Part 1

I didn’t plan on going home with you.

To be clear, I didn’t plan on going home with anyone. To be clearer, you in particular. There was something off with you. I saw it the moment our eyes met. I was sitting where I always sit, tucked half in shadow, head down so no one bothers me.

You wandered in, gave the room a once-over, hands still gripping the door, like you weren’t sure. Making a show of how you were looking for someone you knew, rather than just out searching for company. You looked lost. To be frank, more lost than me. Especially when you let the door slip your grasp, and it slammed, and you jumped. You scanned the room, hesitating at each little cluster of bodies, figuring out who was paired off, who wasn’t. You looked like you’d walked through the wrong door and drifted my way like a leaf uncertain where to land.

I didn’t know what you wanted. I didn’t know what I wanted either.

When you opened your mouth, you stank of regret, to be honest.

“Um, hi,” you said.

You sounded surprised. And relieved. Like you’d been hoping someone quiet, and shy, would talk to you.

I nodded back, or at least dipped my head the way you would when you have no actual words.

You smiled, like that was enough.

I wasn’t sure what you expected. Men don’t usually pick me out. I’m too awkward. Too shy. Too everything that makes strangers glance and quickly walk on by. But you lingered, leaning close enough that I could smell warmth on your clothes.

You asked me if I was waiting for someone. Or if I was just keeping an eye out for someone. And if I knew what kind of someone I was looking for. I didn’t know how to answer. You laughed at that. I guess everyone is waiting for something or someone. But mostly I just try not to draw attention to myself. It’s easier that way. Less disappointing all around.

You may ask why I was even there. And truthfully, I don’t know.

But you kept smiling. You had this bubbling, fragile eagerness about you – like if I said no, you’d burst right in front of me.

So I didn’t say no.

I went along with everything.

I always do.

The rest unfolded fast. Too fast for someone like me. You asked if I wanted to leave, to, you know…? But you didn’t finish the question. I didn’t really want to leave, and do whatever the missing words might involve, but refusing felt like making a fuss and I never like making a fuss. I followed you out. The night was cold, and you shivered once, then offered your hand like I might need help.

The door closed behind us. And it was my turn to feel jumpy and regretful.

I let you guide me.

I guess I regret it all. But only a little.

Your place wasn’t far. You talked the entire way. Not in an annoying way, don’t get me wrong. More in a nervy, breathless way. You explained how you didn’t usually act like this, that you felt some kind of connection, that you hoped I didn’t find you strange.

I didn’t know what to say to that. I wanted to believe you. I didn’t.

Looking back, it’s the strangeness that stands out.

When we got to your apartment, you shut the door behind us. A soft, final click that made my stomach tighten. I became aware of how small the space was. How little I knew you. How far away the outside world was.