It's dark, smells like beer, the floor is sticky. I only just got here, but I'm regretting the decision. My two friends are sitting in a corner judging the drunk people. I get closer to them so I can hear their bantering. A piece of my long hair catches on someone's shirt as I closely pass by. I look back to see the stranger and recognize him as a friend of the people who live here.
I frown. There's never anyone new or interesting at their parties. I resign to the roasting. We notice a girl we know making out with one of the female residents, while her boyfriend gasps across the room. It's entirely fake, the two are drunk, and the boyfriend isn't weirded out in the slightest. We've seen this kind of demonstration before. I feel the kind of bitterness that comes from being forced to watch a re-run of a sub-par episode of a soap-opera. I stare into the cluttered scene of the kitchen and living room. I look past the kissing, past the regrettable tattoo choices, past the beer pong, until my eyes settle on the empty couch on the other side of the room. Now is my chance to put some distance between myself and the fridge full of alcohol.
I go quickly, almost halfway there when I look back at my friends to signal them to follow. I look back for a second and make eye contact, and when I look back around I see someone taking the couch. It's too late to turn back now, it's obvious where I was going. I don't want to be antisocial exactly, either. So we make eye contact when I walk over and sit down. His disinterested stare moves from me back to some girl coming in from the porch. Well, I tried. Kate and Eva follow over and manage to split a cushion and an armrest.
Their conversation continues uninterrupted, though they now make a formal assessment of the skill of the beer pong players. We return to laughing away at whoever is catching our eyes and making a scene.
Multiple snide comments later, he's still sitting there. He smooths his blonde hair back and glances sideways at me. I feel him looking and catch him in it. My mouth twitches up with satisfaction. He has to acknowledge my presence now.
"You're a little bit judgemental, don't you think?" He directs at Kate. Oh. Maybe he doesn't have to acknowledge me at all. I put my third drink down.
"You know, I think that's judgemental of you to say," I remark as our rebuttal. His intense stare becomes surprised as he finally directs it at me.
Having succeeded in catching him off guard, and I stand up to get another drink. I make my way back to the fridge to remedy my lack of bourbon. At this point in the night, I'm having fun regardless of the circumstance. I return to the couch and he's gotten up. Kate and Eva are following him to the porch in the back of the house to smoke a joint.
The joint turns out to be cigarettes, do people still smoke those? It turns out he's some kind of actor. He's entirely pretentious and seems to exist on a different plane. He's arrogant and tall, with great cheekbones. His name is Matt, maybe short for Matthew, but probably not. As just-Matt spews some big plan he has to be an amazing performer I notice that Kate and Eva are actually listening intently.
I zone out, making fun of him in my head at the absurd things he says. I exchange glances with Eva every time we hear a buzz word. "Raw" "Organic" "Intrusive" "Accessible" he spews forth the lines of his inner monologue and they seem... Shallow.
Halfway burnt through his cigarette he holds it out in front of my mouth. Matt's eyes flit up to meet mine. I close my full lips around the cigarette, looking obstinately into his eyes. He's surprised, and it confirms my suspicion that he has pegged me as someone who enjoys being contrary. I don't smoke. However, I do when I'm drunk, and I definitely do when I'm being tested.
I learned quickly that he was someone looking for constant approval, and trying desperately to appear independent. He hated it when I made fun of him, and I hated that I couldn't understand why he was so attractive to me. Not just his long curly dark hair, or his tanned skin, but his attitude. I knew that he was deeply flawed and yet for some reason, I wanted to be on his level.
After that night on the back porch, I haven't seen him in a month. I don't remember him much, or particularly note the memory as being substantial. I'm writing in a Second Cup and it hits me like a ton of bricks when a tall figure sits down across from me.
"I remember you," a deep voice says. I look up from my notebook, and I'm startled. In the daylight, I look into his eyes and notice them for the first time; They're an ocean blue, bright and richly coloured with a dark limbal ring.
"Hello, Matt," I say, in the fake friendly way I muster after having just been interrupted during my much-needed poetry time.
"I don't think I ever caught your name."
"It's Parker."
"What's that?" He gestures to my notebook. He begins to reach forward to grab it. The notebook full of embarrassing poetry that I hope no one on Earth will ever have the displeasure of reading. I grab it off the table and hold it close, out of his reach.
"It's some writing that I do for fun." He raises an eyebrow,
"Wow, what do you write?" He's being really fucking nosy now. Instead of bluntly telling him to go away like I should have, I humour him for a while until he simply says
"So, what's your worst fear?" I have to stifle a laugh because it is just too much to hear given who he is, and where we are.
"I don't think you actually think I'm going to answer that in a coffee shop, I don't even know you." My rebuttal is challenging and firm, I hope.
"I think you just did. Your worst fear is opening up. At that party, you hated every word I said that came from my heart. Don't think I didn't notice you making fun of me with your little friend. It's actually just a little sad that you won't allow yourself to be real with me, this being our second date now." With that, he takes the last mouthful of his coffee.
"What the fuck do you mean our second date, you're a fucking lunatic," my face feels hot.
"You don't know me, and I don't think I'd like to know you." He takes that swing well, and gets up and leaves. I exhale. I try to resume writing but it's hopeless now, the calm mood is ruined.
I resign to slumping over my notepad for another half hour. It doesn't go well, the visions of the party run rampant in my head. My mouth tastes like cigarettes again. I check my phone and see a message request. It's just-Matt.
I know who you are, and who you're trying to be. Call me. He puts down his number below. Well, that's enough of that. I gather my things to leave.
I think about the encounter all day, in my life I've never had such a strange conversation. He made me so mad, not just by the things that he said but as well as everything he implied. He would sip his coffee and spill it, and it would look like he meant for it to happen. It pissed me off more than anything how warm the sensation in my wrists was. Adding to the fury was the fact that I couldn't actually stop thinking about him and his stupid gorgeous eyes. Before I know what I'm doing the dial tone is in my ear and he picks up.
"Hey, Parker." Well, at least he doesn't seem to give his number out that often.
I hang up.
Fuck! An hour later, my phone rings, once, twice, on the third time instead of hitting the ignore button I pick up.
"Hello?"
"Hi, it's Matt. You called earlier and hung up?" Yikes. Yeah, that actually happened. I did that.
"Yeah, this is Parker."
"Well Parker, that was really mature of you" I practically hear him roll his eyes on the other end.
"What were you doing today," I ask innocently.
"Well, I was getting coffee, and then I saw a girl who I remember saying some very rude things to me at a party a month ago. So I went over to her to give her a piece of my mind. She seemed very serene though, so I tried to make pleasant conversation, and then again she started being an ass."
I interrupt him quickly to defend myself,
"I was in the middle of writing poetry, and you ruined it!"
