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I shouldn't be here. Technically, anyways. All my friends are here, and I actually get treated better than most, even though thats just for the sake of my father's stupid pride. But, it's so ridiculously loud in this room that I don't think anyone can hear themselves think, and that's exactly what they want.
I know thats what I want.
I love that even though I shouldn't be here, everyone ignores it. Like this is a fucking normality or something. I'm not twenty one. But, actually, all my friends are older than that. I guess thats what happens when you're never allowed to go to a real school, never allowed to choose your own friends. My mother had some issue about me being corrupted as a child so she kept me from the public school system. Which I guess in a way sounds pretty legit, right? Wrong. Not when said mother thinks socialization should occur in the biggest, ritziest, and most popular nightclub in Manhattan.
No one ever accused my mother of being in her right mind, though.
I have to admit though, I've grown fond of this little place. You've never experienced true entertainment until you've seen the most popular of celebrities get completely and totally obliterated and make complete fools out of themselves. Yes, Page Six is very kind to the little spot my parents have created here in downtown New York. We get weekly, if not daily mentions in the New York Post and in turn, one of their little spies is always on the guest list for that evening. You would think that the celebrities would have maybe caught on to this by now, but like I said, they get completely shitfaced and wasted out of their skulls. A lot of them are here multiple times a week and they probably couldn't recall what the interior of the nightclub looks like if you asked them to describe it.
But, the most important part of this deal that my father made was to make sure that his daughter is never mentioned at all. Funny, that part of the deal actually extends to most aspects of my relationship with my parents.
Wait in line
'Til your time
Ticking clock
Everyone stop
Everyone's saying different things to me
Different things to me
Everyone's saying different things to me
Different things to me
Do you believe
What you see
There doesn't seem to be
Anyone else who agrees with me
* * *
Every time I come here, I see her. Always in the same spot, surrounded by the same people. I swear she just watches people, with this little look in her eyes like she knows something the rest of us don't. Maybe she's the only sober person in the room, I don't know? She never gets up either. Just sits there, with her little glass of whatever she's always drinking and she barely talks to anyone. Occasionally she'll turn her head to whisper in the dark Latina girl who is always by her side's ear. Then that chick will bust out in the most hysterical laughter. And then the girl will smile, just a little, and then it fades and it's like the whole scene never even happened.
I don't have a fucking clue who she is, but Holy shit she's distracting. She's got a nice smile, even though it doesn't ever reach her eyes and she's pretty. Not the most beautiful girl in the entire world, but honestly, it doesn't matter. I don't think its even about that. Its about the fact that no matter how many times I tell myself when I walk through the door to this damn club that I will not spend the evening staring at her, I can't help it.
I should be a fucking man and go talk to her, but I'm afraid I'll upset the cycle. No one ever goes over there, and none of them ever move from their spot. She's got this aqua blue dress on tonight that matches her eye color and...
Holy shit she just saw me. I just got caught.
She gives me the tiniest of smiles, smaller than the one she gives her laughing friend and turns her head away from me. I think I may have even saw her blush a little, but I could be wrong. I bet it's just the lighting. She doesn't strike me as one who blushes.
Do you believe
What you see
Motionless wheel
Nothing is real
Wasting my time
In the waiting line
Do you believe
In what you see
* * *
Well. That was quite interesting. When I was twelve I would have had a minor stroke at the idea of Justin Timberlake checking me out. However, after seeing him in the disgusting state of drunkenness that I have, it's not so appealing. Especially when the past her prime and notoriously possessive movie star girlfriend is right next to him. Some guy. No wonder the chick's got a iron grip hold on her man.
Still, though, I can't help but be a little flattered. Most of those sort of people don't ever notice me, and if they do, it's just a 'who the fuck is that chick' look. I've turned myself away from Mr. Pop Star's wandering eyes and now I can't see the room. The reason I picked this spot was so that I could have a prime viewing experience of the disasters that go down every night here. Staring at Robert and Jen make out though, is definitely less interesting and surprisingly more nauseating.
I think I may actually go to the bar. I stand up carefully, allowing myself to adjust to my heels again and feel everyone around me sort of pause.
"Co, where are you going?" Sasha asks me from her seated position. Who knew getting up would constitute a look like I've got three heads?
"To the bar," I answer, as nonchalantly as possible even though I'm a little nervous myself. I don't like to break routine. I was safe in my spot. And I do in fact notice the pair of eyes set on me from across the room.
Nine to five
Living lies
Everyday
Stealing time
Everyone's taking everything they can
Everything they can
Everyone's taking everything they can
Everything they can
Do you believe
What you feel
It doesn't seem to be
Anybody else who agrees with me
* * *
Everybody says I have the hugest ego on the planet and I'm starting to believe it because for a second there, I thought she was leaving because of me. But she just went to the bar, and before I even know what the fuck I'm doing I'm leaning Cameron's stoned ass up against the other wall while I get up to follow this girl. I've just decided that I will not leave tonight without getting at least her name, if not more than that.
I make my way up behind her as she leans quietly over the end of the bar. I noticed the way the staff clamors to get her her drink and I wonder if she's royalty or something. Maybe thats why she's always up in the corner. And maybe she doesn't speak English and maybe...
"Excuse me," she says quietly, only glancing up at me for a second before her eyes focus on something over my shoulder and she tries to slip her way through the people. I feel her hip brush mine and without thinking I'm grabbing for her wrist.
"Wait a second," I yell over the loud blaring beat of whatever song is playing, and I pretend not to notice her stunned expression. She definitely wasn't expecting me to do that. "What's your name?"
Her eyes narrow a bit. "Why do you wanna know?"
I like her voice, and it distracts me as I try to think of something not too fucking cheesy to say. Nothing comes to mind and talking to her for 1.5 seconds has told me that she doesn't like bullshit so I guess I'm going for honesty here. "I was just curious, you're always here, up in that corner booth and I've always wondered who you are."
She looks like she might laugh but instead just pulls her wrist away before reaching her other hand out to mine. "I'm Cosette. And I'm always up in that corner booth because my father owns this place."
"Justin," I answer, shaking her hand.
Now she does laugh. "I know that."
"Just being polite," I respond, easily putting on the charm for her. She's cute.
Cosette nods a little, "Well, it was nice to meet you Justin, but I should be going."
"Oh, gotta get back to the corner then huh?" I say, trying to joke with her.
"Uh, yeah," she answers flatly, and for a moment I'm worried I've offended her. "Or, I see your delightful girlfriend heading this way and she doesn't look pleased, so I'm gonna go."
I turn to see Cameron stomping towards us, looking flaming mad. Great.
"Good luck," Cosette laughs, patting my arm lightly.
Within seconds I go from the strange girl's charming laugh to my girlfriend's screeching in my ear.
Do you believe
What you see
Motionless wheel
Nothing is real
Wasting my time
In the waiting line
Do you believe
In what you see
* * *
I didn't expect him to come back here tonight. Not with the scene Ms. Diaz put him through the previous evening. I would have openly laughed if I hadn't felt so damn bad for the guy. She only let up to tell him to gather the group they came with and to drag him out of there. What's amazing though, is that was something he almost looked used to. Who would want that sort of thing to become a common occurrence?
You know how men always say they'll never understand women? I can't really say that I blame them.
Honestly, I'm finding it difficult not to stare at him because this time he clearly left the girlfriend at home or wherever. He seems to be pretty much by himself, which is completely unnatural for celebrities. Once you have a hit album or movie its like against the law to go out by yourself or something. And anyways, who comes to a nightclub like this by them self? I've got the sinking feeling that this has got something to do with me, because he's got his eyes locked on where I should be, where I normally am, and looks perplexed to find that I'm in fact not there.
I felt like being alone tonight, too.
Apparently, thats not to be when his gaze finally settles on me and I'm spotted. We've both turned our heads away quickly so as not to be caught staring at the other, and I can feel my face getting red. I guess I am still twelve years old, and being looked at by Justin Timberlake affects me. I can't turn to see if he's headed this way but I'm sure he is. Maybe I'm paranoid but its like I can feel him getting closer.
I'll shout and I'll scream
But I'd rather not have seen
And I'll hide away
For another day
* * *
"A change of scenery?"
Her honey colored hair falls to the side as she turns to face me. "I guess."
She's turned back around again and I take this as my cue to sit by her. Her back is to the club's main floor and instead she's focusing her eyes out the window, looking out at the Manhattan landscape.
"What are you doing here? And by yourself?"
I don't know how to answer her, because the truth is not an option so I ignore her question and give her a look instead. The kind of look that says 'what do you mean what am I doing here?'
"It's just weird. Normally people like you aren't out by themselves," she answers my look, and I'm a little struck by the judgment. Not that she's entirely wrong, but I wonder where the sweet girl I met last night went. I still don't think this was a mistake, though. Even if I am going to hear it later.
"People like me?" I ask, willing her to elaborate. She seems to be in a bit of a mood. It's interesting.
She ignores my question this time, and throws me a look. She's saying, 'you know what the fuck I'm talking about.'
I'm not gonna give up that easy, though. "Cosette?"
"Yes, Justin?"
Here goes nothing. "You wanna get out of here?"
Do you believe
What you see
Motionless wheel
Nothing is real
Wasting my time
In the waiting line
Do you believe
In what you see
* * *
Is this boy fucking serious right now? I'm resisting the urge to slap him across the face only because theres no way in hell the Page Six mole watching our conversation with great interest is going to ignore that. My father has paid them off well enough for them to know if a celebrity talks to me its not to be mentioned. One time Lindsay Lohan tried to start a fight with me 'cause she wanted my table but thats completely beside the point. Justin Timberlake is exactly as arrogant as everyone makes him out to be. And just when I was starting to think he might be cool.
"You're joking right?" I ask, my tone not the kindest. What the hell do I look like? I'm certainly not a fucking groupie.
His mouth turns up in a smile at my disgusted look and he chuckles at bit. "I didn't mean anything like that. Just thought we could go somewhere not so fucking loud."
Now that I've completely embarrassed myself, I'm reminded of why I don't associate with these people at all. My friends, if you could call them that, know not to make me feel awkward. I don't like it. My face gets all red like I'm positive it is right now and I stumble over my words. Which is why I'm not answering.
"Oh."
"Yeah," he's laughing again, and even though I'm thoroughly humiliated right now for even assuming that someone like him would want me, I can't help but note that I like his laugh. It's real, and I don't find a lot of that anymore.
"You thought I was just tryin' to take you home with me?" he asks, his laughter quieting and a light twang affects his speech. Funny, I always assumed he was from LA or something like that. I don't keep up with those sort of facts too much though, I guess.
Now that I think of it, that was very stupid of me and before I know it, I'm laughing at myself. This guy's got a girlfriend and everything and here I am assuming he wants to sleep with me. Little old me. Pop stars don't want me.
I can only nod my agreement and he stands from his place next to me. "Well are you coming or not?"
Oh what the hell. Its not like I have anything better to do.
The Strange by sofia
Author's Chapter Notes:
1.Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter End Notes:
song credit: In The Waiting Line by zero 7
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