Wednesday 8 July 2015

The regular. Like always.

Its 11 PM. The lights are shining in my eyes. The pub has too many people, its too noisy. My eyes well, they are set on you. You are sitting next to me, and there are others sitting to the other next of both of us. Your eyes are twinkling, reflecting the blues and silvers of the lit bar. Your hair stays perfectly made. You are laughing, talking. Talking, laughing. People around us are talking and laughing. Except for me. I am only laughing. Because I don't want to talk. I don't want to ruin the chances of listening to your voice in case you were supposed to talk in the moment I spoke. Riya asks you to pass the cigarette, you lean in. Your wrist rests on my knee when you lean in to pass the cigarette. The hem of my dress moves up. Its not my fault. My hemline likes your wrist. I look at you, expecting you to look at me. You don't. It doesn't matter to you. You take the cigarette back. Back and forth. Back and forth. Bottles of rum are slowly the empty bottles of rum. My hem line rides up. Up and up. Until it doesn't want to anymore. My head is buzzing. I feel chirpy. Its been half an hour and I haven't said a word. "Are you okay?", you look at me. Your hand is on my bare knee. You didn't mean to do that. It means nothing to you. "Yes", I lie. "Okay", you smile. And look away. 

I sit back. The boy across two tables is smiling at me. I look away. He's cute, yes. But he's not you. An hour passes by. He walks over to our table. "Hey, can I buy you a drink?", he beams. I visibly roll my eyes, "No, thank you!". "Yes, you can!", you scream. You are giddy, excited. "Let him buy you a drink!" "Yes bro, totally. She's just acting pricey". I want to punch you in the face. Not because you pulled that, but because you were supposed to be jealous. The cute boy beams, desperately wanting my attention. My rum is starting to kick in. I am mad at you. "Sure, one drink can't hurt." I get up and saunter over right across you. I don't look back. I walk over to the counter with the cute boy. "One long island tea, please", I already know. Minutes pass by while the cute boy chatters non-stop. I want to spontaneously self combust. Until I see you looking at me. A pale shade of green in your eyes. Ah. I absent-mindedly run my fingers along his shoulders. I laugh louder. I am totally enjoying his company. More minutes pass by. Its getting harder to keep up the act. Until he puts a hand on my bare thighs. And I instinctively stand up. "Don't!", I wave a sassy finger at him. I am tipsy. I am wobbly. But I don't show. I walk back and sit opposite you, away from you. "Did you give him your number?", girls are annoyingly privacy invasive. "Ofcourse!", I smirk. I didn't. Exs get trashed, trashy gossip makes more rounds. Who was who's one night stand.Who cheated on whom. Who is in love. Love, lol. More bottles of rum and brandy, more shots of vodka and tequila, more pitchers of beer. They aren't full, they are empty. Cigarettes burn, get tapped. The smoke is starting to engulf the space between me and you. Or is it my eyes that are blurry? A lone tear escapes my eye, I wipe it away, a speck of dust. I am those girls that don't get drunk and cry. You sit across from me, pretty drunk. I know when you are pretty drunk. You don't talk and laugh. You are quiet. 

Its 2 AM. The pub is a little less noisy, lesser people. Fewer souls burning cigarettes. Fewer souls lonely in the dark, lonely among other lonely souls. Some drink to remember, some drink to forget. The cute boy is still at his table, almost ready to pass out. Almost all our friends are ready to leave, some passing out and others escorting the pass outs. Couples are into each other. I see a probably-sixteen-year old girl gesture a boy towards the washrooms. She seems like mischief. Her eyes are heavy, her heels are high. Her hair reeks of smoke and her top is stained. Wine. She holds the boy, arm in arm. I am tempted to lend her a condom. Kids these days! 

Its 2 45 AM. All our friends have left. Its just the two of us, me and you. I can't sit across from you anymore. I have to get away from you before I blurt. I blurt when I am drunk. I talk non-stop. Its adorable, most times. Dangerous, around you. "Well, I will leave now, I've to be in office by 10 tomorrow. How about you?" My voice is ice cold. Colder than the beer I had that's making me want to throw up on my shoes right now. There is no point, just no point getting my hopes high. "I am not letting you drive, you are drunk". You are protective. Haha. "I am not drunk, I can drive home and I am." "Can I crash at your place?", you ask. "Sure", I say. I am not nearly excited. I wanted to go home and sleep. Throw up. Or do both in my bed. Not share it with you. I don't really want to have you home right now. Sometimes I wish I stayed with my parents, its so much easier to avoid such situations. "I will drive", you grab the keys from my hand. 

Your hand rests on the small of my back as we walk to the parking lot. I look down, and walk. Just walk. Heel toe, heel toe, heel toe. Not a word from my mouth. "Are you mad at me?", you ask. "No", I say. I lie. We reach my car. You unlock it, I walk over and open the door before you do. I plonk myself in. I fish for a clip in my dashboard and throw my hair in it. I need a clip for my messy life. My messy thoughts. You plonk yourself in the driver's seat. And before I know, your mouth is on mine. I can taste the acid of cigarette. The regular. Like always. Your hand reaches for my hair, to unclip the mess I just clipped. "Don't, I am tired". I am really tired. Annoyed. You pull yourself back and just, ever so lightly, peck on my cheek. "You are so beautiful", you smile. "Can we please leave already?" "Sure, right after I.." and you are all pecks on my cheeks. "Ughh I'll throw up ya, stop!" 

Its 3 15 AM. We are in my apartment. I am too tired to remove my makeup. Heck, even my shoes. I walk to my room and throw the clutch on the floor. Grudgingly, I connect my phone to the charger. And I crash. You fall right beside me. You follow the same routine. You don't keep a spare tooth brush in my apartment, you keep a spare phone charger. And then you are all over me. Your hands run up and down the length of my body. Your breath smells of rum and beer. Your hair smells of smoke. Even while so drunk, you effortlessly peel my dress away. It takes you seconds to unhook, you are such a pro, as you call yourself. And here we are. Like always. Like every drunken Saturday evening. Like every sober Sunday afternoon. Like every evening of a hectic Thursday. Here we are. Sighs of pleasure. Sighs of comfort. Sighs of despair. How do you distinguish? You don't, because you don't know. I do, because I know.

3 50 AM. I am sore all over. I am drunk and sore. I am hungry. I walk over to the fridge, naked. And I find what? Beer. Some more beer. Left over pizza. Thousand reflections of me in the kitchen cabinets show me the location of the hickeys. I am sore all over. 

I walk back, you are still awake. Damnit. I sit on my side of the bed and thrust pizza into my mouth. I don't offer you a bite, you already took it. I sip beer and offer it to you. Courtesy. "No", you grin, "I want that". You kiss my mouth and suck the beer out of my mouth. Your hands are now trying to make me feel better. "Hurts?", you are concerned. "No", I lie. You kiss me again. Gently, this time. "Come here", you push my hair off my face. "I am good here", I don't want to cuddle. What a bitch. "I'll come over", you say. You plonk yourself behind me and its impossible not to lean back on you. You are my comfort. You kiss my shoulder ever so softly. You whisper my name. I don't respond. "Don't be mad at me, please? I can't handle you being mad at me. Talk to me, okay?" you say in your pleady puppy dog face voice. Pizza is over. You get yourself off my side of the bed and place your head in my lap. You take my palm and I have to cup it over your cheeks. Stubbled cheeks. You nuzzle your face on my tummy and you fall asleep. The regular. Like always.

I sigh. We are friends with benefits. The regular. Like always. I love you. Like always. You don't know, will never know. Like always. You don't want relationships. You want a career. The regular. Like always. But I love you. Like always. 

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PS: Fiction. 
PPS: I wrote it after reading a tumblr post. 
PPPS: How do you like it? :)

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