I walk out the door, take off my heels, and feel the cool pavement underneath my feet.  I think to myself, “I’m broken,” but with each new step away from the noise, the booze, the guys, the parties, I realize that I can change, and I will.

***

Welcome back, party nights. Did you miss me?

I could lie to you and say that I’ve changed, but now you know that’s just a LIE.

I really did try to change, but you see it’s just so hard.

I sit at a table next to the bar. My forearm sticks to the wood.  I drink from a blue fishbowl.  The hums around me turn into roars as people try to talk over the song blaring on the speakers.  Men walk up to the table dressed in black shirts with Mario and Princess Peach plastered on them.  Frankie’s Bachelor Party.  None of them are my “type,” but it doesn’t stop me from flirting back.

Damn blue fish bowl.

A man is his thirties sits next to me.  His friends gather around.  They are drawn to our table like a black bear is to the smell of honey.  We are the honey.

I flirt back, knowing all too well that nothing will come of this. It’s all simply fun. Attention.  I smile, and I laugh.  I draw them in, planning to use the one I choose for my own personal needs.  The thirty-year-old man seems to make the cut…

But wait. I see him.  My target.

Dark and broody yet bright and charming. Let’s call him Alex.

He stops at our table.  He knows the guys around us.  Like a child tired of a used toy, I turn my attention from the guy I had been playing with and focus on the new shiny toy in front of me.  He’s not easy, and that only makes me want him more.

I watch my friend shake her hair.  Smile at him.  Laugh at what he’s saying.

After years of nights like this I see the signs. She likes him.  I want him.

In the end I will conquer, and she will fail.

***

I can tell my friend is mad at me for having him walk me to my car, but I don’t care.  I know I should.  I should care.  I don’t.

I draw out the walk by “forgetting” where I parked.  We talk about trivial things as if to liven up the silence that hangs around us.  His words dip in and out as the alcohol tickles the furthest reaches of my mind.

One foot in front of the other, I follow the solid white line on the pavement.  My own personal sobriety test—I fail.  He’s nice for taking care of me.  I’m stupid for trusting a man I met only hours before.  Have I learned nothing?

Tears. Tears.

Why am I crying in front of him? Now I care. I care about it all.

He hugs me close and kisses my forehead.  A simple gesture.  A welcoming one.

I let the tears crawl down my cheek and drop onto the fabric of his jacket. I don’t try to wipe or hide them away.  He holds me close and says nothing at first.  Then, as if to comfort me, he tells me about his life.

Addict mother. Deadbeat father.  Troubled childhood. Adopted family.  Bright future.

His honesty is refreshing.  It spurs honesty in myself, and for once in my life I’m open about what happened.  I tell him of the sexual assault and the mistakes made along the way.  He lifts my chin up to face him.

“Suck it up. That’s life, and it happens.”