Things like this always happen after you've decided you have no need for them. Some feral creature comes along and pumps blood into parts of you you've tried to starve to death. Awakened with malnourished desperation. How are you supposed to stop this?
You decided you've been hurt too many times. You've been on your own long enough now – to give up this emptiness would be a divorce. There's no reason to go on torturing yourself with thoughts of this coming to an end – of meeting somebody. Even when you masturbate now you don't need a girl in your mind – the struggle to find an image in the back catalogue of your imagination would defeat the purpose. It's not sexual anymore – it's chemical, it's physiological. The orgasmic discharge of melatonin into your blood stream is the only song that can lull your empty heart to sleep.
You've finally made it here to this point – solitude, nirvana. You have purged yourself of all your useless desires.
So you're sitting there on the couch staring into your drink in your own personal nirvana and some girl as audacious as she is attractive will walk up to you and say something incredibly stupid, like, "Hi, my name's Courtney. Are you Cornelius?"
And you – you'll look up from your drink, past her blue skirt and her rum and coke and you'll say something exceedingly dull, like, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm Cornelius." And you'll wonder why this particular creature on this particular night has walked past every other person in this crowded club to stand here in front of you.
To which she will explain with something cliché, like, "My friends told me all about you. We came to hear you DJ tonight."
Then you won't know exactly what to say for a moment while you run a search for any mentions of a Courtney in the past few weeks, and she won't know what to make of the silence at first. This won't turn her away, however, like it would most girls – though you may never understand why. Since you won't be able to remember being told about her, because no one told you about her, you say how nice it is to meet her, because this is just what one does.
You quickly explain that you already spun – she just missed it – but if she sticks around until three you will go on again. Then you look back down at your drink and wait for her to walk away. She looks like the kind of girl who walks away.
But then she'll do something even more outrageous, like sit down on the arm rest of the couch so close you’re touching and she'll begin to explain how she has been in town for a month now and that she came here tonight with her friend but she doesn't feel like watching her get hit on all night, so is it okay if she sits here with you?
You'll look at her again, just to make sure, and you'll wonder why guys are hitting on her friend and not her.
She'll continue to talk and you still won't know what to say, trying to shape out why she's talking to you, with all of this noise clouding up your brain. But you'll stumble your way through and you'll find her words mesmerizing. Why she packed up and moved away across an ocean. The guy she left three thousand miles behind.
And after a while, after you've fallen victim to her charm, you will start to do foolish things like getting the DJ to play her favorite song, and she'll ask you to dance with her. You'll say how you can't dance, and she'll say something flattering and vague, like, "Please? You just need a few more drinks."
And you'll dance. And you'll lean close to speak into each other's ears because the music fills the space between you, drowning out your voices. You'll forget your newfound philosophy – nirvana will be lost.
And every time she leans back after pouring her words into your ear, as her lips come so close to yours they all but touch, it will take all the restraint your drunken will can gather not to kiss the lips that spoke those words. And you'll long for her to rip the heart from your chest, while you still have one. You'll know she will destroy you. And this is all you wanted all along.