I first met her on a party of a mutual friend. She had been sitting next to the sound system, selecting songs and singing along in silence. Her hair was dyed pink. I tried to ignore her and went to the bar. The bartender made me some weird cocktail which contained an awful lot of alcohol. After five or six drinks, I went to the toilet. When I came back, she was sitting on my chair, sipping out of my glass. I stopped in the middle of the room and stared at her. Balled my fist, took a deep breath. She just smiled at me and got up. Crossed the room. “Don’t worry – I just guarded your drink,” she whispered as she passed me.
When I turned around to answer, she was gone.
The second time I met her was on our first date. Which also happened to be the last. The mutual friend had set us up for some sort of blind double date. We went to an awful restaurant and saw an awful movie. We still had a great time. Afterwards, we got very very drunk and slept in a park together. Some community bloke kicked us out around four o’ clock. I kissed her goodbye and she was gone again.
The third and last time I met her was at her funeral, a week after the first and last date. I don’t have a clue what happened to her. Friend told me it must’ve been an overdose, but no one knows if she took it deliberately. I went back to the park, looking for answers. On the place where we did it for the first and last time, I found some broken bottles. Cut open my wrist to the glass, don’t know if I did it on purpose. Maybe I hoped some physical pain could erase the other one. It didn’t. It will only stop when my heart does, so I take another sip of that cursed cocktail and wait for