The classic rock music is loud enough to be heard all throughout the open bar on the beach. A crowd of people fill the majority of the round wooden tables, the bar, and the makeshift dance area. There is a constant flow of people appearing and disappearing, wandering in from the night. Couples and small groups walking in and melding into the crowd of people, ordering drinks, excitedly talking with their friends, or dancing barefoot in the sand. Off in the darkness, illuminated by the moonshine, the small rolling waves stretch quietly back and forth on the beach. Its constant calmness is lost and filtered out by the upbeat music and multitude of voices masking the otherwise peaceful nature of this beach.
He sits at the bar, holding a glass bottle of beer and is leaning his back up against the bar watching the crowd of people. He doesn't watch any particular person but is lost in his thoughts while watching the overall movement of the mass of people spread out before him. He is not drunk but does feel the familiar fuzziness and giddiness of a warm buzz filling his brain.
It never ceases to amaze him how he can feel so alone in a crowd of people. Unnoticed, unheard, and unwanted. No, not unwanted, just ignored. He feels there is no significance to him or his life. He has no woman in his life and it has been a few months since the breakup. It wasn't really a breakup, she ditched him. He never understood why or what he had done. He knows it had to be something he did because all she said was, "It's not you, it's me."
What does that even mean?
he sighs. All he knows is that he is depressed.
This was supposed to be their vacation. He doesn't even know why he is here. It's been a couple of days, and he hasn't really had any fun. Oh, he has gone through the motions, visited some sights, and enjoyed the island culture. But all he thinks about is blaming and punishing himself for losing her. He misses her.
His friends convinced him to go and get away in the hope that he would stop moping around and wallowing in self-pity. No sense in wasting the plane ticket and hotel reservation, it wasn't cheap. Albeit, her ticket was wasted though. Can't help that now. She didn't even offer to reimburse him for it. Of course, she hasn't spoken to him or even seen him since she left him. 'Who knows,' they said, 'maybe you will meet some hot island girl, and she will help you forget all about your ex.'
Yeah, right
.
He runs his hand through his thick, dark brown hair. He didn't really feel like putting it into a ponytail as he normally would, so his long hair hangs down around his face and down to the middle of his back. It is thick and full like a lion's mane, but dark, almost black. His tall stature, piercing gaze, strong jaw, and athletic physique give him a dark, foreboding and even intimidating appearance. He typically uses that intimidation to keep people away and enjoys the isolation it affords, but he still can't help feeling depressed in this newfound loneliness. It's not quite what he really wanted.
Bringing the bottle to his lips he leans back as he finishes off the last few gulps of beer. No sooner does he set the bottle on the bar than the bartender asks him if he would like another. Turning around to face her, his eyes flicker over her upper body and up to her face. She is wearing an oversized t-shirt that hangs off of one bare shoulder, making him wonder if she is even wearing a bra. The shirt is so baggy he can't really make out the size or shape of her tits. She probably doesn't have very big ones, he sighs as he takes in her facial features. Her face has a slight roundness, that makes him think she is probably a little overweight. She has nice eyes, a nice smile, and her hair is probably as long as his. She is short, probably just under the average for women. She is ok, he thinks, but nothing extraordinary. However, if she was interested and he couldn't find anything better, he supposes he would do it with her.
Oh yeah, you are a real piece of work,
he thinks. Well, he is depressed, lonely, and it's been months since he has been with a woman. Jerking off is ok, it'll get you by, but there is nothing better than what a woman can do to a man. He is just getting desperate because he needs to get laid. He needs to get a '
lil strange
' as one of his friends told him before he left on this trip.
He nods at the bartender and mumbles something incoherent at her. She spins, slams open the metal lid of the cooler, grabs another bottle, pops the top with a flair, and hands him another beer. She walks away and he takes note of how big her butt is. It's not huge, but it's proportionately too big for her small body and apparently small chest. He sighs again and turns back to resume his earlier laid-back position against the bar. On second thought, he probably wouldn't do her. Just something about disproportionately large butts is an instant turn-off for him. He's always been a tit man first and a butt man second, and she doesn't have either of his preferences. It doesn't matter anyway, doubtful she is interested in him, so it's not like he even had a chance with her.
No woman wants him apparently. He is not really looking for just a piece of ass, or meaningless sex. That's just his hormones being out of balance and screwing with his head. He wants love, true love, that is what he lost. Or maybe he never had it in the first place, he just thought he did. Unrequited love. But she was so wonderful and affectionate and so many things clicked. She even called him the most romantic man she'd ever met. So where did he go wrong? Was she just not ready? He sighs again. He's just asking the same questions and guessing at the same answers. Definition of insanity.
Letting his gaze wander back across the crowd he thinks about how pathetic he has become. He looks at the mass of people as if they were a forest of trees. In this case, he can see the forest instead of the trees. Occasionally, a break in the crowd allows him to see through to the waves rolling up onto the sand in the distance. It is only a glimpse but it both calms him and makes him feel even more alone. He ponders the idea of how he is simply a drop of water in the ocean. Its depth and breadth are more than intimidating, it's overwhelming.
After a few more beers and another hour has passed he considers walking back to his hotel room. Not that there is any reason to do so, but he feels he has tolerated about as much as he can of all the people being around him. They annoy him with their proximity and the bits and pieces of their superfluous conversations that he has overheard. All their materialistic worries and selfish concerns are such a waste to him. People as a group are a mindless mob. Not that he is any better than them, but they still grate on his nerves. Like hearing someone chewing their food loudly or an abhorrent smell of someone's breath. There are just some things that he can't ignore, at least not for long.
Looking down at his beer bottle he realizes he still has over half of the beer left to drink.
Well, no sense wasting it, might as well sit here a little while longer.
Shifting his gaze back to the crowd he notices something is off. There is a change in the pattern, as if there was something that didn't belong. Whatever it is, it caught his attention from the corner of his eye. That's normally how it goes for him. He sees things from the corner of his eye, things that stand out to him, but are missed by everyone else. Like noticing a hawk sitting on a power line, he has always been very observant to details and patterns.
Turning his head slightly he focuses intently on the spot of people where he thought he saw something. There is nothing there, just random people standing around talking in groups, nearly shoulder to shoulder to everyone and completely oblivious to anyone else outside of their group. Frustrated, because he knows he saw something, he flickers his eyes to expand further around the group intent on seeing whatever it was that caught his attention.
Then, he sees a slender arm before two people shift and obscure his view. A couple feet away he sees the flash of a long, exposed leg, barefoot. Once again, the crowd shifts and he loses sight of, what, her? Now, he has a path, a direction, and his eyes fixate on the spot he calculates she will appear next. She does. This time he sees a side profile of her face and long, straight hair cascading down both the front and back of her body. She slips through the crowd easily, no one jostles her. Somehow, people move out of her path at the last second, parting and making a space for her to step through. Then they close back behind her after she has passed. It is as if she exists outside of our realm and is simply passing through. It is incredulous to him how no one seems to even notice her.
She keeps her head facing down towards the sand, which causes her hair to hide most of the features of her face. He combines all the pieces and glimpses of her into a three-dimensional puzzle in his head. He is stunned. She is beautiful. She doesn't walk, she glides like a ghost, and her skin somehow reflects the moonlight, tricking his mind into thinking that she is glowing just slightly.
He has lost her in the crowd again.
How is nobody noticing her? She is right there. Isn't she?
Glancing at his beer he wonders if he is more drunk than he thought. But no, right now he is hyper-focused. His senses are operating at a heightened level and he doesn't feel any of the effects of the beer that he felt earlier. His brain is racing. Twisting and turning all the pieces in a myriad of ways, he tries to make sense of the pattern, but can find no pattern. Nothing makes sense. In frustration, he downs his beer and places the empty bottle on the bar.
