Wanna Be Yours

Have you ever been so enamored with someone that your world seems to stop whenever they aren’t around?

It was an average night like no other. Orion at Soho is a prime place for wannabe lovers, the broken-hearted and social outcasts. In a way, it’s my second home.

I felt drawn to his aura as he swung his guitar around on the stage. My eyes traced his movements, from the way he fingered the pick to the slight lift in the corner of his mouth.

All the usual discomforts of a club, like the sweatiness of a hundred bodies and the odor of smoke, meant nothing to me. Because I was standing in front of him.

He looked like the living embodiment of a chaos aesthetic. His leather jacket hung close to his broad shoulders while his pants hung low on his hips. I caught myself looking down more times than I could count.

Despite his air of badassery, his solemn expressions portrayed something else. A soft soul, or maybe vulnerability. He strummed the guitar with passion, like he was pouring all of his soul into his art

It didn’t come off as fake. Every lyric appeared to resonate with him. I didn’t know what he went through, but in that moment, I could tell he reached tranquillity.

The song almost hit the crescendo, and with it, came a rising sense of euphoria. Goosebumps started to invade my skin. My heartbeat rose in response, and the anticipation was beginning to edge me.

I knew I wasn’t the only the person who felt it. Everyone in the audience swayed and moved their bodies in sync with his notes.

I moved closer to the stage to get a better of him. It was in that moment our gazes crossed, and my world changed. Even under the neon purple lights, I could tell he was entranced too.

They changed the song and switched up the tune. Suddenly, the atmosphere changed. Gone was the punk rock music, and what replaced it was a sweet melody. People in the audience looked to others and began dancing lustfully.

The lyrics, which spoke of long-lost love and strange encounters, felt too specific. He struck the notes on his guitar like he would die the next minute.

I unconsciously bit my lower lip. The longer he stayed on the stage, the more ecstatic I become. A part of me wanted to tell him about the way he made me feel right then.

As quick as the experience started, it ended. His band’s time came to a stop, and they were replaced by another punk rock band.

I sighed heavily. I was probably never going to see him again or experience something as euphoric. I took one last glance at the guy, but he was already backstage.

I don’t remember how long I stayed in the crowd. However, it was long enough for another band to already be on their second song. I frantically searched the club for a smidgen of hope, to see his dark maroon hair.

I thought I saw a guitar and made my way to the person. But it was a member from another band. Like a ghost, he disappeared…

I drop my pen in frustration and dive into my bed. I don’t know if what I’m feeling is love or a strange obsession with the first person to make me feel again.

What’s so good about him anyway? The voice talks again. I sigh deeply and slap myself. But it doesn’t leave. I believe the role of it is too bring me back to reality. It spews some pessimistic things. Then, my optimism just dies.

He can’t be that awesome. He was so ugly and unfunny. He made me laugh. For the first time in months, I didn’t have to force myself to smile, because he brought it out of me so effortlessly.

What if you never find him again? He might not remember you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought you were some weirdo. Seriously, bro, you can…

“Shut up, dude. I don’t need your negativity right now.” The voice quiets down. But what it said makes sense. I’m nothing but a short moment in his life, which I imagine is a series of exciting highs.

Unfortunately, he’s becoming more than just a good memory to me. When I sleep, I see his slender fingers curling around my wrists. He holds them high above my head.

In the club he looked like a Dante or Leo. I remember staring at the way his hair glistened in the neon lights; even the way random strands would separate from the majority, begging to be rearranged.

I let a grunt into my pillow. My feelings are too all over the place to write anymore. I spend the rest of my day, daydreaming meeting him.

At midnight, I analyze myself in the mirror. The only thing about me that stands out is the cheery pink ends. Everything else is a goth’s chic dream.

I arrive at Orion, and I’m immediately entranced by the flashing lights. I feel warm inside, like when my mother would embrace me after school. Some people cast me some knowing looks. It also happens that I’m a regular here.

I segregate myself in a corner of the club and sip my cocktail. I hum absentmindedly to the music while thinking about the guy.

Your obsession with him is becoming weird.

Like it wasn’t weird from the beginning. I’m about to give up when the psychedelic intro of ‘I Wanna Be Yours’ by Arctic Monkeys starts to play. My ears perk up instantly.

Soon after, his voice reverberates through the club. I rush out into the middle of the audience and muscle me my way to the front.

He doesn’t notice me until he looks up from his guitar. A warm sensation forms in my chest. His smile dims a little, and mine does too. Maybe I’m wrong to come here again.

Before I turn to walk away, his face suddenly lights up. His eyes stay on me for the whole performance. I find it hard to look away from him. The time slows down as the song comes to an end.

His gaze doesn’t make me uncomfortable, only vulnerable. I have the compulsion to tell him all about my problems and strife. I’m brought back to reality by the cacophonous clapping and cheers of the crowd.

He jumps off the stage and stalks towards me like I’m his prey. His eyes locks me in place, rendering me frozen.

And in a voice that sends shivers down my spine, he says, “Found you.”