The city wasn’t any quieter than usual, and the youth were out in their masses enjoying the club scene. In the queue waiting to enter our favourite club, we took photo's on our phones and teased each other into fits of laughter. Once we had flashed our student I.D cards at the bouncer, we were let loose inside, and our trio mingled into the crowd of a hundred moving figures. It was like they were dancing on the northern lights; beneath the dry-ice smoke screen, swirled an array of blues, acid greens, hot pinks, and bright white. Industrial, techno music played over the dance floor as if it had fused with the dancers’ bodies and each note pulled an invisible string to make its puppets move. The heavy bassline made the whole building quake and assaulted my eardrums with intensity - its memory would be that of a headache I would suffer hours after I had left the club. It was that way every time, and by now, I had gotten used to it, convinced I would be deaf by the time I was thirty. I had always been a sucker for punishment; music had always been my ultimate therapist. It allowed me to escape whatever emotion I wanted and thrust myself into another.

With our coats dropped off at the cloakroom, I let the beat and melody transcend me as soon as we weaved our bodies into the pulsating masses. Lindsay and Theresa abandoned me when they had danced through one song, favouring getting started drinking booze and enough of it to induce tomorrow mornings hangover and fuel whatever wild exploits that night had in store. I had never been averse to dancing alone; in fact, being on my own in a crowd of people that didn’t see me was ironically where I felt the most comfortable. Trapped in a one-to-one with someone highlighted how socially awkward I could be.

I closed my eyes and surrendered to the music - arms reached into the air, writhed my body to the pumping rhythm and enjoyed how the neon lights lit up the backs of my eyelids in kaleidoscopic colours. I could never understand how people needed drugs to feel as free as I felt while dancing.

By the time I felt Theresa tugging on my wrist to rouse me from my trance, I had worked up a sweat and opened my eyes to find she had a girl grinding against her rear. Look's like she's found someone to go home with. I thought.

“Lindsay made off with the ‘hot guy’.” She mouthed to me over the music. I chuckled and nodded, understanding that they must have already left together. “I want to head home too, but I don’t want to leave you all alone.”

“Don't worry about it, T. I’m a big girl. I’ll get myself home.”

It was not the first time they had left me to make my way home, and if I had ever put much thought into it, I would have realised it was a shitty thing to do. Abandoning a friend just for the sake of getting laid was something I would never have done to them, but I supposed I had always been more independent than either of them.

Left to my own devices and having worked up a thirst, I negotiated my way through the crowd towards the bar.

The reason that the Omen was our scene was not only because of its dystopian, techno noir vibe. Or even that it drew a crowd of young people that were like-minded in as much as they fell into the wider clique and social group that we were part of, but one of the bartenders was a graduate of our university and a close friend of Lindsay’s older brother. He had introduced us to the club during our first year at uni’, and we’d been loyal patrons since. Karl was a cool guy, a big brother figure to all of us in that he always kept us safe while we were out. Too bad that when I arrived at the bar, I noticed that he was not working that night. I would have asked him for a lift home if he had been.

However, instantly, I noticed the new face on staff. At least, I had never seen him before. Maybe I wouldn’t have at all if he hadn’t been the next free bartender to meet my eyes and ask me what I wanted to drink.

Everyone appeared better looking in the inconsistent lighting of a club, but I suppose I thought he was attractive even though he wasn’t my type at first glance. For one, he was most likely older than me to have been working the bar. My first impression of him physically was to notice that his hair was of medium length on the crown of his head and shaved shorter at the sides. His fringe flopped over his face some, and every so often, he would sweep back his fringe out of his eyes, a mannerism that I found pretty charming. His entire head of hair was platinum blond and appeared white in the fluorescents. Obviously, it was dyed because his darker roots were just starting to grow out. The give-away to his natural hair colour was the short stubble on his chin and eyebrows; they were darker, though it was hard to tell in the technicoloured club lights. One minute his face lit up in red and the next blue; it confused how my eyes perceived the hues.

Continuing my evaluation of him, I thought his eyebrow and ear piercings suited him; well, they did not put me off. The black button-down he wore rolled to his elbows revealed several small tattoos on his forearms and two silver rings on his fingers. For whatever reason, I took the time to spot that he wore neither of them on his fourth finger. Hmm, not married. Eyeing his hands, I supposed he had what I thought were strong, trust-worthy looking ones.

While he made the drink I ordered, it didn’t seem rude to continue watching him, and on closer inspection, I worked out that one of his tattoos depicted a winged, horned demon - in context to how the rest of him looked, the tattoo didn’t seem out of place. He gave off an ‘I can handle myself’ sort of vibe without coming off as the brutish type. Because he hadn’t buttoned the shirt all the way, I could see a chain hung around his neck, I liked it when a man was comfortable wearing jewellery, but I was soon distracted with noticing his chest again and surmised that he probably worked out.

He didn’t seem to pay me any mind and shot me a pleasant half-smile when he served me my drink; he was just doing his job. As soon as he was there, he was gone and serving someone else, but I stuck around my place at the bar, and I drank my first round, felling comfortable in my solitude.

Another bartender served me my second round and I sat checking my messages and social media. By the time I was ready for another drink, the white-haired guy was back. He didn’t say a word that time around when I indicated I’d have another of the same and went about pouring my drink while maintaining an invasive amount of eye contact. I wasn't driven to react negatively to it and held his gaze in return without any mood revealing expression on my face. Looking back, I wish I had made him talk to me again because I can’t remember what his voice sounded like the first time he spoke to me.

I was startled by the touch of a damp hand on the exposed skin of my waist.

“Hey babe, let me buy you your next drink?” I heard a males voice uncomfortably close to my ear and turned to find a face backlit by the bright dance floor lights, I could barely distinguish his features.

“Uh, no thanks. I think this is my last one.”

“Aw, come on, babe. It’s not closing time; one more drink with me won’t hurt, yeah?” He was persistent and smarmy, and his sweaty hand hadn’t budged despite my refusal.

“I’m flattered, honestly, but no thanks,” I said and turned to drink down what remained of my third round to see the blond-haired bartender was taking it away and replacing it with a full glass. “I- I just said I didn’t want another drink.” I hissed his way. Silently, his steely eyes shifted from mine and shot the clingy guy a warning glare. Immediately I felt the hand disappear from my waist and looked to see him retreating along with his wingman, who I hadn’t noticed had my other side flanked.

“This one’s on me, but you can drink this if you want to go home with him that bad?” The bartender insisted by pushing the full glass my way. He held up my half-drunken one when he explained, “His friend spiked this when he tried chatting you up.”

“Right... Thanks.” The gesture was kind and took me off guard, seeing as he was a complete stranger, but maybe that was the responsibility of a good bartender? I’d never had my drink spiked before. I hoped he could tell my thanks was genuine and that I was sorry I’d been short with him earlier.

The liquor washed away any unpleasant feelings quickly. Still, a change of scenery felt necessary, so I shifted away from the bar to disappear into the dancing crowd once more. I wasn’t ready to go home yet because I enjoyed not having to think about the latest gossip on everyone’s lips and how it affected my life personally. Back in the clutches of anonymity, I swayed my body to the rhythm of the next song and zoned out for a little while amidst the clubbers and dry-ice fog.

Two am was turning out time, and by then, the crowd had thinned some. The lights came on, and the music stopped. Herded, along with the masses towards the cloakroom and exit, my night out was coming to an end.

The cool nighttime air was refreshing when it hit my face but chilled by my back enough for me to pull on my jacket. I contemplated calling a taxi, but checking how much money I had left on me turned out that it was either take the late bus with all the crazies or walk back to my place.

Having decided on the latter, I started my jaunt home only to be startled to a stop when bright white lights captured me off guard when I stepped out to cross a side street - idiotically without looking for traffic first. I silently thanked my lucky stars when I heard brakes screech. The vehicle ground to a halt, but I froze. I could not see the driver past the glare of the headlights, but I put up my hand in surrender and a gesture of gratitude for not mowing me down. Embarrassed, I hurried off the road and back onto the pavement.

By that point, I had had enough drama for one night. If being abandoned by my girlfriends to narrowly escaping having my drink spiked or becoming roadkill had not bruised my resolve, then realising that I was probably going home to another sleepless night did. I had not been alone in my head for ten minutes, and I could already feel my niggling anxiety creeping up from the murky depths of my brain to haunt me.

Lost in thoughts of self-pity, I was stunned back into reality by honking a car horn. Fuckin' hell, what now? My grey eyes shot wide open, and I glared at the black vehicle that had pulled up next to me on the pavement. The window was already down, so I ducked to peer through the void the glass left and found the driver leaning over the passenger seat to look at me as he said, “Do you want a lift somewhere?”

As if tonight couldn’t get any weirder. The hot, blond-haired bartender is inviting me into his car.

“Before you take me for a total creep, look behind you. You’re being followed.” He explained, and in doing what he said, I spotted Mr Drink spiker and his seedy wingman loitering a few yards behind me. So that my anxiety didn’t rear its ugly head, and before I could fully compute, I opted to get into a total stranger’s car. I reached for the door handle.

I made one conscious decision, and that wasn’t going to look at him. Instead, I stared ahead at the dashboard and wrapped my jacket around my bare stomach tighter. Despite my height, I huddled myself down in the seat and dug my hands deeper into the front pockets; trying to look as unassuming as possible.

My decision not to look at him quickly went out of the window when I felt his eyes on me. Glancing his way as he pulled away from the curb into a slow stream of traffic, I noticed he had smirked at me; perhaps he thought my posture was amusing. “So, where am I taking you?”

“I’m not telling you where I live.” I blurted.

“Alright. Is there somewhere I can drop you off near your place then?” He reasoned as he pulled up to a red light. “Unless… You want to come to my place?” Trying his chances, he shot me another look. It was disarming, but I could tell he was trying to weigh me up.

“What?” I asked; I couldn’t help the expression of shock that widened my grey eyes and left my lips agape. “A-are you making a pass at me?” I asked but instantly regretted it, assuming that, of course, the answer would be no. Why would he be making a pass at me?

“Yeah.” He said calmly and pulled off from the traffic lights as soon as the signal changed. He was still waiting for the green light from me too.

For a few minutes, we drove in silence, save for the car radio, which played on low volume, as I deliberated my options. I considered telling him ‘thanks but no thanks’ and request he drop me off at the corner shop, near my block of flats, but then as I watched him grasp the joystick to shift gears and realised I had already decided he had safe looking hands. The slight flinching of his long, nimble fingers made the tendons in the back of his hand dance through his skin amidst his slightly risen veins. It left me with the notion that he would be strong as well as handsome.

Regardless of how much it pained me to admit that I had been starved of any male touch since my ex left me. If I was frank, the last few months of our relationship had lacked passion, and physicality, so it was no wonder that he had decided to call it a day. I shouldn't have been surprised that when I watched the stranger retract his hand from the gear shift to rest it on his thigh, my mind ran wild, imagining all the places he could touch me. In the darkness of the car, I blushed and reached out from my jacket pocket to rub over the back of my neck that suddenly felt hot.

“Okay.” I heard myself mutter before I could stop the word from tumbling out of my mouth. It was as if my body had answered for me and left my mind to stumble its way through making excuses to my conscience.

One-night stands were not usually my thing. There always seemed to be something shameful about casual hookups, so I never sought them out. Perhaps it was because my parents were happily married and had always preached that one was safest in the confines of a loving and committed relationship. One-night stands were dangerous, and for the daredevils of the world, I looked away from life’s uglier truths like a coward or at least someone comfortably situated in the neatly labelled box society had put me in; a good girl. I was not faint of heart, but I certainly was not one to push boundaries either.

As soon as I answered, he shot me a lop-sided smirk that lured me more. My heart started pounding as the weight of what I had agreed to dawned on me. There was no way he was inviting me to his place to play Scrabble and drink green tea, that was for sure. He had admitted he was hitting on me. He was brazen-faced yet simultaneously gentlemanly, and that kind of confidence only made him more attractive.

The moment I had accepted his advance, he turned down a side street to do a U-turn before pulling back onto the main road. He headed back towards the club though we didn’t make it back to the Omen before he took a left turn.

When we arrived at a small multi-story carpark, I took a good look around. I was glad that he hadn’t driven me to some abandoned building on an industrial estate - the kind of desolate location you hear about in the news after a dead body’s discovered. It wasn’t too far from the Omen, so I was slightly relieved to realise I knew the neighbourhood.

It was a nicer area than where I lived. Looking at the signage at the entrance, I saw an upmarket block of flats, constructed in the skeleton of an older nineteenth-century building that used to be an art printing house. He put down his window and tapped in the passcode for the security barrier before we drove under the cover of the basement floor. Spinning the steering wheel with just the butt of his palm, he reversed at speed into a free parking space and cut the engine.

The tension and my nerves were mounting. Silently, we each got out of the car. That was when I became aware of his height. He had to be at least six feet tall. I recall thinking it was refreshing to feel feminized by a man’s stature for once instead of feeling freakishly tall. I can't say that my body language was remotely confident as I followed the stranger towards the stairwell and up to two flights of winding steps. Perhaps I looked as if I were being led to my death... Eventually, he let us in through a locked door, and by then, I had already made sure to take in my surroundings and commit an escape route to memory just in case things went awry. The corridor we stepped onto spoke to the modern design of the apartments the building provided, and when we arrived at his door and he let us in, the entryway decor of his home confirmed my thoughts.

It was dark but not pitch black. I could see a large wall of glass across the lounge that was a window and an eye to the city view beyond. The checkerboard of night-time city lights stretched towards the horizon for miles. A landscape of urban beauty that was distracting from my situation and breathtaking.