but then he’s glancing at my face again,
guilt in his eyes for checking.
“Sorry. That’s… congratulations?”
I offer a smile as he walks away, but it falls the moment he turns his back to me.
The longer I sit here,
the longer I notice the eyes.
All of them, climbing over my skin.
Don’t look at anyone directly.
Don’t hold anyone’s stare for longer than a blink.
Stay calm, alert, count exits, count faces.
Eyes flick over me.
Then on to the next girl.
Then the next.
Too easy, too hot, too ugly, too bitchy?—
I imagine them thinking,
their eyes cataloguing,
shopping,
discarding,
peeling clothes off one at a time.
I breathe in,
then all the way out, trying to stay unshaken.
My nerves don’t listen.
They climb anyway.
Stupid bitch.
I coulda stayed home, coulda stayed safe.
The clock above the bar says nine minutes to midnight.
Andrew’s still watching me.
Or trying not to.
His eyes keep snagging mine,
and my knee’s jittering under the table.
