Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Iwas partially grateful that I could not hear my own thoughts over the sound of music that blared from the speakers. The heavy base continued to vibrate through me as not one, but three people bumped into me in the space of the five minutes I’d been standing at the bar.
I felt like I stepped in superglue. My feet were plastered to the floor, stuck in a myriad of splotches and wet patches that littered the floor like an infuriating Jackson Pollock.
I’d resorted to standing unbelievably still to avoid stumbling over because I considered any type of heeled shoe–including the ones I was wearing–to be a modern-day torture trap moonlighting under the word fashion.
I’d expected to be sitting down for most of the night, which is why I’d worn the stupid boots in the first place.
And given the lack of lighting in the bar, whatever they were meant to be doing for my legs and ass was likely going unnoticed anyway.
Much like the floor, the seat next to me was spattered with a suspicious white liquid, one that could be found in any number of socks in a college frat house.
While Jude had rattled off something about his father’s finances, my mind had been furiously calculating whether someone’d had one too many pina coladas or whether they were having a much better time than I currently was.
“I wish you had told me we were going to a bar instead,” I yelled over the sound of Pitbull’s Gasolina as Jude took a sip of his single malt whiskey.
He’d ordered it neat, meaning no ice and no citrus garnish.
I still had PTSD from the night I had to make far too many whiskey-based drinks only to find out the guy hadn’t even wanted whiskey in the first place.
I still couldn’t look at orange rind without feeling inexplicable rage.
By the look on Jude’s face, I don’t think he was enjoying his liquor choice much either. He was on his second whiskey of the night, and whilst I would never judge someone for their drinking choices, I had to question his sanity as he grimaced whilst taking another sip.
Jude smiled at a pretty blonde girl as she ambled past us with a few friends, bobbing his head to the music. “Don’t worry, what you are wearing is fine for this bar.”
Gee, thanks. Not why I wanted you to tell me.
Because if he had, I would have almost definitely declined.
Which probably would have suited Jude just fine, given that his attention seemed to be elsewhere.
More specifically, on the five girls who had caught his attention while we were standing there.
It’s clear he had a type. A type that I was decidedly not.
They were all unbelievably attractive, tall with high cheekbones.
They had Pilates sculpted bodies and likely a series of MyFitnessPal entries that consisted of green juice and kale salads.
Even though I was relatively active, I hadn’t bothered to download the app.
Because there was nothing as sobering as entering a bowl of Froot Loops or gummy worms for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
But the longer his gaze seemed to linger anywhere but on me, the faster my self-esteem seemed to wither away until it was simply another marred puddle on the light-up bar floor.
I wasn’t sure when it had happened, but I had stumbled directly into the plot of a Robert Louis Stevenson novel.
I had signed up to go on a date with Jude Watlings, not Mr Hyde.
And for a long moment, whilst Jude stared aimlessly at the tits of yet another woman, I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the Jude from my course and who this imposter was that I was sitting with.
He had the same brown hair that framed his face well.
He wore the same cheeky smile I’d seen on our last date and countless hours of study sessions–one he had flashed at a number of girls who had been in the unfortunate position to be on the receiving end of his attention.
He even wore the same round glasses that were migrating, at light speed, into ick territory.
I guess there had been signs–character traits I chose to ignore because they were wrapped in the charming facade he wore so well.
Countless study sessions and lectures had left me unguarded and distracted.
He had presented himself as a beautiful bouquet of red roses, the colour unnoticeable due to my own rose-tinted goggles.
And now I’d taken them off, all that seemed to remain were thorn-covered stems that prickled at my self-worth.
“Are you sure you don’t want an alcoholic drink?” Jude leaned in, putting a hand on the bar behind me.
“Oh, no thanks.” I lifted my glass of water in mock cheers. “I’m not much of a drinker.”
Especially when I hadn’t eaten (I’d flushed the promise of dinner with any lingering attraction I had of Jude down the toilet).
And even more so because I wasn’t a fan of places like this.
I didn’t shun or judge people that did, for the most part, I could understand and appreciate the appeal, I’d even been to a few myself when I’d first started university because that was what everyone did.
But I’d learn quickly that places like this left me feeling anxious and overwhelmed.
Drunk people were messy and obnoxious. Nightclubs were loud and expensive.
And the idea of being hypnotised by strobe lighting and jarring music into handing over the little money I had for watered-down booze, all in the name of ‘having a good time’, didn’t seem like a good one to me.
Because nothing really screamed fun like being charged eighteen dollars for a lukewarm gin & tonic whilst another drunk idiot groped you.
“I guess I shouldn’t have brought you to a bar then.” He laughed as he attempted to swallow down another sip of his Glenfiddich.
You took the words from right out of my mouth. I let out a nervous breath as I took another sip of water. “Yeah, I guess not.”
“Let’s go find somewhere quieter,” he yelled before ordering another glass of whiskey.
Jude downed his current drink as if trying to convince himself that he liked it before grabbing the drink the bartender had just poured in one hand and mine in the other and pulling me toward a dimly lit table in the corner of the bar.
My phone buzzed in my hand, and I looked down at my notifications and bit my lip.
Spawn of Satan: Are you bored of that asshole yet?
Spawn of Satan: Can I tempt you back with gummy worms?
Spawn of Satan: I hope you are okay…and having a nice time.
Spawn of Satan: That last bit was a lie. I do hope you are okay though
Spawn of Satan: Mortimer + me + movie? Hopefully see you later
I’d usually find this many texts in one go a little overwhelming, but I couldn’t help but grin down at my phone. Between the string of texts and Jude’s jarring new personality development, I felt eternally grateful to have someone like Thallor in my life. To have someone who just seemed to get me.
Maybe I didn’t want to be the jazzed-up, fun version of myself.
Maybe I wanted someone who saw me for exactly what I was and liked everything I had to offer.
And the more I sat there with Jude, the more I realised that being a fake version of myself was as exhausting as it was degrading.
And to be doing it for a man no less? Embarrassing as fuck.
“So, thought about what you are going to do with your degree yet?” Jude yelled into my ear over the music.
“No, I’m not sure yet. Maybe work in a museum,” I shrugged, in case he didn’t hear what I said between the heavy beats and sound of his own voice, “but I’ve always been interested in it. My grandfather worked in a mortuary.”
“A what?”
“A mortuary!”
Jude’s eyes widened as he looked at me. “Like with dead people?”
“Yeah.”
“Why the fuck would anyone choose to do that, seriously? That’s so fucking weird.”
I offered up a weary smile as my only response.
“What about your parents? What do they do?”
Not an odd question. In fact, a perfectly reasonable question, all things considered–especially coming from someone who couldn’t shut up about daddy, or more specifically, daddy’s money.
But the question did catch me off guard.
Mostly because it was only that I didn’t ever get asked.
A privilege afforded to me by only ever spending time with people who already knew me.
And although I wasn’t afraid to talk about my circumstance, it was going to be with the drunk, asshole version of Jude.
“My grandparents raised me.”
“Why? Are your parents dead or something?”
My heart faltered a little bit. Not because of Jude, who I’d quickly come to learn might be the most insufferable man I’d ever met. But because of his surprising and innate ability to continue making me feel smaller than I already do.
“Yes.”
“So, your parents are both dead, your grandfather worked at a mortuary, and you decided to take a course that’s like eighty percent centered around death.”
“I wouldn’t have put it in such rudimentary terms, but yes.”
“Do you realise your whole life is just death?” Jude’s eyes glistened with a cruel sense of amusement that had my breath hitching in my throat. “I hope you don’t give me bad karma or juju or something.”
My face dropped the same time my stomach did as Jude laughed off his comment and moved on to talking about his own family.
But in the aftermath of what he had said, I just sat there in quiet astonishment at the cruelty of his words.
At my own stupidity for thinking, he, this man, was anything more than the vile piece of shit that he was.
He was like a chameleon, doing well to hide what he’s like under his charming boy-next-door exterior.