“Time to change that. It makes no sense that an OB-GYN in training—a woman who literally takes care of everyone else’s vagina—does not care for her own. You can’t pine for an unrequited penis. There are plenty of fish in the sea.”
“Well, I sincerely hope you don’t get mercury poisoning, Belle, because you seem to enjoy sampling said fish a bit too much.” I took a generous sip of my drink, knowing I sounded prudish and regretting my remark immediately.
Belle threw her head back and laughed, far from offended.
“Oh, Ash, you are a hoot. That’s the thing most people don’t know about you. Underneath the polished exterior, the American Princess longs for the monster to steal her, not for the prince to save her. You’re kind of a dangerous creature, when you want to be.”
The drinks kept on coming, and the indie music was good and loud. Before long, Belle pulled me to the dance floor, where we ground against each other to the sound of The Shins, Two Door Cinema Club, and Interpol.
Tendrils of my blonde wig stuck to my face and lip gloss as I sweated away the memories of today’s shift at the clinic, and I belted out the words to “Runnin’ with the Devil” by Van Halen with a drunk, elated crowd, once again using noise and lights to drown my sorrows.
Ms. B.
Needles.
Death.
Mother.
Despair.
At some point, Belle zeroed in on a man as she always did.
Emmabelle Penrose was a self-proclaimed non-monogamous woman. While she wasn’t predatory, she was definitely not looking for a serious relationship and loved nothing more than indulging in one-night stands. Monogamous relationships were a foreign concept to her, like a bidet or brown sauce. She was aware it was something other people enjoyed, but was never tempted to try it out herself. But in the rare times she’d picked a lover, be it a woman or a man, she was fiercely devoted to them and made them feel like the center of the world.
Which was probably why she broke more hearts than she could count.
Her victim tonight was a tall, dark, and handsome type dressed as Zorro.
They met halfway, striking up a conversation while I self-consciously danced by myself before retreating back to the bar.
She reappeared by my side ten minutes later.
“We’re going to the Four Seasons. He’s got a friend in management who can hook us up with a presidential suite. Doesn’t he give Antonio Banderas a run for his money?” Belle sank her teeth into her lower lip, watching him from across the room as he retrieved both their coats from the cloakroom, sending her nervous glances to make sure she didn’t run away or change her mind.
I leaned my forearms against the bar, smiling. “Definitely, but the costume’s a bit cheesy, no?”
“Cheesier than Domino’s pizza. Luckily, I’m spending one night with him, not a lifetime.” Belle winked, smacking a kiss on my forehead.
“Happy Halloween, Doc. Make sure you don’t leave here alone and text me if you need anything, yeah?”
She left without waiting for an answer.
I entertained the idea of calling an Uber and going home, but then what was the point? My parents were still out, attending one of their charity dinners, which was the reason I was here in the first place; normally, when my mother was home, she insisted we spend time together. My brothers were with their respective wives and children.
I’d be going back to a pointless and excessively large manor to dwell in my own thoughts, dark memories, and regrets.
I signaled the bartender to get me another gin and tonic, downed it, and got back on the dance floor, dancing by myself.
Ten minutes later, a guy in a Ghostbuster uniform began dancing in my vicinity, drawing closer to me as he did. He looked young. Younger than my own twenty-seven years. College-aged and blond, his face pink from the bite of the Boston cold. We danced around each other for a while before he yelled in my ear, “I’m Chris.”
I leaned forward to answer him, even though I knew there was no way Chris and I were going home together. For better or worse, I wasn’t the type to go home with a random. I wasn’t a nun by any stretch of the imagination, and I wasn’t dumb enough to save myself for Sam, but I could also count on two fingers the men I’d slept with in my lifetime and knew their addresses, full names, phone number, and—embarrassingly—college grades.
“Ash,” I answered, keeping it vague.
Ash could mean Ashley or Ashlynn.
Aisling wasn’t a very common name, and everyone knew the Fitzpatricks in Boston.
“You look hot as fuck, Ash.” He licked his lips, undressing me with his eyes.
“Thanks.” I smiled grimly, mentally putting my clothes back on.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I was aware I was treading into tipsy territory, but I was still far from drunk. I nodded. “Anything bottled works. I’ll open it myself.”