Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot!
NICK'S POV
The bar was so hot I was tempted to take my shirt off and use it to mop my forehead. Why Sara wanted to come here was beyond me, but I had agreed to come with her so she wouldn't get date raped or something to that effect. I doubted she would because I've always considered her too smart to land herself in that kind of situation. Although, Catherine did, so maybe it was a good thing I had agreed to come along for protection. I made sure not to sit too close; that would discourage any potential dance partners for her, and she really needed to loosen up more. But when ever she was off on the floor I found myself bored beyond belief.
And that's what led me to accept that girl's offer. Don't get the wrong impression here, I'm about as straight as a winding road and I was happily dating Greg. But damn it I was so bored I was ready to just leave Sara to get raped. I'd never do that, but I sure felt like it. So when a petite little blonde came flouncing up beside me and said she's been eyeing me for some time across the room I gave her a little smile. And when she asked if I'd like to dance a couple numbers with her I figured it couldn't do any harm.
I caught Sara's eye and signaled that I'd be within screaming distance and she gave me a curious nod. Shouting to her that I was only dancing because of the dullness of this place didn't seem like a good idea, so I just shrugged and followed the little blonde a few paces on to the waxed wood floor. Right away she got pretty close and I didn't like it very much but I wasn't about to be a spoilsport. I let her hang her hands around my neck and lean her head on my chest, hoping to God that Greg would hurry up and get here soon so I could dance with him instead. He was running late, caught up in a case, and had promised to come as soon as he could.
I managed to dance one slow song all the way through without any conversation, and the next song was fast, so the woman was too busy to talk. But she wouldn't let me go back to sit down on the third song. She locked her arms around my neck again, drew me close, and tried to get me to talk to her. She asked about my job, my hometown, and my favorite foods. I honestly was starting to think it might be me that had to watch my drink for date rape drugs. My answers were vague at best in my attempt to keep a distance from her. But she was one of those chatty Cathy's that had everything to say about nothing, and she spent the better part of that third song speaking above the crowd in a nasal voice that didn't go with her pretty face.
The trouble started as soon as that song ended. I tried to extract myself from her and return to my seat, where I could see Sara taking a breather as well. But chatty Cathy had other plans I hadn't been aware of. I had reached behind my neck to pry her arms away from me, and as soon as my hands closed over hers she lunged, attaching her lips to mine. My eyes went very wide and I tried to push her away, but she was latched on pretty hard and short of hurting her there was nothing I could do. Over her shoulder I sent Sara a panicked look, but she was as surprised as me, so she couldn't do a thing about it. I tried to shake the woman off but only ended up turning us around together to face a different direction.
I was, therefore, forced to wait until she ran out of air. When she finally surfaced to breath I grabbed her by the arms and prepared to give her the berating of a lifetime when something behind her caught my eye. There was Greg. He was standing just inside the doorway and the crowd had thoughtfully parted to allow him a perfect view of me lip locked to a woman. His eyes were so wide and hurt I thought my heart was going to break and fall out of my chest right there. Before I could even move he turned and fled the club. I looked back at the woman I had a death grip on and glared daggers right at her. She cowered a bit and assumed a confused look.
"I'm gay, you idiot, watch who you kiss!" I yelled at her face, and then before I could even catch her reaction I shoved her aside and fought my way to the bar. A few quick words to let Sara know I was leaving and I raced for the door, praying I could catch my boyfriend before he left. I hoped he was still my boyfriend, anyway. It seemed as if every possible person got in my way and it took forever for me to burst out of the club to the street outside. I look around wildly and spotted a familiar spiky head of hair heading down the sidewalk fast.
"Greg!" I called out to him and I saw him pause and look back. He turned and headed back towards me, almost as fast as he'd been walking away. I quickened my pace to meet him in the middle. "Look, I'm glad you'll hear me out," I said as he got closer. "I was just-" I was suddenly cut off when he swung his arm back and plowed his fist straight in to my face. I dropped like a rock, blood pouring out of my nose. A few people stopped to watch and Greg leaned down, murder in his eyes.
"Charge me with assault and I'll sell your dog you asshole," he hissed in a low, dangerous tone. "We're over." Then he straightened and walked away, leaving me lying in the cold street with a broken nose and a shattered heart. I watched him until the crowd on the street swallowed him up, seeing the way his shoulders tightened like they did when he was hurting inside. I'd never seen them so tight together. With a groan I let my head fall back on to the concrete and simply lay there for a few seconds, catching my breath and pressing on my nose to stem the flow of blood. When someone finally asked if I was ok I let them help me up and called a cab to take me to the hospital.
The doctor asked how I broke my nose and I told him a bar fight. Technically, it could have been almost true. He swallowed the story like a kid swallowing candy, patched me up, and sent me on my way with a cheerful reminder not to pick fights with guys bigger than me. I neglected to mention that Greg was a whole inch shorter than I, and weighed fifty pounds less. Once released, I was at a loss for where to go. If I went home it was likely I would receive another punch. Probably at my teeth, and I liked my teeth. I couldn't go back to the bar with a steel bar on my face, held in place by thick white bandages. So I phoned Sara and told her to meet me back at her place.
The ride over was spent in silence; I didn't even turn on the radio. I was calm when I got there, and calm when she let me in. But as soon as I was seated and she asked what exactly had happened, I broke down, bawling like a little baby. I tried to speak through my tears as best I could and she seemed to get at least the general gist of it. She sat next to me the whole time, draping an arm around my shoulders and holding me close to her side. Somewhere between the second box of Kleenex and the hot cup of tea she brewed me, I let exhaustion overwhelm me and I passed out on her couch. When I woke, the nightmare was still real.