Take Me to Your Place

I’m tired of being the same. Same person, same style, same personality, same type, same music taste. It’s so boring. Sticking to the same friends and the same routine. That’s why I am in this club. Drinking my emotions away. I love chugging three hard drinks and waiting patiently, oh so patiently, for them to hit like an earthquake in your body. All of a sudden you can’t move properly, you have no control, no emotions. The blinding strobe lights make you feel like you’re in La La Land. The pumping music hits your soul and the bass vibrates inside your body causing a chemical reaction almost like pure pleasure. There you are in the middle of the dance floor grinding on strangers who could be your uncle, but you wouldn’t know. You are just having the time of your life. Sometimes you forget to breathe. Then it disappears. And everything that you came to this club to get rid of, is back. I remember the first time I got drunk: I was 14 at a family party, hanging out with all my cousins who are in their 20-30s, getting high, and just dancing to their heart’s content. My cousin who was a mixologist, Rayna, made me around 5 hard drinks that hit fast, faster than any form of alcohol that I’ve ever had. Now add those drinks plus the 6 shots of Pink Whitney. I still cannot believe that I could still think and walk straight. I was eyeing one of my cousin’s friends, probably around 21-24, and they were eyeing me right back. I was a horny drunk, and I still am to this day. But I still had a brain that worked, so I didn’t go for it. I went inside, drunk as hell, where all the adults were. I threw back a couple more shots, and that’s when I laid my eyes on her. She was tall and slim, with light brunette hair just beneath her shoulders, and shocking blue eyes. She was drunk as well. But it was kind of love at first sight.

That has nothing to do with anything right now, but that’s a story that I always think of when I go to get drunk. The feeling of freedom, she was my freedom. Fuck. There’s that feeling again. Feeling trapped. Trapped and forced to obey. I stumble to the bar, it’s easy to notice even when you’re hammered. It feels like my high heels are trying to stop me from going there. The bartender knows me on a first-name basis,

“H-Hey! Hey T-Tyrell... How’s my f-favourite bartender?” I force out with a drunken smile,

“Well if it isn’t my favourite sober girl, Ayla! What can I get for ya, doll?” Tyrell is in his late 30s, but I still flirt with him,

“O-oh Tyrell! You know me t-too well...” I reach my hands over the counter to pinch his porcelain cheeks and pat his fluffy blonde hair. I know he is always annoyed with drunk Ayla. You can see it in his hazel eyes.

“Bloody Mary, Ayl?” he shot at me,

“You make me sound like an a-alcoholic! And you know I hate when you call me A-Ayl.”

“If the shoe fits... One Bloody Mary comin’ up!” I love his deep New Jersey accent. I scan the club, looking for potential one-night stands. Clink! I hear Tyrell put my drink down on the glass counter, I turn around with a huge smile on my face and lean over the counter to kiss him on the cheek, he just rolled his eyes and walked away. I sat on the cold leather stool, adjusting my little black dress, the cold A/C was blasting on my exposed shoulders, making me shiver. The club reeked like expensive cologne and sweat. The Bloody Mary hit my cravings perfectly, but something was missing.

I take a few sips and absorb the rhythm and movement of everything around me. My head started to pound in pain. The screams of the crowd were spinning around me. I couldn’t hear myself think. My eyes felt like they were going to explode. I started to sweat. I need to escape. I chugged my drink and walked outside. I was pushing against gravity to stand up straight. The stairs leading to the door felt like they were endless. I slammed the heavy metal door behind me, clinging to the old brick exterior. The cold air washed through my body, feeling a sense of relief like the stress was lifted off my shoulders. I breathed in the refreshing Paris air and watched my breath escape my red lips like smoke. I hear someone sigh beside me, loudly, like they wanted me to hear,

“It’s quite relieving, isn’t it?” a luminous voice beside me asked, she had a slight French accent. I was too embarrassed to look at the woman, I came out like a whirlwind, making a small scene.

“It’s alright to be embarrassed, mon chéri,” her voice was so elegant and rich, it sent a rush through my body. The way she said ‘chéri’ was so sweet, I could listen to it over and over again.

“S-sorry, I had too many d-drinks, and yes it is definitely a relief...” I looked up at her, watching her inhale smoke from her cigarette. She was tall, slim, and had sharp features, her ivory skin brought out the colour of her silky, chestnut hair, her side profile was perfect. The way her rose lips effortlessly held the cigarette makes me think that she’s been doing this for years. She was wearing a skin-tight black leather skirt that had a slit that went up to her mid-thigh, her top was red and went just underneath her breasts. She was ethereal.

“Allô? Mon chéri?” my head shot up to look her in the eyes, her enchanting blue eyes,

“Yes, sorry...” I sputtered.

“Yes, you’ll come home with me?” I didn’t even hear her question, I was too focused on her beauty. I would like to go home with her, but is it not too early?

“But, you barely know me?”

“I know a good soul when I meet one...” her eyes sparkled, I felt a sense of comfort around her.

“But... How do I know you’re not going to kill me?” shit. That was the alcohol talking. She let out a loud laugh, it made me smile.

“...Regardez, are you coming, or non?” she gestured to the taxi waiting for her. I looked at her then the taxi, I nodded,

“Yes, take me to your place...”