Last night was possibly one of the worst nights I've ever had. I've been eighteen for six months now, and in that time, I've been spending most of my afternoons in pubs. By the way, yes I do work full-time and yes I graduated high school, I was a year younger than most of my classmates.
Back to the story, my girlfriend recently turned eighteen and like many other girls, wanted to go out clubbing. Seeing as I had never gone before, I thought I'd tag along, because my friends are friends with her and vice versa. Mind you, most of my friends are single, unlike my girlfriend and I, who have been together for four years now.
Now I strongly dislike modern dance music, and I strongly dislike dancing, unless I've been drinking and I'm not in front of hundreds of strangers. But I thought it wouldn't hurt to give it ago, besides its her night out and I don't want to ruin things by being the grumpy, tag-along boyfriend. So I decided I'd let her choose my clothes for the night seeing how she has a better idea of what is fashionable to wear these days. I also trimmed my darling beard, which was just recovering from being shaved off. So I guess you could say I looked decent enough for the night out.
So we grabbed a lift into town from her mother and were dropped off in front of this flashy lookin' building. I won't say the name of the club, because I have no interest in naming and shaming them. The first impressions at the door were going quite good, a nice looking venue, some security out front, so it may be safe inside, and it was free entry. We flashed our ID's, got our stamps and walked through the doors. The first thing that struck me was the loud, bass drowned music, followed by a wall of hot air and body odour, like a hundred sweaty men cramped into a small dance floor... Oh wait, it was hundreds of sweaty men cramped into a small dance floor.
I walked up to the bar and mistakenly put my arm into a puddle of alcohol. Keeping my poker face, I asked for a bottle of Pure Blonde, which to my surprise, was just about $10. The bartender then forced a soggy slice of lime into the opening of the bottle, which was pointless seeing as the lime just fell off anyway.
When I turned around, my girlfriend and the other girls in our group had left for the dancefloor, so my best friend and I followed them in. We squeezed through what seemed like a hot, wet sponge made up of sweaty guys and the occasional town hooker, until we reached an area where we could kind of fit.
I knew that I would look like an idiot when I dance, but I would also look like an idiot if I didn't dance. So I did my attempt at a "two-step" to a horrible remix of Lil Wayne's "Turbulence". I was then pushed around by a crowd of people moving through the dancefloor looking for a spot, and was pushed into, what we call in Australia, a "lad". Pretty much these guys wear Nike's, Adidas track suit pants, fanny packs around their shoulder, and a dry-fit cap. He pushed me away in disgust, and I shouted back to him "Sorry mate, those guys just pushed me into you." He then responded with "I don't give a (F) you (S) (C)" and pushed me again, this time smiling as to seem as he thought he felt like a big man.
Now I'm not the fighting type, I have done taekwondo as a sort of after school hobby, but I've never had to fight anyone in my life. But something inside me was telling me "You can't let him think he is above you, don't wimp out!" So I exchanged a few negative words back at him, which he didn't really like.
He grabbed my shirt, brought his face right up to mine, and did the whole "You wanna start me?" thing. The next thing, is the only productive thing I did that night. Knowing that this guy would most likely demolish me in a fight, I followed the only thing I could remember from self defense. "If you are in a situation where you cannot get away, go for the sensitive places such as the eyes." And sure enough, I dug my fingers into his eyes and held them in there for a good five seconds. Blinded he pushed me back and grabbed his face, shouting and swearing. He threw a few blind swings but luckily none of them landed on me or anybody around us. I then felt a tight grip around my throat as I was put into a strangle hold by a security guard, and I could see the same being done to him. We were both dragged out onto the street and nearly thrown onto the road.
I heard sirens, and saw the flashing lights of the police car. One of them helped me up by the arm and told me to stand facing the car. He then patted my legs and waist for any drugs or weapons, that kind of stuff. As the other cop picked the "lad" up, the "lad" elbowed him in the face, grabbed the cops gun and fired at the cops, the security who threw us out, and at the crowd outside. He then shot me in my left leg and I fell to the ground. I then saw my girlfriend run out screaming towards me until "BANG!" She was shot in the chest and fell down to the ground. I grabbed the gun from the fallen cop besides me and fired back, two in the chest, and the rest of the magazine at his falling body. There was a large pool of blood coming from my leg, and before I knew it, I passed out.
I woke up in hospital, surrounded by a few policemen, a detective and my girlfriends crying parents. I was told the bullet missed her heart, but punctured her lung, causing her to hyperventilate and eventually fall into a coma. I lay there, breathless knowing that it was my fault she nearly died, and that seven people were shot because of me.
And so I cry sometimes when I'm lying in bed, just to get it all out, what's in my head and I, I am feeling a little peculiar. And so I wake in the morning and I step outside and I take A deep breath and I get real high and I scream from the top of my lungs:
"What's goin' on!"
Ok the real story was, I went to a club, danced to terrible music, bought over-priced alcohol, bumped into my ex, was thrown up on by her, had to explain what happened to my girlfriend, and ended up leaving early so I could change out of the dirty clothes. Please, be gentle with me.