"Chris?"

I looked up. "What?" I didn't recognize him at first, and stood back to squint better. It was definitely Scott, although he was obviously drunk or stoned. Something terrible had happened to his hair, also.

"Oh my god, hey Scott," I exclaimed, truly surprised. "Wow, fancy meeting you here."

"I totally didn't think I'd ever see you again," he slurred. "How've you been?" I grimaced at how he looked ? how I looked conversing with him ? and held him out at arms length to give him the once-over-again.

"Good, good." I said, distractedly, and ran my fingers through the tangled mess on his head. He rolled his eyes and said something about getting it cut but not liking it.

"So, what's been up with you? What have you been doing?" he asked.

"Oh, this and that. I graduate in four weeks."

"That's cool," he replied, distractedly. "Hey, I've wanted to call you to talk to you. I mean, I've really tried getting ahold of you."

Yeah, whatever, I thought. I knew he had run into my friend, Dave, several times and had ample opportunity to get my number, but never asked. Dave said he was always asking about me, though.

"Right on," I said, instead. "Yeah, I moved about a year ago, so all my numbers have changed." He nodded. "I was in your neighborhood a few weeks ago and thought about stopping to say hi, but it didn't look like you were home."

"I got a loft downtown," he said, proudly.

"Cool," I said, mimicing his disinterest.

"There's so much I want to talk to you about." His words came out slowly. "I mean, last time we talked..." he trailed off, putting his palms together, and splitting his hands apart, outwards in a slow gesture. I got his drift.

"Right, right," I said. "We should talk."

"I mean, everything was just so fucked up..."

"Yeah, it was." I looked behind me and Matt was waiting on the outskirts of the dancefloor. We had been readying ourselves to leave, until this distraction. "Hey, listen. Let me give you my new number. Will you call me?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, follow me." I walked away without looking back. When I got to the bar, I grabbed a pencil and matchbook, and proceeded to write my cell number on the back. He landed next to me, back to the bar.

"I promise I'll call you," he said. "We'll talk this out."

"Okay, yeah, just give me a call anytime," I said, knowing he would never call. Normally, if he had been someone I was interested in, I would have gotten his number, instead. I knew if he had given me his number, though, I would have called it. That's the last thing I need. I do not need to get involved with him again.

With a hug and a solid pat on the back shoulder, I turned around and found my friends. Heading out, I couldn't think of anything else but Scott. Damn him for being a weed my brain. I know I can't really blame him for my wanting him. I mean, if anything, that haircut should have been enough to repel me. Somehow, though, I don't think I'll ever be over him, no matter how disgusting or how much a social disgrace he becomes. I fear that type of self-destructive attraction will be my downfall. «

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