Wild Thing

I hated waiting in line, and in one day, I’d done it twice. Natalie had been right, it was warm outside and I could already feel it getting warmer the closer we got to the club’s doors.

“Natalie, is this club 21 and up? Someone just got turned away at the door.”

“Just don’t look excited,” Natalie said dropping her gaze and putting on her best bored face. “Look like you belong and it’ll be fine."

The doorman asked for our IDs as soon as we got to the entrance.

“Well, um…” I faltered, pretending to dig in my wallet. Natalie didn’t break a sweat.

“How ‘bout this instead?” She flashed the card Machine Gun Kelly had given us as if they were the keys to the city. The security guard looked unimpressed.

“What the hell’s that supposed to be?”

Natalie had begun to falter too when another guard came from behind the first and peered over his shoulder. I recognized him from the Meet and Greet.

“These are Kels’ girls, let ‘em in,” he said after a moment. The first guard gave us one more doubtful look before shrugging and lifting the velvet ropes granting us admittance. We were in.

“What do we do now?!” I yelled over the racket of whatever song was playing. Natalie was already doing a sort of in place bouncing that I guess was supposed to be dancing. Her eyes swept the room momentarily before she stopped and pointed.

"Up there!"

I followed her gesture to a platform and only had to look at it for a moment before my mouth twisted in repulse. There were at least ten girls on the stage, all dressed in shorts even shorter than the ones Natalie had been wearing earlier—I didn’t know shorts that small even existed!—and varying types of “shirts” that were actually just bras with extra fabric. They crawled and slid all over the stage, popping their butts backs with hands on knees in what Natalie had explained to me was “twerking.” I found Machine Gun Kelly in the center of it, arms crossed back behind his head casually while a blonde girl wrapped her legs around his waist and proceeded to all but impregnate herself as she grinded on top of his crotch.

“I hope she has protection,” I muttered dryly. Suddenly, I was very sorry. This had been a mistake. I resolved to find a way to meet Jacques Astineau one way or another, even if meant scaling Natalie’s house and kidnapping him. But I wasn’t doing this a second longer.

Natalie had other plans.

“Come on!” She grabbed my arm and, caught off guard, I tripped helplessly after her.

The crowd thickened the closer we got to the stage. I cringed as drops of what I hoped was just alcohol or sweat splashed my arms and legs. More people were dancing in that same bouncing way as Natalie while some were taking it to extremes.

“Just dance a minute, we’ll wait ‘til he gets off stage and try to catch him!” Natalie shouted at me. I was trying to tell her I didn’t know how to dance like this, that the only dancing I’d ever done was to the delicate tinkle of a piano in the ballet studio, but suddenly she’d turned away from me and began grinding on me. I backed up awkwardly and some other guy happily took my place behind her.

“Natalie!” I yelled, but she either couldn’t hear me or was ignoring me as she reached back to grab the neck of her new dance partner and grind against him more sensually.

I jumped as a hand slithered around my waist.

“You fine, girl," An anonymous male voice murmured.

“Uh, thanks,” I said quietly. His other hand crept around my other hip, pinning me against him. I watched Natalie still immersed in her guy and sighed resignedly.

It wasn’t that hard, grinding. I found I could just count the beats the same way I would in ballet and it made the song go faster. The guy that’d glued himself to me tried whispering a few things in my ear and I’d just nodded uninterestedly or said nothing at all. Three songs later, his grip on me tightened.

“Let’s get out of here.”

I clammed up instantly. “Uh, no… I don’t want to leave my friend…” I looked back to where Natalie had been rooted a second ago and saw no one. The blood dropped from my face.

“She’s fine.” A rancid smell like old cigarettes was coming from the man’s breath, and he pinched my chin to make me look at his squarely for the first time. He was a lot older than I’d originally thought; his hair was already thinning and he had deep pockets under his eyes. I was suddenly very scared.

“You’re pretty,” he soothed. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“I don’t want to leave.” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. “I want to stay here.”

My heart dropped as, in an instant, his grip went from my hip to my upper arm and tightened.

“Let’s go,” he said coldly.

I dug my heels into the ground, but it did nothing as he pulled me forward.

“HELP!” I screamed. “Natalie! Someone, help me!”

But it was too loud, everyone was too drunk. For a moment I thought I’d be saved by the security guards at the front door, but he skirted away from the main entrance towards a dark hall where there was an unguarded back exit.

My heart was pounding and even though I hadn’t eaten anything, I felt like I was going to throw up. I tried to kick him as he forced me outside into the parking lot, but it didn’t do any good. I had a true ballerina body, twig-like.

“Get off me! Take your hands off me!” I yelled.

“She’s drunk!” The man yelled to some people a few yards away who’d stopped to look at the commotion. One of them looked slightly familiar.

“NO! Let go! Please, let go of me!” I was beginning to get light-headed, I hadn’t had an anxiety attack in years, but my legs were already beginning to numb—

“Get the fuck off her.”

My vision was swimming, but I could still recognize the slight figure sauntering forward quickly. The grip on my arm loosened slightly.

“Kels, man, there’s no problems,” the man stammered. “Me and my girl are going home—”

“She’s not your girl,” Machine Gun Kelly said coldly. “And she’s clearly not trying to go home with you. Last time, bitch, let go of her.” He reached very pointedly into his pocket and the grip on my arm disappeared instantly.

“No problems, no problems, Kels!” The man was backing into the shadows, white as a ghost.

“Man, get the fuck out of here,” Machine Gun Kelly sneered disgustedly. “…yo’ bitch ass.”

“No problems, no problems…” the man was still stammering as he whirled around it and hightailed it into the darkness.

The rapper gave one more hard look in the direction he’d gone before turning to me.

“You straight?”

“…Yeah.” I combed through my hair, trying to calm myself down. “I’m fine.”

“Sorry about that, there are mu'fuckas like that at every club though.”

I surprised myself. “You don’t need to apologize, you didn’t do anything. Actually...” I hesitated. “Thanks.”

He smiled slightly. “Didn’t think you’d come out.” He cocked his head. “What made you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I would.”

“Too bad. Not your business.”

He laughed again, more richly. “Damn, girls don’t talk to me like that anymore, I kinda wish they did sometimes.”

“With distrust?” I said wryly.

“Nah," He said shaking his head. "Like a person. Another dude, and not a rockstar. I miss that normal shit.”

“Yeah, well, normal shit’s nothing spectacular.”

“What do you do?” He stopped before we reached the entrance of the club again, we were still too far from the lights for anyone to see him.

“I dance.” It was the most emotional my voice had gotten since our conversation started.

“Ah, right, right, that’s what the Bach is about,” he nodded. “Ballet’s kinda weak though.”

I could’ve punched him but, given that he’d just saved me, I resisted the urge. It was a close call though.

“Take that back,” I fumed. He smirked, pleased he’d gotten a rise out of me finally, before shaking his head.

“Sorry, Anna-Claire,” he said smiling as a girl in line finally noticed him and started screaming like a lunatic. “I don’t take shit back.”

He sauntered off and left me there, irate. A few minutes later, a flustered looking Natalie came out of the club, spotted me, and rushed over reeking of liquor.

“I look’d for you,” she slurred. “…thought you left? …Wuzzat fuckin’ Kels out front? We missed ‘im…!”
I slung her arm around my shoulder, annoyed as we headed back to my car.

Fuck rap music. And fuck tall, arrogant, smirking, ballet-hating rappers.