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He sat in a dark corner of the club, surrounded by people who were more intoxicated than he was. The lights flew around him from the comparatively well lit dance floor, inhabited by a sea of bodies. He was pretty much alone there, despite being with a large party of twenty or thirty people, but he didn’t care. He just watched, across the dance floor, through the sea of bodies.
"I saw you with the itch"
Richard shouted over the noise in the club with a teasing grin spread across his face. Tom just smiled and continued to watch the dance floor, taking another gulp from a bottle of his sickly sweet alchopop.
"The Itch" was a girl called Sarah. She was about five years younger than Tom. He didn't know very much about her. At least not as much as she knew about him. He put this down to women being women and generally just more attentive than men. They'd known each other about a year and a half, during which they had both been, and still were involved in relationships. Maybe that was why they got on with one another so well, because their friendship could be just that. A friendship with none of the usual awkwardness and embarrassment that often accompanies the boy likes girl, girl likes boy relationships. That wasn’t an option if they were both tied into relationship. Or at least, it wasn’t to begin with.
Tom's relationship felt as solid as a rock, but for a while now Sarah's had been turbulent to say the least. Sarah was the itch, and if anyone was going to upset Tom’s near seven year ship, She was the one. The seven year itch. She was the girl who trusted him. She was the girl who looked to him when she needed help. She was the girl who always told him she loves him when she’s drunk.
She seemed very far away, dancing on the dance floor with a small group of giggly girls. She also seemed oblivious to him, but she wasn’t. She knew exactly where he was, and every minute or show she would look, just to check he was still there, to see if he was looking. He looked back. He didn’t smile, and he didn’t nod. He just looked back to her very purposefully. Trying to let her know that he was here, that he saw her look for him, and that he was watching.
Another member of the party stumbled out of the throng and spotted him alone. She smiled brightly and made a beeline to him. Planting herself on his knee she slurred into his ear “y’alright?” He forced a smile and nodded “yeah,” She smiled and kissed his cheek before slipping away to do the rounds, and more than likely find another drink.
He continued to watch the dance floor, during the brief interruption he’d lost track. He couldn’t see her anymore. Then there she was, smiling at him at the edge of the dance floor. He smiled back. She was his sweetheart. Her smile made him feel warm inside, made him feel years younger, like a school kid. She asked him to dance. He shook his head and she looked disappointed. She looked so put out that shards of guilt placed him in two minds, but he knew he didn’t feel comfortable making such a spectacle.
”Why?” she demanded. He wanted to tell her, he wanted her to know that he would love to go and dance with her. He just shook his head and said “You know, I don’t do dancing.” She smiled and pointed to one of her beautiful brown eyes “I’ve seen,” He shook his head. She laughed a little and said again “I’ve seen,”
Someone tapped on his shoulder, and a guy said something in his ear, but he didn’t hear what, and while he tried to decipher what was being said he felt two hands wrap around his arm and try to drag him to his feet. He looked across to see her cheeky smile as she struggled. “No,” he said, amused by her efforts. He must have outweighed her by at least 5 stone. Pulling his arms behind him and holding his hands behind his back. Suddenly something seemed very sensual. He sat on a low stool, both arms planted behind his back, broad chest sticking out as he looked up to her, standing over him. He felt frozen, unable to move. Physically he was so much stronger than she was, but he let her take him over, He trusted her. She was the girl who trusted him. She was the girl who looked to him when she needed help. She was the girl who always told him she loves him when she’s drunk, and who he couldn’t tell her he loved her back, not because it wasn’t true, but because it was.
"I saw you with the itch"
Richard shouted over the noise in the club with a teasing grin spread across his face. Tom just smiled and continued to watch the dance floor, taking another gulp from a bottle of his sickly sweet alchopop.
"The Itch" was a girl called Sarah. She was about five years younger than Tom. He didn't know very much about her. At least not as much as she knew about him. He put this down to women being women and generally just more attentive than men. They'd known each other about a year and a half, during which they had both been, and still were involved in relationships. Maybe that was why they got on with one another so well, because their friendship could be just that. A friendship with none of the usual awkwardness and embarrassment that often accompanies the boy likes girl, girl likes boy relationships. That wasn’t an option if they were both tied into relationship. Or at least, it wasn’t to begin with.
Tom's relationship felt as solid as a rock, but for a while now Sarah's had been turbulent to say the least. Sarah was the itch, and if anyone was going to upset Tom’s near seven year ship, She was the one. The seven year itch. She was the girl who trusted him. She was the girl who looked to him when she needed help. She was the girl who always told him she loves him when she’s drunk.
She seemed very far away, dancing on the dance floor with a small group of giggly girls. She also seemed oblivious to him, but she wasn’t. She knew exactly where he was, and every minute or show she would look, just to check he was still there, to see if he was looking. He looked back. He didn’t smile, and he didn’t nod. He just looked back to her very purposefully. Trying to let her know that he was here, that he saw her look for him, and that he was watching.
Another member of the party stumbled out of the throng and spotted him alone. She smiled brightly and made a beeline to him. Planting herself on his knee she slurred into his ear “y’alright?” He forced a smile and nodded “yeah,” She smiled and kissed his cheek before slipping away to do the rounds, and more than likely find another drink.
He continued to watch the dance floor, during the brief interruption he’d lost track. He couldn’t see her anymore. Then there she was, smiling at him at the edge of the dance floor. He smiled back. She was his sweetheart. Her smile made him feel warm inside, made him feel years younger, like a school kid. She asked him to dance. He shook his head and she looked disappointed. She looked so put out that shards of guilt placed him in two minds, but he knew he didn’t feel comfortable making such a spectacle.
”Why?” she demanded. He wanted to tell her, he wanted her to know that he would love to go and dance with her. He just shook his head and said “You know, I don’t do dancing.” She smiled and pointed to one of her beautiful brown eyes “I’ve seen,” He shook his head. She laughed a little and said again “I’ve seen,”
Someone tapped on his shoulder, and a guy said something in his ear, but he didn’t hear what, and while he tried to decipher what was being said he felt two hands wrap around his arm and try to drag him to his feet. He looked across to see her cheeky smile as she struggled. “No,” he said, amused by her efforts. He must have outweighed her by at least 5 stone. Pulling his arms behind him and holding his hands behind his back. Suddenly something seemed very sensual. He sat on a low stool, both arms planted behind his back, broad chest sticking out as he looked up to her, standing over him. He felt frozen, unable to move. Physically he was so much stronger than she was, but he let her take him over, He trusted her. She was the girl who trusted him. She was the girl who looked to him when she needed help. She was the girl who always told him she loves him when she’s drunk, and who he couldn’t tell her he loved her back, not because it wasn’t true, but because it was.
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He sat in a dark corner of the club, surrounded by people who were more intoxicated than he was. The lights flew around him from the comparatively well lit dance floor, inhabited by a sea of bodies. He was pretty much alone there, despite being with a large party of twenty or thirty people, but he didn’t care. He just watched, across the dance floor, through the sea of bodies.
"I saw you with the itch"
Richard shouted over the noise in the club with a teasing grin spread across his face. Tom just smiled and continued to watch the dance floor, taking another gulp from a bottle of his sickly sweet alchopop.
"The Itch" was a girl called Sarah. She was about five years younger than Tom. He didn't know very much about her. At least not as much as she knew about him. He put this down to women being women and generally just more attentive than men. They'd known each other about a year and a half, during which they had both been, and still were involved in relationships. Maybe that was why they got on with one another so well, because their friendship could be just that. A friendship with none of the usual awkwardness and embarrassment that often accompanies the boy likes girl, girl likes boy relationships. That wasn’t an option if they were both tied into relationship. Or at least, it wasn’t to begin with.
Tom's relationship felt as solid as a rock, but for a while now Sarah's had been turbulent to say the least. Sarah was the itch, and if anyone was going to upset Tom’s near seven year ship, She was the one. The seven year itch. She was the girl who trusted him. She was the girl who looked to him when she needed help. She was the girl who always told him she loves him when she’s drunk.
She seemed very far away, dancing on the dance floor with a small group of giggly girls. She also seemed oblivious to him, but she wasn’t. She knew exactly where he was, and every minute or show she would look, just to check he was still there, to see if he was looking. He looked back. He didn’t smile, and he didn’t nod. He just looked back to her very purposefully. Trying to let her know that he was here, that he saw her look for him, and that he was watching.
Another member of the party stumbled out of the throng and spotted him alone. She smiled brightly and made a beeline to him. Planting herself on his knee she slurred into his ear “y’alright?” He forced a smile and nodded “yeah,” She smiled and kissed his cheek before slipping away to do the rounds, and more than likely find another drink.
He continued to watch the dance floor, during the brief interruption he’d lost track. He couldn’t see her anymore. Then there she was, smiling at him at the edge of the dance floor. He smiled back. She was his sweetheart. Her smile made him feel warm inside, made him feel years younger, like a school kid. She asked him to dance. He shook his head and she looked disappointed. She looked so put out that shards of guilt placed him in two minds, but he knew he didn’t feel comfortable making such a spectacle.
”Why?” she demanded. He wanted to tell her, he wanted her to know that he would love to go and dance with her. He just shook his head and said “You know, I don’t do dancing.” She smiled and pointed to one of her beautiful brown eyes “I’ve seen,” He shook his head. She laughed a little and said again “I’ve seen,”
Someone tapped on his shoulder, and a guy said something in his ear, but he didn’t hear what, and while he tried to decipher what was being said he felt two hands wrap around his arm and try to drag him to his feet. He looked across to see her cheeky smile as she struggled. “No,” he said, amused by her efforts. He must have outweighed her by at least 5 stone. Pulling his arms behind him and holding his hands behind his back. Suddenly something seemed very sensual. He sat on a low stool, both arms planted behind his back, broad chest sticking out as he looked up to her, standing over him. He felt frozen, unable to move. Physically he was so much stronger than she was, but he let her take him over, He trusted her. She was the girl who trusted him. She was the girl who looked to him when she needed help. She was the girl who always told him she loves him when she’s drunk, and who he couldn’t tell her he loved her back, not because it wasn’t true, but because it was.
"I saw you with the itch"
Richard shouted over the noise in the club with a teasing grin spread across his face. Tom just smiled and continued to watch the dance floor, taking another gulp from a bottle of his sickly sweet alchopop.
"The Itch" was a girl called Sarah. She was about five years younger than Tom. He didn't know very much about her. At least not as much as she knew about him. He put this down to women being women and generally just more attentive than men. They'd known each other about a year and a half, during which they had both been, and still were involved in relationships. Maybe that was why they got on with one another so well, because their friendship could be just that. A friendship with none of the usual awkwardness and embarrassment that often accompanies the boy likes girl, girl likes boy relationships. That wasn’t an option if they were both tied into relationship. Or at least, it wasn’t to begin with.
Tom's relationship felt as solid as a rock, but for a while now Sarah's had been turbulent to say the least. Sarah was the itch, and if anyone was going to upset Tom’s near seven year ship, She was the one. The seven year itch. She was the girl who trusted him. She was the girl who looked to him when she needed help. She was the girl who always told him she loves him when she’s drunk.
She seemed very far away, dancing on the dance floor with a small group of giggly girls. She also seemed oblivious to him, but she wasn’t. She knew exactly where he was, and every minute or show she would look, just to check he was still there, to see if he was looking. He looked back. He didn’t smile, and he didn’t nod. He just looked back to her very purposefully. Trying to let her know that he was here, that he saw her look for him, and that he was watching.
Another member of the party stumbled out of the throng and spotted him alone. She smiled brightly and made a beeline to him. Planting herself on his knee she slurred into his ear “y’alright?” He forced a smile and nodded “yeah,” She smiled and kissed his cheek before slipping away to do the rounds, and more than likely find another drink.
He continued to watch the dance floor, during the brief interruption he’d lost track. He couldn’t see her anymore. Then there she was, smiling at him at the edge of the dance floor. He smiled back. She was his sweetheart. Her smile made him feel warm inside, made him feel years younger, like a school kid. She asked him to dance. He shook his head and she looked disappointed. She looked so put out that shards of guilt placed him in two minds, but he knew he didn’t feel comfortable making such a spectacle.
”Why?” she demanded. He wanted to tell her, he wanted her to know that he would love to go and dance with her. He just shook his head and said “You know, I don’t do dancing.” She smiled and pointed to one of her beautiful brown eyes “I’ve seen,” He shook his head. She laughed a little and said again “I’ve seen,”
Someone tapped on his shoulder, and a guy said something in his ear, but he didn’t hear what, and while he tried to decipher what was being said he felt two hands wrap around his arm and try to drag him to his feet. He looked across to see her cheeky smile as she struggled. “No,” he said, amused by her efforts. He must have outweighed her by at least 5 stone. Pulling his arms behind him and holding his hands behind his back. Suddenly something seemed very sensual. He sat on a low stool, both arms planted behind his back, broad chest sticking out as he looked up to her, standing over him. He felt frozen, unable to move. Physically he was so much stronger than she was, but he let her take him over, He trusted her. She was the girl who trusted him. She was the girl who looked to him when she needed help. She was the girl who always told him she loves him when she’s drunk, and who he couldn’t tell her he loved her back, not because it wasn’t true, but because it was.