This story features a character named Sarah, whom I first introduced on Steemit in the post This Party is Boring the Arse Off Me. In that story, she was on the way to meet Mark (a guy she liked), accompanied by her friend André.
In this instalment, she and Mark have been on a few dates – he has invited her to attend the opening of an art show curated by some friends of his – but some anxieties have been building up within her.
This wine is nice. Sarah doesn’t normally drink wine – she doesn’t normally drink anything at all, come to think of it, apart from the odd vodka and coke on a night out – but this stuff is good.
Mark is on his way back from the bathroom and she wants to be able to speak confidently to him: to make intelligent comments about the paintings and sculptures here, to offer up some witty jokes about her own work, to leave him with the impression that she is a sparkling conversationalist who never, ever stumbles over her words, struggles to think of things to say, or becomes overwhelmed by anxiety in his presence.
She squints at the painting closest to her. What is it meant to be? It looks like some kind of wonky, badly drawn upside-down horse. She snorts into her wine. She’ll say that to Mark. That’s funny. She can be funny. He’ll think she’s funny, won’t he? As she giggles, she catches the eye of an older couple who are staring strangely at her. She quickly looks away, feeling a bit embarrassed. She isn’t drunk. She doesn’t think she’s drunk, anyway. She’ll be fine.
Glancing around the space, she sees Mark standing a short distance away from her. He’s chatting to someone who must have stopped him on the way back from the bathroom: a guy of around the same age. He’s a pretty good-looking guy: the tall, dark, handsome type. She finds herself glaring at him, despite her earlier resolve to stop being like this. He’d better not be trying to lure Mark away from her. Does Mark fancy him? He’d better not fancy him.
‘Mark, I have a confession to make. After you said you were bi, my attitude did change.’
No. Stop it, Sarah. She’s a terrible person to be thinking that. As another waiter walks by, bearing a tray of wine glasses, she stops him. ‘Hi, can I get another glass, please? Thank you.’ This is her fourth glass, but she isn’t seeing double or anything like that, so she should still be fine, right?
Mark reappears by her side. ‘Sorry about that – I ran into my cousin on the way back from the bathroom. Hadn’t seen him in ages! It turns out he and his girlfriend know one of the artists here – Sally Jones, the one who did the bronze sculptures – so they came along tonight to support her, and …’
As he talks enthusiastically about Sally Jones’ artwork, Sarah feels herself growing more and more ashamed. That guy was his cousin. Of course he was.
She can’t go on like this. She can’t have Mark continuing to think of her as a nice person, when she is clearly anything but. She probably shouldn’t say any of this, but – fueled by alcohol – she finds herself pouring it all out.
‘Mark, I have a confession to make. After you said you were bi, my attitude did change. I know I acted like it hadn't, but ... you know the bartender André and Jack liked in Freddy’s? I thought maybe you were eyeing him up as well, and you liked him more than me. Boring old me. And I knew – I knew – I shouldn’t be worrying about it, and I knew it wasn’t right because if … if you were straight, I wouldn’t worry about you thinking that every other girl is more attractive than me. Well, actually, that is something I do. All the time. But the thing is, now everybody is a threat. There are too many good-looking guys – people – out there. How am I meant to compete?’
Mark stares at her, his brow furrowed. ‘Sarah, what – where’s all this coming from?’ Then his face clears, and he begins to laugh. ‘Oh God. Did you think I was chatting up my cousin?’
‘Maybe,’ she says miserably. The wine has really gone to her head now – she feels a little dizzy.
Mark shakes his head. ‘Sarah, it really doesn’t matter how many “threats” are out there. I’m not going to do anything about it.’
‘I know that. I know. It’s just me. I’m so insecure. I’m ridiculous. You have no idea.’
‘Um ... Sarah,’ he says under his breath, ‘you’re talking really loudly. If we’re going to have this conversation, we should do it outside.’
‘Oh right, yeah … it’s just, I need to explain,’ Sarah slurs earnestly, as he begins to steer her towards the door, ‘I have to tell you, right now, about my … about my insecurities. I haven’t gone out with anybody in years, you see. Years. I’ve had the odd date here and there, but nothing that led anywhere. Compared to that bartender … oh God, that damn guy … I’m so boring. I’m nowhere near as sexy as him.’
‘Sarah, please lower your voice,’ Mark murmurs. ‘People are staring.’ But she won’t stop. She’s on a roll right now.
‘While I’m on the whole subject of sex appeal, I should probably tell you that I’ve never actually had sex. I’m 24 years old and all I’ve ever done is kiss. That’s it. I don’t know how to do anything else. And I … I hate going out. Like, when I was getting ready to come here tonight, André nearly had to wrestle me out the door. He often has to do that. I would prefer to be at home. On the sofa. With … with my book. I love books.’
She ends her speech by hiccuping loudly. They are outside the gallery by now – a small knot of smokers are standing nearby, and the air is cold. Sarah shivers slightly and wraps her cardigan tighter around herself. Mark gently puts his arms around her and she snuggles gratefully into his chest. His body heat will warm her up.
‘Are you sober enough to remember this conversation tomorrow?’
‘I think so. Probably. I guess I should take notes…’
‘Sarah,’ Mark asks quietly, with a note of amusement in his voice, ‘are you trying to put me off going out with you?’
‘Maybe.’
‘It’s not working.’
‘I just think you should probably know how weird I am before you get into anything with me,’ she protests, then hiccups again. ‘Also, I’m hungry.’
‘I see. Well, how about we get some chips?’
‘Mark, I need you to know … you’re such a nice guy. So nice.’
‘Are you sober enough to remember this conversation tomorrow?’
‘I think so. Probably. I guess I should take notes … do you have a notebook? And a pen?’
‘Afraid not,’ he laughs. Takes her hand. ‘How about those chips, though? I’m hungry too.’
‘Oh yes!’ Sarah exclaims enthusiastically. ‘Where are they?’
‘Right over there.’ He points at a chip van across the street, where a small queue of late-night revellers have assembled.
‘Yay.’
She allows him to guide her across the street without saying anything more, but once they have reached the top of the queue, she starts up again. ‘Do you like me, Mark? As in, really like me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you actually, though, or are you just being polite?’
He shakes his head, laughing, and turns to the guy in the food van. ‘Hi, can I get two portions of chips, please?’
They sit down on a nearby bench and eat in companionable silence. The chips are comforting: nice and fluffy on the inside, with a satisfying crunch on the outer layer. Sarah eats her portion quickly – she is surprised by just how hungry she is. Hunger is meant to be something you experience after having weed, not alcohol, right? She didn’t have dinner earlier, so that probably hasn’t helped. She’s incredibly light-headed too…
‘You feeling any better?’ Mark asks her, once she has finished all of the chips.
‘Mm. Not sure. Don’t kiss me,’ she warns him. ‘I might vomit.’
He smiles ruefully. ‘Fair enough.’
‘I shouldn’t have eaten all those chips…’
‘I hope you feel okay in the morning.’
‘Yeah … so do I.’ She leans into him and rests her head against his chest. The hordes of people and cars passing by, the occasional ambulance siren, the relentless buzz of the city: all of it seems remote to her right now.
‘Would you like me to walk you home? You don’t live too far from here, right?’
‘Mm. Thank you. Are you sure you don’t want to go back into … to the art?’
‘Nah, it’s okay. It's nearly over and I saw everything I wanted to see.’
‘Right. Sorry. Sorry I got so drunk, sorry I’m such a mess…’
‘Don’t worry about it, it happens to us all.’ He smiles and plants a soft kiss on her forehead. ‘Can you stand?’
‘Yeah … yeah, I think so.’
They weave their way through the crowded streets, Sarah having to cling to him most of the time, until they have at last reached her door. He stands there, looking a bit uncertain as to what to say next. She breaks the silence first.
‘Mark, listen ... I know I'm still drunk or whatever, but I do mean every word I'm saying. All of the fears I have … they’re nothing to do with you, really. This is my problem.’
‘You've already told me that. At great length.’
She laughs shakily. ‘Right, yeah … I am sorry, though. It feels important to say that.’
‘Sarah, I appreciate your honesty. I really do. All I ask is for you to trust me, okay? When I tell you I’m not going to run off with anybody, of any gender, I mean it.’
‘I know that. Deep down, I do…’ Her voice trails off and she is surprised to find tears rising to her eyes.
‘What's wrong?’
She laughs shakily again. ‘I … I guess … I always expect guys to get bored of me: to think that other girls are better-looking or more interesting. I still don’t even know why you like me, to be honest.’
‘Because you’re an amazing person, Sarah. It makes me a little sad that you don’t see that.’
‘While we're on this subject ... I’m not going to run off with anyone either,’ she says. ‘Just to clarify that!’
He smiles. ‘Glad to hear it.’
They both fall silent for a few moments before Mark shuffles his feet awkwardly and clears his throat. ‘So ... you’ve never had sex?’
‘Oh … yes. That.’ Sarah stares at the ground, her cheeks scarlet. She could kick herself right now. ‘I did have to go and say that, didn't I?’
‘Sarah, I’m only bringing it up because I wanted to tell you: that’s not going to be a problem for me. We can take things as slowly as you’d like, okay?’
She exhales deeply, relieved. ‘Okay. Thank you.’
‘There’s no need to thank me. How are you feeling now? Have you sobered up at all?’
‘Hmm.’ She grimaces. ‘Well, the walk helped a bit, I guess, but ... oh God. I'm still not feeling normal. No idea what André will say. I don't think he's ever seen me get really drunk before!’
He laughs, and the sound of it makes her heart sing.
‘Well … um, goodnight. I hope you sleep well. Send me a text or something tomorrow.’
‘G’night. I will.’
They hug for a few moments. Sarah closes her eyes and exhales deeply. She loves it when he holds her.
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Image Sources:
Girl in gallery – PxHere
Woman's hand holding a glass of wine – Deposit Photos
Couple eating chips – Offset
Couple walking together – Favim
