I needed to blow off some steam. After arriving in Sussex on Sunday I
hadn’t done much, I slept a lot. Keeping up appearances was exhausting.
The relative I’m staying with didn’t know about my relationship with J. I
think she suspected, but I never told her outright. I knew she would
disapprove. I didn’t have the energy to explain, to fight for the
validity of it. After all, my relationship with J was no longer valid.
How could I fight for something that I no longer believed in?
I decided to go to Brighton on Wednesday, a friend who used to go to uni
there assured me that bars would be open on a Wednesday. Brighton was
like London, there was always a party somewhere, you just had to find
it. And I was determined to. It took about an hour to get there, as I
walked down from the station I passed the shop where J and I had brought
cakes the last time we were there. I bought a tray of chips from a
stand on the pier, the same place I’d bought chips with J the year
before. I stood by the railings and watched the sea. The tide was in,
and a dense fog was settling atop the waves. I watched it draw closer
and engulf the sea. My feet hurt so I took off my boots. I knew of a bar
along the seafront. R Bar, I’d been there before (with J, of course).
It didn’t take me long to find it. I peered through the windows to try
and gauge the crowd, mostly older men with their partners, what looked
like a few heterosexual couples… I stood outside and smoked a cigarette
whilst I considered whether I had the balls to do this. This is coming
from a girl who had never set foot in a nightclub before, never “gone
out on the pull”, never even made the first move when it came to people I
was interested in. I kept my head down as I walked in, briefly making
eye contact with a girl sitting on a bar stool in the doorway, I thought
she might’ve been a bouncer. She looked at me strangely but no move to
stop me, so I slunk in and found an empty stool next to the bar.
The place was nearly empty, and mostly men. I ordered a drink and pulled out my phone.
“This was a stupid idea.” I told my friend via text. I scrolled through
my facebook newsfeed and tried not to look too out of place. I wondered
if people thought I’d been stood up, or if I had any idea that I was
sitting in one of Brighton’s most prolific gay bars. I was on my second
drink when he came in, he stood next to me at the bar with his friend
and they ordered their drinks. I saw him give me the once over and I
felt a bit braver. He made a point of telling the bartender that his
friend was just that, and he “didn’t go that way, no offence.” I was
pretty sure that comment was for my benefit. His friend excused himself
to take a call and he turned his attention on me. I can’t remember how
the conversation started, only that it friendly, bordering on
flirtatious. I asked him his name, and he shook my hand, caressing my
wrist and taking in the tattoo there.
“My dog.” I explained, watching his thumb stroke the inked paw prints.
He showed me the tattoo on his left wrist, an amateur crucifix. He told
me he hadn’t had enough money to get the full thing, he explained what
he had envisioned and I tried to look like I was listening. I was
uncomfortably aware of how inexperienced I was in this situation, but he
didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he found it endearing. His friend
returned some time later, I had the distinct impression as giving us
space. Andrew, as I found out he was called, invited me to join them. He
told me it was a friend’s birthday and they were up from London
celebrating. I told him briefly about J. We went upstairs to join the
rest of his friends. I remember him asking;
“So, do you prefer men or women?”
“Depends on my mood.” I told him.
“So you’re volatile?” He smirked.
“You could say that.” I replied.
We didn’t stay in R bar for long before Patrick, the birthday boy,
suggested we move on elsewhere. Andrew disappeared for a moment and the
rest of the party moved on, I stood outside with his friend, Farai and
we had a cigarette. I found out that the group were nurses. And I joked
that Farai should know better about the dangers of smoking. Farai smiled
and told me.
“We’re gonna die anyway.”
Next stop was Poison Ivy, a small bar slightly further away from the sea
front. The place was pretty much dead. Our party of eight making up the
majority of the patrons. They had a stage for karaoke set up, and it
didn’t take long for the group to make the most of it. Andrew offered me
a seat and I took it graciously, my feet were killing me, and I enjoyed
the attention he was lavishing me with. Andrew hovered protectively by
my chair, his hand on the back, or resting on my upper thigh. He bought
me a drink and I finished it quickly, too quickly perhaps, because he
commented:
“You’ve been drinking like a fish since I met you.”
“I’m on a mission.” I told him, he smiled.
He finished his drink a while later and went up to the bar, returning with not two, but five drinks.
“Who are those for?” I asked.
“Us.” He smirked.
“You don’t need to get me drunk, you know.” I told him, Andrew shrugged.
This part’s a bit fuzzy, I remember drinking, and singing (at the table,
not the mic, I wasn’t that drunk) I remember getting a phone call from a
friend that I could barely hear over the music from the speakers. I
remember being on the phone to J, ‘though I have no recollection of
calling her, and telling her how I was about to “fuck this guy” when she
told me she was busy and had to go.
I remember leaving the bar, briefly, all though I don’t know why I did. I
remember standing in a doorway with Andrew, pressing my body against
his and kissing him. I remember thinking he kissed too hard, and not
like J did. I remember kissing him again anyway. We went back to the bar
for a few more drinks, at some point another friend of theirs, Mariam,
joined us. I remember slipping a condom from a “safe sex” leaflet in my
pocket.
We were in a car park, I sat in the back with Andrew. Farai was driving
and Mariam was in the front passenger seat. We drove to the beach. I
couldn’t find my cigarettes, Farai give me some of his spliff instead.
Andrew got a little more hands-on, I remember feeling indifferent to his
touch and faced forward, thoughts of J pushing themselves to the front
of my mind. He unzipped his fly and I felt him, he asked me if I wanted
to fuck and I said yes. I felt in my pocket for the condom I’d picked up
earlier but it wasn’t there, I asked if he had one, he didn’t.
I freaked the fuck out.
It was most probably the weed talking but I was suddenly convinced that
he wanted to kill me. He tried to calm me down, reassure me, but I was
hysterical. I remember him convincing me to get back into the car, but
then he took my shoes and I freaked out again. He didn’t want me to get
out. I was beside myself. I wormed my way out of the car and ran. Farai
came after me, saying that he had my shoes. I told him to stay where he
was, drop my shoes, and leave. He complied.
So there I was, wandering the streets of Brighton at two o’ clock in the
morning, high as a fucking kite. I called a friend and he attempted to
direct me to the train station, before realising the last train was long
gone. In desperation I thumbed down a taxi, told the man to take me to
the nearest cash point so I could withdraw the money for a taxi back to
the house. Ninety pounds. That’s the cost for an hour long journey in a
Brighton taxi at two in the morning. And I was now officially into my
overdraft.
I got back around three thirty, I remember making some toast and then
laying down in bed to eat it, consequently dropping the toast on my
face. I bid good night to my friend and that should’ve been the end of
it really, I should’ve just woken up the next morning with a sore head
and an interesting story to chalk up to experience. Did I go to sleep?
Of course not. I called J.
I called her mobile at first, she rejected my calls. Inspiration struck
when I remembered she was working on a helpline, I googled the number
and sure enough, there she was. I don’t know what I was hoping to
happen. I suppose I wanted to share my night with her, I was scared and I
wanted her to look after me (old habits are hard to kick). It was
stupid, I know. I was desperate. She told me she wasn’t interested, we
needed to make a clean break, she said I reminded her of her mother. She
hung up.
I went to bed with a heart as heavy as my head and dreamt of her again.
