When left on his own in a night club, Pete generally found himself people watching. One girl in particular catches his attention, but their interaction isn't at all what he expects.
Peter sat at the bar of the club, sipping his ginger ale. If it wasn't publicly known that he was straight edge, it might have come into question why he wasn't getting completely smashed like most of the other patrons. He was twenty seven and able to legally drink, but he'd done enough drinking for a life time when he was a teenager. Too much nonsense had gone on and it wasn't anything he wanted to get into again. It would figure that he did all his drinking when it wasn't even legal.
It wasn't like he really avoided people who drank. Not actively, anyway. The scene didn't interest him, but he was often dragged along by one friend or another. It was filled with people dancing and drinking, which didn't even bother him that much, if it wasn't for all the fakeness that went on. How many guys there cared at all about what a girl was thinking? Not many, unless she was thinking about the best way to get into his pants. The thing that sickened him, was that that was what most girls were thinking about. His friend had departed with one of these girls, and left him on his own, to fend for himself.
Normally, he'd leave when he found himself alone, but he decided to stay for a little while, and do some people watching. Anyone who didn't really know him would think he was there to pick up some drunk girls and take advantage of them. After all, isn't that what rock stars do? And, how about those pictures that were posted all over the Internet? For someone to do that, they must have been pretty big headed and sure of themselves. But, what most people didn't know is that that 'confident rock star' spent three days locked up by himself, refusing to talk to anyone. It was too embarrassing for him to face, and having millions of people see such private pictures was not something he'd brag about - he still didn't really like talking about it, despite how often he brought it up. You have to laugh to keep yourself from crying, sometimes, and he figured that out pretty fast.
No, he wasn't going to try to get lucky tonight. If he did, well, he did. But, it wasn't likely. If he tried, he could have any girl in the place. This wasn't him being a narcissist; it was the truth. Plain and simple. But, he'd have to try and that first step was always the hardest for him. He always overanalyzed everything, which was an annoying habit of his. It came with the crippling insecurity. That's right: insecurity. What kind of rock star was he?
For example, there was a girl sitting by herself with black hair. Simple enough image to take in. But, he saw so much more to this picture. Her hair was about shoulder length, and looked rather well kempt. Not so much that she looked like she hit the salon every week, or anything, but enough that it looked like she took care of herself. She wore a simple black dress. The kind women always seemed to be trying to find the perfect style of. Hers looked like it came to about her knees, which was a little odd for the girls of the room. Most of them looked like they could be given a OBGYN exam, if they would only uncross their legs. Most were happy to do so.
Her appearance made him feel unsure of his. He dressed relatively conservative for him, wearing his grey hoodie with some jeans. His hair was a mess, though. Why hadn't he fixed it better before he left? If he were to ever approach anyone, they would shoot him down immediately, and probably laugh about it later with their friends. Girls seemed to do these things, although he didn't know why. If he were to ever reject someone, he'd feel bad about it and not mention it to anyone. Some people just got off on the embarrassment of others, but he wasn't one of them.
Pete ran a possible conversation in his head between him and this mystery girl. We would approach her and try to act really smooth, asking the time. He knew she had access to such information because he saw her pull a phone out of her pocketbook. After she told him the time, politely and curtly, as he expected, he would sit down next to her. He'd smile, trying to mask how nervous he was, but she'd smell it in the air. His fear would be evident and she'd use it to her advantage, like a snake.
She'd put her hand on his knee and his stomach would churn, telling him that this was going well and to continue. He'd smile just a fraction of an inch wider, trying not to look overly enthused. But, knowing him, he'd just look like he'd smelled something rancid. And, girls don't like when you look like that in their presence. They tend to think it's something they did, which would make them uncomfortable. When two people are uncomfortable, it doesn't mix well.
The girl wouldn't notice, however, and she'd smile back at him. He'd ask what her name was, where she was from, what hobbies she had...things of that nature to break the ice. A smile would stretch across those pink, glossy, dangerous lips and she'd begin talking about herself - what girls seemed to love most. He nod and smile, laughing at all the right times. Things would go perfectly and it would be hard to top such a performance on either side.
Peter would muster up the courage to ask her out. For a coffee at Starbucks, or a browse through Barnes & Noble, mentally noting that she listed reading as a hobby. She'd smile and look him up and down for the final time that night, before taking her hand back to herself and shaking her head, politely. No, she didn't think they could meet up again. He was a nice boy, but just not her type. He'd feel his body tense up. He was wrong about another one. Another girl was exactly like the rest of them. What made him think she would be different.
He was starting to think he wasn't anyone's type. It would be a lie for him to say he hadn't been through a lot of girlfriends in the past few months, but he wasn't compatible with any of them. They always found some aspect of his personality or his appearance or his life to take issue with. Whether it was his inability to grow up, his bouts of depression and insecurity, or his flat out lack of charm, he didn't measure up. His clothes were too out there for them, no matter how they dressed. He was always away too often, but they failed to realize that it came with the territory. He was, as little as he acted it, a rock star. He always offered his girlfriend at the time a bunk on the bus to sleep in, so she could come on tour with them, but it never lasted long and it was just another plane ticket that he was paying for another girl. It was all the same.
He turned his attention back to the girl her was thinking about earlier. The whole scenario that ended in his defeat had never really happened, anyway. She seemed like she was nice enough. He turned his head away quickly when they locked eyes, not wanting to do the conversation. He didn't want the scenario to become anything less fictional. He ordered another ginger ale, trying to pretend that it was chance that he caught her glance. He felt her presence behind him, though, and knew he had no choice but to acknowledge her. Not to would be rude, but he didn't want to crash and burn that night. He'd rather crash his car and make it literal than to go through this, again.
"I don't usually do this, so I'm sorry if it comes out sounding stupid or whatever, but I noticed you from across the room. I thought you were looking at me, but I guess not. My name is Neveah. Would you want to get some coffee with me sometime?" She asked him, her eyes in every direction but meeting his. She awkwardly fixed her dress as she spoke and it completely destroyed his vision of a sophisticated temptress bent on ruining his night. She seemed to be just as insecure as he was. Peter felt loads better.