Never the Good Girl

A stranger in the Dark

I don’t remember deciding to come here.

One minute I am pulling out of my driveway with hands so shaky I can barely keep the car on the road, and the next I am sitting at a bar called Noir on the east side of the city. I’ve never been here before. It’s far away from my perfect neighborhood and my perfect life. The place is dark, filled with low amber lighting that makes everyone look like a shadow. There’s some slow jazz bleeding softly from somewhere in the walls and the energy of the people here is heavy. It’s a place for people who have secrets or people who have just lost everything.

I fit right in.

The bartender doesn't ask me any annoying questions. He just looks at my face, the red eyes, the smeared makeup, the mess I am, and starts pouring. He slides a glass over and I don’t even ask what’s in it. I just drink.

By the third drink, I have finally stopped shaking, but I haven't stopped crying. Tears are just sliding down my face, hot and steady. I stare at the row of shiny bottles behind the bar like they owe me an explanation for how my life turned into a pile of trash in a single afternoon.

This was not the life I wanted.

I say it in my head first and then, because the music is just loud enough to hide me, I say it out loud. My voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. Someone older. Someone who has been through a war.

This was not the life I wanted.

I did everything right. That is what nobody tells you about being a good girl. They tell you that if you make good grades, if you don’t sleep around, if you’re loyal and patient, you’ll be happy. They obviously lied. Doing everything right doesn't protect you from anything. It just makes you a bigger target for people like Fred.

Fred was my first. My first kiss, my first everything. I used to be so proud of that. I used to think it meant something special, that our foundation was unshakeable because I had never belonged to anyone else. I thought I was giving him a gift.

Now I understand that he saw it as a chore.

"f**k him," I mutter, reaching for my glass again.

The alcohol is hitting me now, making the world feel a little bit fuzzy. Out of the corner of my eye, I see some guy creeping up on me. He's got a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a grin that says he thinks he’s a lot smoother than he actually is.

"Hey mama," he says, leaning in too close. "You look bored. Want me to bring some life back to you?"

"Please just go," I say. I don’t even look at him. I don't have the energy to even be mean.

He waits for a bit, probably waiting for me to play along, but when I just keep staring at my drink, he moves on to find someone easier. Two songs later, another one shows up at my elbow, reaching out to ask for a dance. I don't even give him a no. I just stare at the ice cubes in my glass until he gets the hint and disappears into the crowd.

I’m thinking about the last time Fred touched me.

It was almost a year ago. He had come home late, reeking of alcohol and some floral perfume that definitely wasn't mine. I was so starved for him, so desperate for any kind of closeness, that I didn't even care about the smell. I had reached for him in the dark and he had responded. For a few minutes, I let myself believe it meant something. I let myself think that somewhere underneath all the distance, he still chose me.

He was on top of me, his breathing rough, his hands gripping my waist like he actually wanted to be there. I had closed my eyes and held onto him like he was a lifeline.

And then he said her name.

Hers. Whoever she was back then. He groaned it into the side of my neck like I wasn't even there. Like I was just a warm body he had borrowed because the one he really wanted was somewhere else. Something inside me went so quiet and so cold that night. I think I’ve been frozen ever since.

I had never felt broken before that night. I had felt disappointed, humiliated, and invisible but that was the night the cracks really started to show.

"You seem lost in thought."

The voice comes from my right. It’s deep and steady, and it doesn't sound like a line. I look up before I can tell myself not to.

And for a second, I forget how to breathe.

He is tall, dark, and has a jawline that looks like it could cut glass. His eyes are catching the amber light from the bar and they’re holding it in a way that makes it impossible to look away. He is wearing a black shirt, the top buttons undone, the fabric pulling just slightly across his broad shoulders. He isn't trying to take up space, but he takes it anyway. He’s just there, and he’s powerful.

I realize I haven't told him to go away yet. That’s the first time that’s happened tonight.

"Mind if I join you?" he says. He doesn't wait for an answer. He just settles onto the stool beside me, unhurried, like we’ve already agreed on this.

He glances at the collection of empty glasses in front of me and a small smile touches the corner of his mouth. "What are we celebrating?"

I let out a sound that is almost a laugh, but it’s too sharp. "Celebrating. Right. Like my life is a party right now."

He is quiet for a second, just watching me. "That’s heavy," he says. "What’s going on?"

"You don't want to know."

"I asked, didn't I?"

I look at him sideways. He is looking back at me steadily. There’s no pick-up agenda on his face, just genuine attention. It’s so unfamiliar that I feel the tears threatening to come back. Nobody has looked at me like this in a long time.

"My husband just asked me for a divorce," I say. I don’t know why I’m telling a stranger, but the words feel like they need to be out of my mouth. "After I came home and found him with another woman in our bedroom. About two hours ago."

Something shifts in his expression. It isn't pity, I would have walked away if it were pity. It’s more like a quiet understanding.

"And you drove here?" he asks.

"I drove somewhere. This is where I ended up."

He exhales slowly. "The fact that you're sitting here, breathing, and ordering drinks instead of burning the house down... that takes more strength than you think. Don't lose hope, okay? This isn't the end of your story."

I stare at him. "You're good," I say slowly. "You say that like you actually mean it, and you don't even know me."

He turns to face me fully. I’m not prepared for the weight of his gaze up close. "I don't have to know you to mean it," he says simply. "This is just what I do."

I raise an eyebrow. The drink is finally working through me, loosening the knots in my stomach. "Oh, so you make a habit of comforting broken women in bars?"

His mouth curves into a real smile this time slow, deep, and a little bit dangerous. "No," he says. "Only the pretty ones."

Then his hand comes up. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers barely grazing my jaw. I feel it everywhere. It’s like a jolt of electricity hitting a live wire. My breath catches and his eyes drop to my mouth for a split second before looking back up.

It has been five years since a man looked at me like that. Like I was something worth looking at. Like I wasn't just a vanilla wife sitting at home waiting for permission to exist.

Fred’s words flash through my mind again, stinging just as much as the first time.

I drain the glass until there’s nothing left but the ice.

"Can I ask you something?" I say. My heart is beating so fast I can feel it in my throat.

"Depends on what it is."

I look at him. He’s still watching me with that calm, patient look, like he’s got all night to wait for me.

I think about being good. I think about the years of being patient and enough, and finding out tonight that none of it mattered. I think about that night a year ago when Fred used my body while thinking of someone else. I think about being twenty nine and being thrown away like trash.

What do I have to lose?

The thought lands in my head and it’s so clear it’s scary. I have nothing left to protect.

I look at him and something rises in me. Something bold and reckless. I don't recognize the woman I’m becoming in this moment, but I like her. She isn't invisible.

"Can you do me a favor?" I say.

His eyes hold mine. "If you're asking me to rob a bank, I won't. But try me."

I hold his gaze and the words come out before I can stop them. They’re clear and shocking, even to me.

"Can you please f**k me?"

The bar keeps going. The music keeps playing. But for us, everything just stops.

He stares at me, his eyes searching mine.

"Lady," he says quietly. "What the hell.”