I uncomfortably scrunch towards the corner of the couch, while Natasha makes out (or eats the face of, whatever suits the description of that moment with a closer level of precision) with this random muscular dude, who had a fire tattoo on the right side of his forehead, sitting just beside me. He is eating her face like he had skipped a meal for today. He keep going onto her like it is the first time he has ever had a girl and the last time that he ever will, to that weird-ass EDM song "Taki Taki" that I constantly skip when I come across it on the radio. Apparently, that song is a big deal these days.

This dude literally has about hundreds of tattoos on his arms and shoulders, probably going up to his chest, which is covered barely by a loose low-cut black tank tee. He is wearing a faded, low waist light blue-jeans which is torn at his right knee and left thigh; and he is covering most of his head with a loose cap sagging towards the top and displaying some of his dirty blonde hair in the front, which are probably pushed back. He seems to be a little more than about six feet tall with a taut body, unveiling his thick blue veins just below the skin.

He literally is one of those "gym freaks", self-obsessed fuckboys, that use phrases like 'Do you even lift bro?' and 'That's what she said,' with a topping of 'swag'. Generalization much? No, he actually used exactly these phrases in front of me in the first few minutes of our meeting each other, while he was hitting on Natasha, while his excessively aggressive friend, who smelled like cigarettes tries to get to me. These are exactly the kinds of guys Natasha usually goes for and then later complains about them and whines.

It is obvious that she was regularly hit on, thanks to her dynamic personality and god-like looks, especially tonight while she rocked a tight low cut navy blue dress, hugging her body and highlighting her curves with her golden locks all falling towards one side of her shoulder; with the slightest hint of concealer, light pink shiny lipstick, a dab of blush to accentuate her cheekbones, mascara for her curved lashes and a touch of blue eye-shadow to give a shimmer to her beaming personality.

I am starting to feel deeply annoyed by these flickering red lights all around the club, as it gives me a headache and I am desperate to get out of this place as soon as I possibly can. The place is cramped up and crowded, and on top of it all the immense cigarette and hookah smoke in the environment inside the club keeps damping it and increasing the temperature and humidity, hence making it feel like the countryside of any third world hot and polluted country.

Interestingly enough, I used to go out for clubbing with Sawyer once in a while, with a few of our common friend circle and then ended up having a great time. Maybe the culture has changed (in the past 2 years? That is highly unlikely though), or maybe me and my preferences have since happened to evolve into just fulfilling the basic needs in life at the moment.

Natasha pulled me here with the solemn promise of leaving just after an hour or so if I still do not feel comfortable in this environment. It has been about an hour and a half and here we still are, sandwiched between two outrageously courageous horny fuckboys, who probably have nothing better to do on a Friday night and seemingly have no family or work waiting for them.

As I started getting up from the couch, or whatever it is to leave, I hear "what happened? You haven't even finished your drink yet," from below, on the couch.

It is that handsy guy, who is probably a friend of this saliva exchange mate of Natasha. He picks up the filled glass of the Long Island Iced Tea that he had ordered for me and points it suggestively towards me. I am not getting drunk in front of this weirdo, or in-fact anyone tonight. I am supposed to be driving Natasha home probably and at least one of us needs to be sobered up, which as conditions may suggest that it has to be me.

"No, thank you though. I don't feel very well, so I need to leave," I say as I try to find my way out between the couch and the table, with the addition of Natasha and her lover boy, frenching all over the place with all their conserved momentum of the day.

My head is already feeling pretty heavy after a shot of martini that I had with Natasha as soon as we entered the club, so I feel like the walls start whirling for a second as soon as I stood up. I have a very weak core, I know; plus I have never been that fond of drinking as per se (growing up with an alcoholic abusive family member makes us more aware about the effects it can have on our lives), hence I have always been a very lightweight drinker and could bounce around in just two to three shots of any heavy drink.

I suddenly feel my left hand being pulled back by greasy and clammy rough hands. It is the same handsy guy, I realise as I look back in astonishment. Great, he and his gropey hands are back at it again.

"What are you doing?" my voice now sounds pitchy and has a hint of annoyance in it.

"Please stay a little longer?" He looks at me with his trying 'puppy dog' eyes.

"I have a boyfriend. Leave me alone, please!" I say, this time in an assertive tone. I snatch back my hand as I walked away from the creep.

Now he finally does give up, with a disappointing look on his face which slowly changes to annoyed.

"And yet you wasted all of my time? Fucking bitch," he spits out of annoyance and spreads his arms on the back of the couch while speaking. As if him constantly hitting on me and making me uncomfortable was somehow my fault.

"What the fuck, dude? I didn't ask for your gropey hands trying to relentlessly grab me at each and every moment and nor did I show any interest in you ever since we've come here. Fuck yourself, thirsty asshole!" I raise my voice a little, now loud enough for the curious people around us to turn their heads back to check out what fresh gossip they could gather out of this random bar argument, which was, by the way, no one's business whatsoever.

My voice even takes those frisky lovemaking bunnies to get out of their trance and look up at me.

I simply walk away without waiting for his response and do not look back to see if Natasha cared at all at the moment or not.

Surprisingly, Natasha ran after me, out of the club on the empty street outside, towards the well-lit and yet almost empty parking to the right of the club.

"NIKKIIII!" I hear her calling out accompanied by arriving loud and rapid footsteps towards me from the behind, clock clock clocking of her heels on the cement floor of the parking lot. The sweet smell of vanilla and sandalwood perfume of hers intensifies with every step of hers as she approaches me.

I pause to look back at her and slow down to let her catch up with me.

"Well, you had a great time tonight. Huh?" I taunt while I giggle.

"At least I did something, kay. You're such a BOOOORRE!" she slurs under her intoxicated breath in a variable frequency.

She has drunk a lot tonight, fortunately being a Saturday night, and she has off the next day to sleep till noon and regret after waking up with a throbbing headache. The best Saturday nights were the ones which were regretted the next morning, or should I say the next noon.

"That creep..." before I could finish my sentence, Natasha loses control over her basic motor skills and tumbles on me. "Woah woah woah. Let's get you to bed now, hon."

I held her up with my right arm going from my back towards her right, clasping just under her perfectly perky and bodacious right boob (a C cup, I am guessing); while my other hand on her left shoulder, balancing her up. It made me weirdly uneasy for a second there.

Not only I have to carry most of her weight now, but I also did not know where I was supposed to go at the moment. I had to take a decision in a minute or else my hands would lose the strength. I do not even know where exactly she lives. My house is pretty close from here, she can crash at my place for the night and leave in the morning. Even I am not in much of a mood to drive all over to her place, drop her, then drive all the way back to mine; that too only after successfully finding out her valid and current address. I am done for the adventures of the day and I just want to go back home and sleep now. I am not looking for another guy to schmooze me over, with his sweaty rough hands.

I ponder on the thought if Saw is alright. I hope he has someone taking care of him. I would have lived in the hospital with him if I was allowed to. But as Jagger says, 'you can't always get what you want'.

I stuff the limp semiconscious liquid-like (and yet heavy) body of Natasha on the back seats of my car, turn the ignition on and exit the parking lot slowly.

As soon as we hit the empty road, I take a quick glance in the back seat of my car to check on her and realise that she has now completely dozed off in a deep slumber with her head dropped forward on the back of the driver's seat, her body lying still but vibrating with the inertia caused by the motion of the car, and her legs still on the floor of the car.

"Phshshhsh," she mutters something inaudible under her breath while sleeping.

I close all the power windows in the car to make her sound more distinct.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She mutters under her breath, now loud enough for me to understand.

"You left me alone..." (then something inaudible).

She tosses her head back and went to sleep quietly again.