That One Night

“You’d better go home.”
“No. I don’t want to.”
“Really, you should.”
“No!”

She turned around to take her jacket, confused at why everyone was trying so hard to make her go home. The bartender removed more glasses from the table behind her, the one she was sitting at just a while ago. This wasn’t the first time he had to do that. She and her friends had been sitting here a long time already. Being in a bar for a long time quite explains the situation.

When we first met her, she seemed all too innocent. Tall, blonde, first year at university. Didn’t drink that much. Didn’t go out that late. That all changed during the following months. But she was always the sober one, the smart one, making sure she was in class everyday again. You couldn’t say that about us. This time though, I wondered if she would make it. It was five o’clock in the morning and according to what she said, she had class at nine. And she wasn’t planning on going home. She made that clear.

I know what she would do instead. My friend stood at the door waiting.

This time she was so different from what she usually was. I remembered that one time I brought her home. I was driving her bike and she sat at the back. “Please don’t fall. Are you sure you’ve not drank too much?” We made it home safely. I even had the guts to invite myself in. I don’t know if she even hesitated. She let me in. But as easily as she decided to let me in, she made me go again.
At that point her reputation was already made: she wasn’t easy. Even my friend never got what he wanted. Not with this one. Perhaps she was too stubborn. Perhaps she realized my friend would only use her. Maybe that’s why my friend kept trying and why I couldn’t help but being a bit jealous.

What about now though? She put on her jacket, made sure everything was still in her bag and convinced a friend of hers that she would be okay. I wasn’t all too sure – she’d better go home. But my friend opened the door and they went out. We followed and I could hear her talk to her friend.

“I’ll make it home, don’t worry. I know I’m repeating myself, but everything will be okay. Don’t worry.”

My friend was still waiting there, talking to someone else now. I asked him what he would be doing.

“We’re going home.”

He wasn’t really treating her well, but I think she knew – there must have been a reason she was stubborn. They both seemed to circle around each other without ever getting closer to a relationship, nor to a sort of breakup. I knew he didn’t want a relationship, I knew he was mostly trying to use her. But I didn’t understand what she wanted. She did realize he was a jerk, right? Then why would she give in now?

Everyone started to leave. She and my friend were left. I wish she knew that I would be better for her. She smiled at my friend, not completely aware of what she was doing. Or at least, not caring anymore. This was bad and I knew it, but I couldn’t stop it. It was too late to get her out of his grip now. They were hugging again.

“Shall we go?”

She threw one more look in my direction. That innocent blonde girl, seemingly unaware of what she was doing, of what she was getting herself in to. That nice blonde girl I would like to come with me instead of him.

I turned my back and walked away.

 

This is a dramatised version of that night. My reputation of not being easy only got stronger. I made it into class at nine. I promised myself that this would never happen again, and it never did.

I wrote this for the Weekly Writing Challenge, after reading both this and this post. They did a way better job, but still I decided to publish this. Just because.

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