeling well so we decide it’s ‘every man for himself’ tonight. We’ll resume our Sunday family dinner next week.
“Are you hungry?” I ask Becca.
“Yeah, let’s see what you’ve got,” she says, following me into the kitchen. I open the fridge to inspect the contents. I see left over spaghetti, meatloaf – yum- mom fixes the best meatloaf, and a couple slices of pizza from last night. I quickly close the door, feeling I might give in and eat something with too many calories.
“Lacey are you window eating again?” Becca snickers walking past me to investigate the refrigerator contents herself. I go to the cupboard and grab my supper of choice, a can of green beans. I set about opening the can to place the beans in a microwavable safe dish. Becca blows out a deep breath, “Well since you clearly have no intention on eating the pizza, I’m going to snarf it.”
Mom walks into the kitchen with Cinnamon trailing behind her. “Mom, I’ll go to the grocery store for you if you have a list made,” I offer. I know my mom isn’t having a good day. I bet her neck is giving her a lot of problems. Poor thing. Mom is so brave because she is in a lot of pain most days. She recently started getting migraines on top of everything else. After mom hands me the list of things she needs me to get, she goes back to bed with Cinnamon on her heels. Becca and I head to the grocery store.
I maneuver us through the store picking up the items on the list. We round the corner and I have a sudden impulse to pick up donuts for breakfast tomorrow morning, secretly knowing I would taste one when we get back to the house, but Becca doesn’t need to know that. I catch a glimpse of cakes as we leave the bakery. "My mom loves this cake!" I tell Becca. Heck, I love this cake. Becca gives me this funny look and I ignore it. Many times, we communicate just by a look. It works out great when we are around our parents and don't want to divulge too much information. It's one of the great things about having a best friend who truly understands you. We have this down to a science.
We are just about through the list and approaching the checkout lane when I stop suddenly. "Ugh, I forgot something," I tell Becca, backing up the cart to turn around. I am due to have my aunt in town and need to stock up on supplies. Okay, my aunt really isn’t coming to town. Thank the Lord! Because I feel the same way about her as I do my God-awful period. That's how I came up with the ‘code’ term. It's easier on the ears to hear my aunt’s in town than I've got my period, on the rag, or whatever other crude phrases used to describe the inevitable monthly fiasco.
I pick out the necessary items needed to get me through my agonizing seven days of repulsiveness. I scan the aisle looking for my preferred brand, all the while observing the other items stocked on the nearby shelves. I glance over at the condoms, that lube stuff (Yuck!), and pregnancy tests. Hmm, I have this feeling come over me that causes me to grab one. I get a look from Becca.
"What?" I ask her. "I'm two days late... why not?" She gives me another look. We both know how unpredictable my monthly unwanted guest can be. I probably just caught her off guard. I’m hoping it is the stress of my soon –to-be-ex-joke of a boyfriend causing me to be late.
After the store, I suggest, "I want to take this test quickly. I am nervous about my mom finding out. Do you mind if we stop at my parents’ store?" It’s on our way back to my house, anyhow.
“That’s fine. You’ve got me nervous as shit girl. I want to get it over with,” she agrees. We slip inside my parents’ store to quickly ease both of our minds.
After peeing on the stick, I place it on the back of the toilet seat and wash up. As I grab a paper towel to dry my hands, I glanced over at the stick. Nooooo! The walls begin to close in and I feel like I'm suffocating; I can't breathe. Opening my mouth to take a breath, I also try to get Becca's attention, but I can only whisper. Becca runs in breathlessly, hearing my discomfort. The color immediately drains from her face. "OH MY GOD Becca! What the fuck is that? Please reread the instructions. There is something wrong with this test!" If I remember the directions correctly we, I mean, I am in trouble.
FUCK!
There is a problem with this one. That's it! It's a defe
ct. I think maybe I should send them a letter asking for my money back. Then I snap, "We need to go back to the store!"