Daylight

18 Burning Red

"LET'S GO, GORGEOUS," Kimberly says pulling me into the waiting car. After ending things with Elliot yesterday I called up Emma and Kimberly saying we need to go to the club. They know how much I hate clubbing so when I offered they knew how desperate I was for an escape.

It makes me happy knowing that they know me so well. Yet it turns back to sad because it's like they know the drill already. It's not the first time we've done this. Back then I hated roller coasters, but when he left I went on every ride at Disney. I screamed and cried on every ride but just for a moment, I forgot about him. The first time I went clubbing was right after another time he left. It's this constant cycle, every time he left I would suddenly have the courage to take risks and do something I would never have done before.

Sebastian's shocked expression when I told him our plans this morning is priceless. He tried to invite himself but I told him it was a girls night. Tonight is one of those nights when we forget about our heartbreaks and kiss a few strangers.

Right before I left he said, "Remember to text me when you get home." And it made me laugh so hard because he sounded like a protective brother sending his sister off to the club.

THE CLUB IS DARK, deafening, and filled with writhing bodies: on the dance floor, in the halls, against the bar. A DJ spins music from a small stage and flyers plastered all across the front promises that she is the hottest DJ in London.

Emma seems entirely in her element while Kimberly is like me still trying to warm up. We've spent most of our childhood and adult life so far at quiet, formal events. Kimberly is a little shy but I know she enjoys going out once in a while.

"First round's on me," Emma says, pointing out a table and sliding through the crowd to the bar.

We sit down and watch people grinding each other on the dance floor. After our fifth round, Emma pulls us out to the dance floor, and I finally feel relaxed enough to have a good time. We giggle and bump against each other, laughing hysterically when a man swings his dance partner around but she misses his hand so she slides across the floor on her side.

Kimberly raises her hands above her head, shaking her curls to the music. I laugh at her signature dance face but I stop abruptly when I see Elliot leaning against the bar. He wears a white button-down shirt and dark jeans, the top buttons are undone leaving enough of his chest exposed to leave me wanting more. He is sipping his scotch when our eyes meet. He seems unbothered getting caught watching every move I make. That stare heats every inch of my skin, burning a hole directly through my chest and lower: down past my ribs and deep into my belly. He lifts his glass and smiles. This asshole knows I'm checking him out and he's loving it.

"Of course. The one night we go out, he shows up," Kimberly grumbles.

I used to think that one day we'd tell the story of us. How we met and the red sparks flew instantly. I used to know that my place was the spot next to him but now I'm searching the room for an empty seat. A simple complication, miscommunication leads to our fall out every time. I have so many walls up but a part of me still wishes he will break through them.

Now I'm standing in this crowded room and we're back to not speaking like all those times before. I'm dying to know if it's killing him like it's killing me. Our story always ends with me nervously pulling at my clothes trying to look busy and he tries his best to avoid me. Why does our relationship always have to end in tragedy?

He holds his pride as it should hold me. But why am I pretending this is nothing? I want to tell him that I miss him but I don't know how, I never heard silence quite this loud.