Played like a Guitar - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading Played like a Guitar, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of Played like a Guitar.
We were greeted with way too many blinding lights, spinning in all directions, turning off and on repeatedly - the perfect opportunity to find out if I had epilepsy or not, although I didn't really mind having a seizure at that moment. Clubs were never my thing since I hated crowds, sweaty drunk people and my dancing skills were quite questionable. Looking around though, the competition was underwhelming as most people were either completely shitfaced or as high as Snoop Dogg on a Friday night, twisting and turning their bodies in peculiar ways to the beat of the hip-hop tracks. Strippers were pole dancing in the center stage, mesmerizing the audience, some probably married and others suspiciously young-looking in this warehouse with fancy and flashy decorations.
We were shown our high tables near the bartender (to my misfortune), and Elektra ordered a bottle of vodka before we even managed to sit down. Positioned above us were VIP seats with Greek celebrities I was completely clueless about until she mentioned them. Directly on the opposite side of the room sat the Midnight Blues, surrounded by thirsty fans trying to flirt their way inside their luxury box. Jamie on the other hand, looked like a student finishing his math homework in the bathroom five minutes before class, scribbling down the rest of his ideas inside the mysterious notebook before they could escape, but the pencil's tip broke from the intense pressure and speed. Highly vexed, he ravaged through his backpack in search for a replacement but got interrupted by a stranger. I downed my first shot, equally disgusted by the vodka's burning taste in my mouth as I was seeing him laughing with a random chick in a tight dress, twisting her hair and biting her lips. Keep biting them girl, and your lip fillers will pop.
"It's time I introduced myself to the band, you guys." - announced a wasted Elektra with messy makeup on her face but confident enough to stand on her two left feet and push her way to Jessie's booth. I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to slap her face or beg her to teach me all her tricks, secretly envying her boldness and charisma. Judging by his unimpressed expression, he didn't seem interested the slightest so she tried pulling him onto the dance floor in a rather aggressive way. A security guard cut them off before she could drag him out so she returned a nasty gesture with her finger and vanished into the wave of people. Way to make a fool of yourself girl. Also, am I seriously getting jealous over some random dude I talked to for ten minutes? Maybe. But I decided to down another shot hoping it would take my mind off things, the sweet burning taste cleansing my throat and internal organs.
Having zero intentions of approaching them, I stood awkwardly beside the table, tapping my feet and shaking my head to the beat, failing to pretend I was having fun. "Do you really expect him to come all the way here for a chat?" - queried my dearest subconscious. Maybe I did, but it was below my pride to beg for someone's attention. Instead, I just happened to check up on him every five seconds to see if he would notice me. My vivid imagination played me like a fool for the nth time, leading me to believe we would start talking until the music became too loud for a proper conversation, when he would offer for us to leave together and spend the rest of the night strolling around the city. Since neither of us had the intention of approaching the other, it will remain only that: a product of imagination. My expectations were unrealistically high, yet my spirit was somehow dampened and illusions shattered.
The DJ started playing the legendary club anthem 'Please don't stop the music' and my body soon carried itself in the middle of the dance floor with people's rear ends twerking aggressively against it, trying to ignore the disgrace I had become. I was supposed to look after my friend and here I was living my life in a trans-like state, dancing the night away. I felt relief for a change, observing everyone around me savoring the moment, without a care in the world, as euphoria embellished the atmosphere (among other substances). Perhaps it was a sign from Rihanna herself to let go of the musician and focus on myself. So be it.
It felt oddly relaxing, like an eagle stretching its wings after being trapped in a cage for so long. An old Britney song started playing and the club shook like an earthquake hit the city, the mass jumping and singing their hearts out like it was their last. Even though I was surrounded by complete strangers, I felt accepted and stress-free, moving my body in new ways, dancing in the dark, becoming one with the crowd, a droplet of water flowing through the wave. Two girls were passionately making out to my left, yet no one seemed bothered by the sight some medieval folks would call outrageous and dishonorable. Good for them, at least someone had their dreams come true.
After a few early 2000's bops, my legs were giving up and I felt lightheaded and dizzy, as if I lost partial control over my body. I only drank a few shots, so I was confused as to why it was happening in the first place. Where's El when you need her? All I could do was decide whether I was going to vomit on the floor, on the hot girl brushing her body against mine or in the nearest restroom. The last seemed most reasonable as I didn't need to embarrass myself more than I already did. Jamie is probably staring at me right now in disappointment, wondering why he approached me at all. Wait, is he actually staring at me? I noticed his serious gaze all the way across the room, or at least I thought that was him. A twin brother, perhaps?
"Woah there, everything alright? You look like you could use some help." – an older buff man offered a helping hand while I was pushing my way towards the bathroom. I nodded, feeling too sick to orient myself properly. He grabbed me around the shoulders and walked me there, closing the door behind. I carried myself towards the sink while he was checking every stall individually to see if anyone else was present. My blood ran cold at the frightening realization: he wasn't here to help. I dragged myself towards the exit, but before I could reach the filthy doorknob, he grabbed me aggressively by the hand, pulling my body against his to kiss my neck, touching me under my shirt. I was too weak to resist and not loud enough to be heard from all the music. Never in my life had I been so powerless and discomfited, feeling his disgusting sweaty body on my skin and breath reeking of cheap booze. It's like the more I resisted, the more it fueled his despicable desires. Every second was pure agony, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Instances before my last spark of hope evaporated, the sound of the doorknob being turned repeatedly with a loud bang caught his attention, causing him to push me inside the nearest bathroom stall against the dirty toilet seat. Catching one last glance before dazing off, a figure furiously entered the bathroom, throwing him against the wall and punching him in the face, knocking him out flat on the floor. Who could it possibly be? My sight became blurry and I let myself go, drifting into unconsciousness, incapable of staying awake for another second. How could you let this happen to yourself, Noah?
I woke up the next morning with a huge headache and nausea, surprised to find myself in Elektra's king-sized bed. I tried recollecting last night's events but only a few images came to mind, insufficient to figure out the events before the blackout. Judging by my dirty hair and smelly body, something godawful happened. She was snoring next to me with her makeup still on, mascara and lipstick smudged all over her face. Even hungover, she looked as pretty as a picture. I wish she embraced her natural beauty more instead of covering it up with all those beauty products. Dozens of notifications popped up on my drained phone, mostly missed calls and several unread messages. All six missed calls were from dad. The poor guy must be worried sick. Alongside was a message in my inbox from an unknown number, asking if I was okay. In that moment, Elektra woke up from her beauty sleep, jumping onto my side of the bed, greeting me with a warm hug.
"Oh baby, I'm so sorry about last night! I shouldn't have left you, I feel terrible! Thank God that guy was there to help you. I swear if that pervert laid a finger on you I will..." - but her speech was interrupted by my uncontrollable sobs, feeling his cold slimy hands touching my body again, vivid images flashing through my mind. How could I be so reckless and naïve? I should have left home right after the gig. "No, baby, don't cry. It wasn't your fault; that scumbag probably sneaked a roofie inside your drink while you weren't watching. You're not the first victim, though, I know a few friends who were attacked the same way, but now they finally had him arrested. He won't be hurting anyone anytime soon."- she pulled me against her chest, holding tight.
After gathering enough strength to form a proper sentence, I filled her in on everything I could remember from last night. According to her, someone saw me getting dragged to the bathroom and wanted to check if I needed help, but the door was locked so he forced his way inside, beating the living crap out of the perpetrator. He offered Elektra a ride home to make sure we came back in one piece, leaving his phone number to know if I was okay. "He was a hottie though, with that curly ginger hair of his. A real gentleman. I think I'll borrow his number from you." - she remarked enthusiastically and my heart dropped all the way down to my painfully empty stomach. It was him.
We were shown our high tables near the bartender (to my misfortune), and Elektra ordered a bottle of vodka before we even managed to sit down. Positioned above us were VIP seats with Greek celebrities I was completely clueless about until she mentioned them. Directly on the opposite side of the room sat the Midnight Blues, surrounded by thirsty fans trying to flirt their way inside their luxury box. Jamie on the other hand, looked like a student finishing his math homework in the bathroom five minutes before class, scribbling down the rest of his ideas inside the mysterious notebook before they could escape, but the pencil's tip broke from the intense pressure and speed. Highly vexed, he ravaged through his backpack in search for a replacement but got interrupted by a stranger. I downed my first shot, equally disgusted by the vodka's burning taste in my mouth as I was seeing him laughing with a random chick in a tight dress, twisting her hair and biting her lips. Keep biting them girl, and your lip fillers will pop.
"It's time I introduced myself to the band, you guys." - announced a wasted Elektra with messy makeup on her face but confident enough to stand on her two left feet and push her way to Jessie's booth. I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to slap her face or beg her to teach me all her tricks, secretly envying her boldness and charisma. Judging by his unimpressed expression, he didn't seem interested the slightest so she tried pulling him onto the dance floor in a rather aggressive way. A security guard cut them off before she could drag him out so she returned a nasty gesture with her finger and vanished into the wave of people. Way to make a fool of yourself girl. Also, am I seriously getting jealous over some random dude I talked to for ten minutes? Maybe. But I decided to down another shot hoping it would take my mind off things, the sweet burning taste cleansing my throat and internal organs.
Having zero intentions of approaching them, I stood awkwardly beside the table, tapping my feet and shaking my head to the beat, failing to pretend I was having fun. "Do you really expect him to come all the way here for a chat?" - queried my dearest subconscious. Maybe I did, but it was below my pride to beg for someone's attention. Instead, I just happened to check up on him every five seconds to see if he would notice me. My vivid imagination played me like a fool for the nth time, leading me to believe we would start talking until the music became too loud for a proper conversation, when he would offer for us to leave together and spend the rest of the night strolling around the city. Since neither of us had the intention of approaching the other, it will remain only that: a product of imagination. My expectations were unrealistically high, yet my spirit was somehow dampened and illusions shattered.
The DJ started playing the legendary club anthem 'Please don't stop the music' and my body soon carried itself in the middle of the dance floor with people's rear ends twerking aggressively against it, trying to ignore the disgrace I had become. I was supposed to look after my friend and here I was living my life in a trans-like state, dancing the night away. I felt relief for a change, observing everyone around me savoring the moment, without a care in the world, as euphoria embellished the atmosphere (among other substances). Perhaps it was a sign from Rihanna herself to let go of the musician and focus on myself. So be it.
It felt oddly relaxing, like an eagle stretching its wings after being trapped in a cage for so long. An old Britney song started playing and the club shook like an earthquake hit the city, the mass jumping and singing their hearts out like it was their last. Even though I was surrounded by complete strangers, I felt accepted and stress-free, moving my body in new ways, dancing in the dark, becoming one with the crowd, a droplet of water flowing through the wave. Two girls were passionately making out to my left, yet no one seemed bothered by the sight some medieval folks would call outrageous and dishonorable. Good for them, at least someone had their dreams come true.
After a few early 2000's bops, my legs were giving up and I felt lightheaded and dizzy, as if I lost partial control over my body. I only drank a few shots, so I was confused as to why it was happening in the first place. Where's El when you need her? All I could do was decide whether I was going to vomit on the floor, on the hot girl brushing her body against mine or in the nearest restroom. The last seemed most reasonable as I didn't need to embarrass myself more than I already did. Jamie is probably staring at me right now in disappointment, wondering why he approached me at all. Wait, is he actually staring at me? I noticed his serious gaze all the way across the room, or at least I thought that was him. A twin brother, perhaps?
"Woah there, everything alright? You look like you could use some help." – an older buff man offered a helping hand while I was pushing my way towards the bathroom. I nodded, feeling too sick to orient myself properly. He grabbed me around the shoulders and walked me there, closing the door behind. I carried myself towards the sink while he was checking every stall individually to see if anyone else was present. My blood ran cold at the frightening realization: he wasn't here to help. I dragged myself towards the exit, but before I could reach the filthy doorknob, he grabbed me aggressively by the hand, pulling my body against his to kiss my neck, touching me under my shirt. I was too weak to resist and not loud enough to be heard from all the music. Never in my life had I been so powerless and discomfited, feeling his disgusting sweaty body on my skin and breath reeking of cheap booze. It's like the more I resisted, the more it fueled his despicable desires. Every second was pure agony, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Instances before my last spark of hope evaporated, the sound of the doorknob being turned repeatedly with a loud bang caught his attention, causing him to push me inside the nearest bathroom stall against the dirty toilet seat. Catching one last glance before dazing off, a figure furiously entered the bathroom, throwing him against the wall and punching him in the face, knocking him out flat on the floor. Who could it possibly be? My sight became blurry and I let myself go, drifting into unconsciousness, incapable of staying awake for another second. How could you let this happen to yourself, Noah?
I woke up the next morning with a huge headache and nausea, surprised to find myself in Elektra's king-sized bed. I tried recollecting last night's events but only a few images came to mind, insufficient to figure out the events before the blackout. Judging by my dirty hair and smelly body, something godawful happened. She was snoring next to me with her makeup still on, mascara and lipstick smudged all over her face. Even hungover, she looked as pretty as a picture. I wish she embraced her natural beauty more instead of covering it up with all those beauty products. Dozens of notifications popped up on my drained phone, mostly missed calls and several unread messages. All six missed calls were from dad. The poor guy must be worried sick. Alongside was a message in my inbox from an unknown number, asking if I was okay. In that moment, Elektra woke up from her beauty sleep, jumping onto my side of the bed, greeting me with a warm hug.
"Oh baby, I'm so sorry about last night! I shouldn't have left you, I feel terrible! Thank God that guy was there to help you. I swear if that pervert laid a finger on you I will..." - but her speech was interrupted by my uncontrollable sobs, feeling his cold slimy hands touching my body again, vivid images flashing through my mind. How could I be so reckless and naïve? I should have left home right after the gig. "No, baby, don't cry. It wasn't your fault; that scumbag probably sneaked a roofie inside your drink while you weren't watching. You're not the first victim, though, I know a few friends who were attacked the same way, but now they finally had him arrested. He won't be hurting anyone anytime soon."- she pulled me against her chest, holding tight.
After gathering enough strength to form a proper sentence, I filled her in on everything I could remember from last night. According to her, someone saw me getting dragged to the bathroom and wanted to check if I needed help, but the door was locked so he forced his way inside, beating the living crap out of the perpetrator. He offered Elektra a ride home to make sure we came back in one piece, leaving his phone number to know if I was okay. "He was a hottie though, with that curly ginger hair of his. A real gentleman. I think I'll borrow his number from you." - she remarked enthusiastically and my heart dropped all the way down to my painfully empty stomach. It was him.
End of Played like a Guitar Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to Played like a Guitar book page.