Tonight, Not Again
Not My Style
I hated clubs. I hated the techno dance music. I hated getting “dolled up” to go see people that I would never see again in my life.
But that night was different.
For one night only, I loved clubs. I loved grinding up against some strange man to a horrible song. I loved looking “hot”.
That night I was getting a one-night stand.
…
I’d moped around for a week, but what else was I supposed to do? The guy had literally opened up my chest, ripped out my heart, and lit it on fire. All while stomping on it.
Personally, I blamed it all on irony. If my boss hadn’t been feeling generous (the first time in her life), I wouldn’t have left work twenty-five minutes early. If my piece of shit car hadn’t suddenly made a miraculous recovery (she stalled three times on the way to work), I wouldn’t have made it home without so much as a minor traffic hold-up. If I hadn’t gotten home so early, I would have never found out that my boyfriend of three years was screwing two other girls from his Theory of the Firm and Consumer course at UCLA.
Needless to say, I was devastated. I was convinced that Brett and I had something special, but you know what they say when someone assumes.
Brett and I began dating when I was eighteen. We were both lowly freshmen trying to navigate our way through the bewildering L.A. campus. After three years—three years that I thought were great—I walked in on Brett in my bed with two girls from one of his classes. I didn’t see it coming.
I had spent all of that week trying to figure out where Brett and I had gone astray. My only conclusion was that I simply wasn’t good enough for him, a conclusion that had me surprised. I hadn’t been raised to be that weak. I knew it was stupid to feel that way, but I couldn’t shake it. It hurt too much.
The pep-talks came after that. My friends, my sisters, and even my mother sat me down. To them, it was all the simple truth that I just wasn’t ready to be in a relationship as serious as that. I was too young. As much as I complained about the hypocrisy of it all—Adrienne, my best friend, had been seeing her boyfriend for two years—they all insisted that I just “slow down”.
My depression turned into anger. I wanted some sort of revenge. Something to make me feel good.
And that is where The Blue Palm worked its magic.
But that night was different.
For one night only, I loved clubs. I loved grinding up against some strange man to a horrible song. I loved looking “hot”.
That night I was getting a one-night stand.
…
I’d moped around for a week, but what else was I supposed to do? The guy had literally opened up my chest, ripped out my heart, and lit it on fire. All while stomping on it.
Personally, I blamed it all on irony. If my boss hadn’t been feeling generous (the first time in her life), I wouldn’t have left work twenty-five minutes early. If my piece of shit car hadn’t suddenly made a miraculous recovery (she stalled three times on the way to work), I wouldn’t have made it home without so much as a minor traffic hold-up. If I hadn’t gotten home so early, I would have never found out that my boyfriend of three years was screwing two other girls from his Theory of the Firm and Consumer course at UCLA.
Needless to say, I was devastated. I was convinced that Brett and I had something special, but you know what they say when someone assumes.
Brett and I began dating when I was eighteen. We were both lowly freshmen trying to navigate our way through the bewildering L.A. campus. After three years—three years that I thought were great—I walked in on Brett in my bed with two girls from one of his classes. I didn’t see it coming.
I had spent all of that week trying to figure out where Brett and I had gone astray. My only conclusion was that I simply wasn’t good enough for him, a conclusion that had me surprised. I hadn’t been raised to be that weak. I knew it was stupid to feel that way, but I couldn’t shake it. It hurt too much.
The pep-talks came after that. My friends, my sisters, and even my mother sat me down. To them, it was all the simple truth that I just wasn’t ready to be in a relationship as serious as that. I was too young. As much as I complained about the hypocrisy of it all—Adrienne, my best friend, had been seeing her boyfriend for two years—they all insisted that I just “slow down”.
My depression turned into anger. I wanted some sort of revenge. Something to make me feel good.
And that is where The Blue Palm worked its magic.
♠ ♠ ♠
So this story is under the title "Use Somebody" on Quizilla. It needed to be changed. I hate that song :)Anyway, each of the chapters will be told from either Zoey or Rob's P.O.V.