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Hudson
I find myself in a hell of my own making. I thought last night alone with Charlotte was bad; now we are all out at a dance club. Mason and Simon are dancing; my mates are at the bar flirting with a bird of their choosing, and I’m stuck here beside them, watching my dream woman get hit on by a total wanker. I can tell he isn’t good enough for her. I’m not just being a selfish prick; the guy is a total tool. His tattoos are all flames with stupid shit in it. Ghosts maybe, how morbid. At least all my tattoos can be considered art and have been on several occasions by Charlotte. I can’t stand to look at them, and yet I’m almost staring. Sipping on my scotch, glancing every so often, I don’t notice the busty brunette until she has herself showcased in my lap.
“Hi, handsome. Want to buy me a drink?” she asks while slowly making it onto the bar stool next to me. I don’t. It’s strange. I have never not wanted a sure thing before, but I find a million things I already don’t like about this bird. Her hair is short and straight; it looks like she might have a pound of makeup on, and her dress is rubbish. Bright gold and sparkly, I think the Nasa Space Station can see this girl and still she acts like she’s trying too hard. She trails her long witch nails up my arm, and she’s so close I smell her perfume. Its fruity like pineapple or something, instead of soft and floral. I think her body is covered in glitter, and that is my last straw. I tell the barkeep to get her whatever she likes, then I get up and head to the loo just to get away from her. On my way I pass Charlotte. Our eyes meet for a few short beats, and dare I say she gives me a longing, miserable look. Is it my imagination or does she seem to need a rescue? I give her a questioning look as I stop beside an empty table, waiting to be sure.
I watch him move her hair behind her ear and grind my teeth. This was a bad idea; she doesn’t need me, and I sure as hell don’t need to watch this. I push off the table and finish my journey through the maze of people to find a long ars line just to piss. I growl my frustration and turn, only to run into the brunette from the bar. This is turning into the worst night of my life very quickly. She assumes we’re close enough to the dance floor and soon starts grinding my leg. The bird is so short it’s comical. Not that I’m such an arshole that I would dare laugh at her. I stand there instead and wait for the damn song to change. I catch a glimpse of blond bouncing curls heading for the door and internally curse as she’s followed by the block with the tacky ink. Motherfucker.
I find the boys at the bar, and we order shots. Followed by more shots. The brunette sticks around and soon finds her way into the arms of Bandit, thank fuck. The broad was more annoying than a six a.m. wake-up call after a binger.
I feel sad and angry, and drinking on top of a shitty mood is never a good idea. It’s really too bad I didn’t think about that before my seventh shot of Jack, cause now I don’t give a rat’s ars.
I knock into a guy walking by and grin. The unlucky bastard is steaming mad already, and I poke the bear just so I can feel something other than fucking miserable. He starts shouting about how I need to watch myself, and I go ahead and throw the first punch just because I want to. The crowd around us starts throwing punches and pushing. I grapple with his shirt as we’re pushed outside to the parking lot. I see Nick come up on my right, and his fists are flying into some punk with tattoos on his face. Bandit and Bryon are both in this fighting pit with me, and I remember where my heart belongs, my brothers. I knock the block out with one more good punch to the jaw and he hits the pavement. Someone jumps on my back, and I notice the police sirens getting louder. We all still throw blows for a long while until the coppers are pulling us apart. I should feel some foreboding right now, but I’m hammered and just feel like fighting, needing the release for my rage.
Once I’m in the back of the Bobbies car, though, I quickly start to sober. Bryon is in the same car and even with a bloody nose he’s laughing. Marcus is sure to be upset with us, and I just pray no one tells Charlotte. I feel like a fucking fool, and I know I acted like it tonight. This is a prime example why I’m no good for her.
The boys and I give up our wallets and keys at the station, get fingerprinted, and finally our mug shot is taken. Inside the cold, empty cell, I remind myself what a poor sad excuse of a man I am. This isn’t the rock star lifestyle I wanted. This is why the boys keep me around; I am usually the levelheaded one. I stop the stupid shit from getting to the point where we end up behind bars, or at least try. This isn’t the first time we’ve been here, but I do hope it will be the last.
I close my eyes and wonder what Charlotte’s doing. I do my best to forget the image of her walking out the door with Mr. Cool and instead I pretend none of tonight happened at all, and the two of us are working on music in the record room together. I feel at peace for the first time in days, and soon I drift off, even on this cold, uncomfortable mattress.
