It was a breezy Friday night in late October, around 8pm. The sky was dark and cloudy, and the fumes of alcohol wafted through the backstreets of the city, carried by the wind, as party-goers prepared for a long night of drinking in the clubs.
My best friend, Isabel, had been begging me for weeks to go to the club with her, as I'd just turned 21. "Just one night, I promise, you'll love it!"
I was never one for parties and socialising. I'd told her "No" for three consecutive weeks, but I felt bad for letting her down, so finally I said,
"Fine. One night! But the drinks are all on you."
She picked me up from home at 5 and we drove back to her place because she insisted on giving me a "makeover."
I emerged from the front door two hours later feeling like a weird Barbie doll. I wore a tight black off-the-shoulder dress, a pair of black diamond-encrusted heels, and a little black and white purse.
I honestly wasn't keen on the look myself. I'd always been the 'hoodie and jeans' type of girl with a messy bun and bare face, but I saw how Isabel's face lit up when I came out of her bedroom. At least I made her happy.
"I promise, Em. You're gonna have the time of your life!"
I glanced over at her with a side-eye, slightly annoyed. I knew she'd said something, but we'd only just walked through the club's entrance and the music was already overwhelmingly loud.
The sickening stench of alcohol was suffocating, and sweaty bodies crammed the dance floor. I must've shown my disapproval on my face because she rolled her eyes at my sour attitude.
"This is why I don't go out," I moaned, going to shove my hands into pockets that I then remembered weren't there. I felt so awkward.
She grinned at me and shouted at the bartender for two Blue Kamikazes as we took seats at the bar.
I recall gazing around the club as we waited for our drinks. It didn't take me long to single out the loners. I should know, I'm also an introvert.
But as I was gazing around at everyone, that was when my eyes landed on someone in the back corner. It was dark, save for the colourful neon lights that momentarily flickered bright enough for me to make out details of his face. It was pretty hard to say what he looked like through the throngs of people dancing between us.
He was a silhouette, standing apart from the crowd and smoking a cigarette. I observed him as a pale string of smoke ascended from his thin lips. Through the crowds, he caught my gaze, which startled me a bit, and he turned his head to glare back at me. I admit I was intimidated, but it allowed me a better angle to look at his face.
By the looks of it, he had dark hair, a light stubbly beard, and was wearing what appeared to be a suit. 'Maybe he's a bouncer,' I thought to myself. I hummed slightly and glanced at someone else on the dance floor.
I'd always been a people-watcher. I guess sometimes it felt better than knowing I was on my own, helped the lonliness I felt as a kid. Of course, I was with Isabel now and I'd kind of grown out of the habit for the most part. But in environments like this, I seemed to revert back to it.
I sighed and watched a tall woman laugh heartily with her friends, her red hair lit up by the neon spotlights above as she waved her arms about wildly. After a moment staring at her, my eyes wandered to the back wall again.
That man was still there. I watched him, and noticed he seemed to be on his phone with someone. At first glance, he didn't look all that out of place, but the more I stared, the more I realised something.
'He doesn't look like a bouncer.'
To my surprise, he was still glaring at me, or at least in my direction. My eyes widened and part of me wishes I'd looked away, but I didn't. We held eye contact for longer than normal, and I saw him say something to the person on his phone, but it was too dark for me to lip read.
Suddenly, I was startled as Isabel screamed in excitement behind me. Losing my focus on the mysterious man, my head snapped around, hearing her yell over the booming music.
"Woohoo! Alright, two Blue Kamikazes coming right up!"
She placed said beverage on the counter in front of me, keeping hers in her other hand, her pinky finger sticking out.
She momentarily lifted her bum off the seat to adjust her dress, allowing me a chance to glance back at the corner.
But the man was gone.
"This'll loosen you up a bit, Em."
I nodded slowly, thinking how I didn't fit in, and watched her eye me inquisitively.
"Go on then! Get it down ya!" She said after a moment, then laughed her funny obnoxious laugh. We used to have a joke that she sounded like a spray can.
My eyes uncomfortably wandered down to the shot glass in my hand, filled with an odd blue liquid. I gulped.
'Come on, Em. Don't be a pussy,' I told myself.
So with that, I raised the glass to my lips, letting the cold liquid trickle down my throat. It left a burn that lingered for a bit after. I pulled my face like sucking on a lemon and Isabel snorted and slapped her thigh. She then proceeded to down her own drink, slamming the glass on the counter as I quietly judged her.
I sighed. She was always such a silly goon. Whenever we went anywhere together, she either ended up embarrassing me or getting us both in trouble.
The time before this, about two years before, we somehow ended up in the back of a McDonald's parking lot with both our phones dead. We stumbled through the streets laughing like idiots until we managed to flag down a taxi. I spent the night at her place and woke up with a rip-roaring headache, so I vowed to never go out drinking like that again. Things could've been a lot worse that night.
But I loved Isabel. I'd never had another friend like her, ever, and that made her very special to me. No matter what trouble we got in, our friendship never waned. We'd been through primary school, secondary, and college together, even gone to the same dance class as kids. With her, I didn't need anyone else. It was always just me and her, and I liked it that way.
She did a little dance, shimmying her hips to the music, and flung her arms over her head as she screamed, "Hell yeah!"
I giggled at her silliness.
"Hehe, I knew I'd make you laugh."
We both smiled at each other. It was actually going better than I thought it would...
But that was wishful thinking. We had a few more shots before anything else happened.
"Alright babe, you stay here, I gotta go pee!"
I laughed as she hopped off the stool, placing her hand on my shoulder for support. She leaned into my ear,
"I'll be right back."
The thing is though, this whole book wouldn't be worth writing if Isabel had come right back. I watched her waddle away to the toilets at the back of the club. I wish I'd gone with her, but I had no idea that that would be the last time I'd see her...
I sighed loudly and dragged my phone out of that black and white purse. I guess I thought being on my phone would make me seem like less of a loser.
Fifteen minutes went by before anything else happened. I scrolled through Instagram and Twitter but found nothing interesting, and the messages I'd got from my Mum earlier stared back at me.
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Mum: Hey love, have a nice night!
Mum: Dont be back too late tomorrow.
Mum: I've left the spare key under the mat.
Mum: Goodnight xx
Me: Thanks Mum. Love you xx
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Even with my eyes on the screen, I sensed someone behind me. I glanced to my left, then right. But no-one was there. I glanced back down at the screen, then over at the toilets at the far wall.
'She's taking her time...' I thought, though I wasn't too concerned at this point.
Then someone spoke.
"This isn't my idea of a Friday night, either."
A voice — low, calm, and slightly amused. The first words he ever said to me. The words that started all of this.
I looked up. A blonde guy stood next to me, smiling as if he already knew me. He slipped into Isabel's empty seat without asking and signaled the bartender.
I watched him cautiously. Guarded.
He ordered a whiskey with quiet confidence, then glanced down at me with a smirk that wasn't quite cocky, just... knowing.
I straightened up and tucked my phone away.
He was attractive — annoyingly so. Blonde hair, black eyes that were too intense, sun-kissed skin. A denim jacket, plain white t-shirt, black ripped jeans, white trainers. Way too casual for a club like this.
He didn't look like he belonged. That was the first red flag.
But I kept staring. Something about him pulled me in, even as my instincts warned me to stay wary.
"You don't look like you belong here either," he said suddenly.
I blinked. Had he just read my mind?
He turned slightly as the bartender handed him his drink. He thanked them with polite charm, before taking a slow sip and setting the glass back down.
I studied him again, unease prickling the back of my neck.
'What's he doing here if he knows he doesn't fit in?' I thought, nervously. 'Did he come with someone? Or is he just... hanging around?'
After a long moment, I gave in to my curiosity. "So why are you here, then? If it's not your scene?"
For a split second, his expression tightened — barely noticeable. A flash of something unreadable crossed his face. I swallowed. Then, just as quickly, he smiled again.
"I could ask you the same," he said. "But I know you came with your friend."
He watched me over the rim of his glass, eyes sharp, calculating. But then he softened.
Hummed, then extended a hand. "I realise I haven't introduced myself."
I hesitated. He noticed. His brows lifted slightly, amused. "Too soon?"
I finally shook his hand — brief, tense.
"I'm Tyler," he said.
"Emily," I replied tersely. "Nice to meet you."
Our smiles were thin, polite. My shoulders were stiff. I kept hoping Isabel would come back so I could retreat. Still, something about him drew me in, like a string I hadn't meant to tug.
"So, um... where do you come from?" I asked quietly, my voice barely rising higher than the music.
"Here, born and raised. You?" His answer was quick — a bit too quick.
I could tell it was a lie, he sounded... American, but only vaguely. It wasn't the southern drawl or the northern accent, but it definitely wasn't British.
"I was born in Wales," I offered, but I wasn't entirely sure why I told him that.
He tilted his head slightly, intrigued.
"Oh... Something told me you would be interesting..." he mumbled.
Weird thing to say, but I let it slide.
He smirked and held his stare. It wasn't exactly flirty, but wasn't creepy either. Not really. More... deliberate, as if he was studying me. I felt a little bit intimidated.
"Any reason why you moved from Wales?"
He was trying to keep the conversation running. I shrugged and turned to peer back at the toilets, half-hoping he'd get the hint and stop talking. Still no sign of Isabel.
We sat in silence for a few minutes while I awkwardly twiddled my thumbs on my lap and glanced around the club. But I could feel his eyes watching me the whole time.
"Can I ask you a question?" he asked suddenly.
I hesitated, glancing at him uncomfortably. "Sure."
What he said next made my stomach drop.
"What scares you?"
“What the fuck?” I blinked, thrown. "What kind of a question is that?"
He shrugged nonchalantly, fingers raking lazily through his platinum hair like this was so casual.
"Dunno. Just tryna keep the convo going."
He smirked and sat back with his left elbow resting on the counter.
I sighed and turned to the bartender, asking for another shot.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I don't know if it's right to tell a stranger my fears, to be honest." I slid my card across the bar and muttered.
"Stranger?" He laughed softly, but it was hollow, like it had no real amusement behind it. "Plural, though? Go on, you've actually got me interested now."
He stared at me in anticipation, like a child completely absorbed in a movie, and his grin was playful but something about it made my skin crawl.
"You're actually... serious?" I nervously scratched the back of my neck.
I didn't want to tell him.
I wanted Isabel to come back.
I wanted to get up and walk away from him.
Hell, I wanted the ground to swallow me up.
But I was trapped.
Instead, I took the shot from the barmaid, sighed and downed it.
"Fine. I'll tell you..."
I crossed my arms over my shoulders and inhaled a shaky breath, averting my gaze towards the bartenders to my right.
"Knives. Needles. And... blood."
I felt fucking stupid, it sounded pathetic out loud. Just the thought of it made my skeleton want to crawl out of my skin. I hated it.
Tyler, on the other hand, didn't laugh, didn't smile. His expression shifted to something different. He mumbled something under his breath.
"What?" I asked, hoping he'd repeat it.
There was a long pause while he stared at me. Then:
"Aichmophobia, Trypanophobia, and Haemophobia."
I should've fucking known he was weird .
He seemed to realise it too, saw the panic on my face, and gave a half-hearted chuckle.
"Nevermind... I, err... did my psychology thesis on phobias in college."
Well, that made more sense, but I still didn't fully believe it.
"Oh... right," I said slowly, my eyes narrowing slightly. "What college did you go to?"
"You wouldn't know it... I studied in the US."
I knew he was lying but I guess I just went along with it.
I didn't ask anything else. Whatever that was — whatever he was — I got the sense probably wasn't very good.
I should've listened to that instinct.
I scanned the room as the music changed and people began to filter out to come to the bar.
Tyler saw his opportunity.
"Looks like it's getting busy... what do you say we leave these losers and go somewhere more fun?"
Honestly, I was over it. The atmosphere felt stale, and my head was starting to ache from the noise.
All I wanted was to go home and collapse into bed, comfy pyjamas, slipper socks, and a steaming mug of hot chocolate in hand.
But Isabel had been gone for almost an hour now, and that nagging worry in my stomach wouldn't let me just up and leave. It didn't feel right.
Tyler's offer dangled there, tempting. If Isabel had reappeared even two minutes ago, laughing and pulling me onto the dancefloor, I would've said no to Tyler without a second thought. But she hadn't. So I hesitated.
I glanced toward the bathrooms again, trying to convince myself she might just be talking to someone, or freshening up. Nothing. Just the same dancing crowd.
It seemed odd, and it seemed even odder when he leaned in closer and said,
"It doesn't seem like your friend is coming back. She's probably left with someone."
I scowled at him and said, "I'll text her."
I took out my phone and sent her a couple of messages to encourage her to text me back, my thumbs tapping the keyboard furiously.
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Me: Hey! What r u doing in there?
Me: Been waiting 4 u ages
Me: Ths guy invited me 2 his place
Me: Dont want to leave w/o u
Me: Pls get back 2 me Iz
Me: Isabel?
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I stared at the screen. No reply. The messages sat there like unanswered prayers. It wasn't like her. Isabel always replied. She was always on her phone like it was glued to her hands.
A voice in my head told me to get up and go check the bathrooms myself. But another voice — the tired one, the one dulled by alcohol and nerves and the pounding headache beginning to bloom behind my eyes — whispered something else.
'She probably did leave with someone.'
But surely she would've told me. It wasn't like her to abandon me.
Tyler echoed that same thought. And maybe... maybe I believed the doubt because I wanted to.
Not because I didn't care — but because the alternative felt too big. Too real.
I couldn't sit with that thought. Not yet.
And Tyler... well, he was charming, in that intense, quiet kind of way. He hadn't pushed me, hadn't leered. He seemed calm. But mysterious.
But maybe going with him was better than feeling abandoned. Maybe I didn't want to be alone.
I don't really know why I tried to justify it. But I did.
Maybe I was a bad friend...
Tyler brought his drink to the one in my hand and clinked the glasses.
"Cheers to going somewhere more fun."
I stared at the liquid in my glass for a beat too long.
"You're really laying it on thick," I muttered, half-smiling despite myself.
We drank, though my mouth was dry and my gut uneasy. When I set my glass down, he reached for it, then offered his hand to help me off the stool. I hesitated again, but took it.
He laughed, leading the way through the crowd as I cast one last glance over my shoulder.