One
Kat
Wild Side – Motley Crüe
Lights blaze, the walls shake, and I can’t hear myself think.
Just the way I like it. My body sways carelessly to the music, letting each pounding of the beat reach my soul.
My blonde hair clings to the back of my neck as beads of sweat coat my chest. The air tastes like electricity and stale body odor, and in this moment, I can’t imagine anything tasting sweeter.
My arms reach for the ceiling as the climax of the song hits its peak. I whip my hair in every direction without a care for who or what it might touch—but I already know I’ll be washing it the moment I get home.
“Here, girl, take this,” Harper shoves a Jack and coke into my hand.
I take the drink and thank my best friend as she pulls me over to the nearest booth. My thighs stick to the black leather as I scoot over to make room for her.
“I just dropped the CD off with that very handsome bartender,” she says, her gaze wandering back to the bar with a little wink that earns her a slight smirk in return.
Rolling my eyes, I giggle. Classic Harper. She’s always been the more extroverted of the two of us.
“Do you think we’ll get it? The residency?” I ask, mindlessly stirring the small drinking straw around the glass, the dark liquid leaving a ripple in its wake.
Harper takes a long sip of her mojito, her red lipstick leaving a perfect imprint on the glass. “I don’t know. Residencies at Headstone are notoriously difficult to get. I know the last band they had for residency and they stayed for two years. Headstone wouldn’t even look at another band.”
I nod absentmindedly as my eyes roam around the bar that has almost become my second home.
I can remember the first time I came to Headstone.
At that point, I had spent about two weeks in Bridgeport.
I was lost, homeless, and had about three dollars and a tent to my name.
I was wandering the streets without purpose, dripping wet from the rain.
Music spilled out onto the street from this little bar that seemed to call me inside.
I followed the beat of the drum and the screech of a guitar.
The smell of stale beer hit me as I took my first step through the chipped wooden doors.
What I found inside filled a small void in my soul.
A room full of people who were different—just like me.
It was the first place ever to offer me a glimpse of the freedom I was so desperately craving.
I spent the next few hours sitting at the bar, drinking water and picking at a bowl of nuts the bartender had slid in front of me.
I made a habit of visiting Headstone at least twice a week. Addicted to the music that drowned out my thoughts and made me feel… calm. That was until someone slid into the seat next to me, leaning closer than necessary.
“Hey,” he said, his voice casual, but the lust in his eyes told a different story.
He lingered, ignoring the way I shuffled in my seat, rubbed my sweaty palms against my unintentionally ripped jeans.
His eyes just followed the movement hungrily.
When his hand grazed my arm, I stiffened.
My vision narrowed on the nearest exit. My thighs tensed in preparation. But before I could run, she was there.
“Oh my god, girl, where have you been? I thought you’d left,” Harper shouted over the music as she linked her arm with mine, leading me away from the sleaze at the bar, who was now giving her a deathly stare.
Over the following weeks, we started hanging out almost every day.
From walks in the park to movie nights at her apartment, we were rarely without each other.
It didn’t take her long to figure out my living situation.
She invited me over on a random Tuesday.
Her eyes twinkled as she placed my tattered backpack on my new bed and handed me a key.
Despite all my protests, I stayed with her for a few months until I got my own apartment thanks to the job at the coffee shop, which she helped me to get—where she also worked.
“Oh my god I love this song!” Harper screams, breaking me out of my reverie.
She grabs my hand and pulls me back onto the dance floor, my shoes sticking to the floor with each step.
Wild Side by Motley Crüe fills the room, and we lose ourselves to the beat.
Harper’s bronze skin glistens under the lights, her raven hair cascading over her shoulders.
Our arms entwine and we howl out the lyrics as the chorus approaches.
This is just what I fucking needed: my best friend, good music, and some suspiciously over-poured drinks. I feel the warm, fuzzy feeling beginning in my stomach; it’s going to be a good night. We bump and sway and twirl for what seems like forever.
“God, I love this place!” I slurp some of my drink and a small hiccup bursts free.
Fuck. I knew this wasn’t going to be a quiet night out.
“We should come here every night of the fucking week,” Harper shouts back, spinning on her heels with her hands in the air. Her empty mojito glass sparkles under the spotlights.
“Give me a kidney, and you have a deal!” I reply while gulping down the rest of my drink, the warmth seeping into my muscles, slowly working its way to my head.
But despite how loose and lost we are to the music, I don’t miss the behemoth of a man stalking towards us through the crowd, his eyes fixed on Harper.
“Muscled meathead incoming,” I warn her, my eyes darting over her shoulder.
Her head whips around so fast, I don’t know how she doesn’t get whiplash.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says, his greedy eyes roaming over her body.
I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. The timbre of his voice definitely doesn’t match his appearance.
“Hey,” Harper replies, swirling her tongue around the rim of her empty glass. I may not have known Harper long, but I know when she wants some dick.
“Do you wanna dance?” he asks, his eyebrows rising at the question.
Harper gives him a dramatic eyeroll and says, “This isn’t 1934, you don’t have to ask.”
He smiles at her directness as she takes his hand.
I grab her other hand and give her a look that says, are you sure?
She nods and kisses my hand before letting it fall.
I smile to myself and return to the booth where I can keep a close eye on them.
I watch Harper with him. His hands are all over her; they’re moving as if they’re one.
I exhale, feeling the full extent of my dating failures.
Since I’ve been in Bridgeport, it’s not like I’ve been celibate by choice.
But being a curvy woman, I’m bigger than a lot of men.
They either fetishize me or try to change me.
Dating sites are tough enough without the added pressure of my body.
I can’t count the number of profiles I’ve had to block.
If it’s not dick pics, it’s mediocre men calling me fat.
How original. On the one date I’ve been on, he told me I should go to the fucking gym with him.
Is it so unbelievable that a woman can be plus size and happy?
It’s not that I’m not comfortable with my body, I am.
But men making remarks about my size, whether positive or negative, brings me back to a time where I wasn’t.
I shake my head, trying to rid the bad memories. Maybe I’m just better off alone with my trusty wand.
“Hey, girl.” Harper appears beside me, sweat casting a beautiful sheen on her skin.
“How’s it going?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows and giving her a playful nudge.
“Really well,” she giggles. “Nathan’s so… nice. And I don’t just mean nice to look at, he seems kind.”
“And you want to go home with him?” I finish for her.
She looks down at the table, sheepish.
“Harper,” I say, taking her hands in mine. “I will not stand in the way between you and getting some dick. I was just going to catch an Uber home, anyway.”
“Really?” she asks, her eyes meeting mine.
“Of course! Now go, at least one of us deserves to be fucked tonight. Just keep your location on, and send me some photos of him in case you go missing,” I say with a playful wink.
Harper throws her arms around me, squeezing me so tight that I think I might have a crick in my neck in the morning.
“You’re the best, Kat. I’ll text you first thing.” She kisses my cheek.
“You owe me!” I tease as she leaves the table.
I watch him grab her ass as they walk towards the exit. Rolling my eyes and laughing to myself, I slide my phone out of my pocket and request my Uber.
Twenty minutes? Okay, I have time for one more drink.
I make my way over to the bar, weaving around the bodies swaying messily to the music on the dance floor.
“Jack and coke, please,” I say, offering the exact amount of cash.
The feeling of the cold alcohol hitting my warm stomach makes me shiver. Or maybe it has nothing to do with the alcohol at all. Maybe it has everything to do with the man sitting at the end of the bar, his sight set on me like a fucking sniper. I may as well have a red dot pointing at my chest.
The harsh lights of the dance floor accentuate the sharp lines of his beautiful face.
And his hair, as dark as night, is tied back in a low ponytail that snakes down his black suit.
He looks out of place in a suit, yet something about him belongs here.
Almost as if the room and everyone and everything in it moves around him.
My senses kick back in, and my breath momentarily leaves my body as I register the intensity with which he’s looking at me. Everything and everyone fades into nothingness until we’re the only two people in the room.
How can one look be so intense?
He smirks, brings his glass up to take a sip of his drink, his full lips parting around the rim of the tumbler. The feeling starts to come back into my body. I’m too hot, my clothes feel like they’re suffocating me, and my pussy… my fucking pussy is throbbing.
This is bad.
I leave my drink half-full and dart across the bar towards the bathroom, but I can’t resist glancing back one last time. A small sense of relief washes over me when I see that he’s no longer looking at me but talking to the bartender instead.
Standing in front of the mirror, I take in my reflection. My cheeks are flushed, sweat coats my chest, and my eyes are filled with something I haven’t seen in a long time… lust.
Taking a deep breath, I splash some cold water on my wrists, immediately feeling relieved at the sensation. I squeeze my thighs together in a poor attempt to alleviate the sensation building there.
“You are strong, you are capable, and you are a bad bitch,” I tell my reflection, only half believing the words.
I check my phone, relieved to see that my Uber is only a few minutes away. I make my way out of the bathroom, my adrenaline spiking slightly at the thought of encountering him again. But when I glance at the bar to the spot where he was sat to find it empty, bitter disappointment fills my stomach.
It was just a look, I think to myself.
So why did it feel like something more?