A tinder tale

It was a warm night outside and I dipped in for a swim. The water got me thinking about how far away he was. How I missed him in all his atrocities. With each length, I remembered the things he’d say to me to when I was stressed at work.

No. no. Block him out. He’s not here. He’s in India, probably at a bar having his way with older women. Block him out.

I picked up my phone and turned to the source of my frustrations — Tinder.

I swiped and swiped until I found someone worth talking to. Interesting profile. Good looking. Indian. Ooh, and he’s from London.

“Hi there. I’m new here!”, He typed as they always do.

“Tell me, prince charming, how can I be of assistance tonight?”, I responded rather bitterly.

We went for a drink later that night, surprisingly.

We talked and laughed and I tried to keep my mind of the other guy. It wasn’t working at first. I kept checking my phone but nothing. Not a single message.

So I delved in deeper. I indulged in some light flirting, twirled my hair, and let the wine take over.

He seemed friendly and harmless so I stayed for a few rounds. After catching up, discussing our goals in life, anecdotes from our past and the usual banter, he suggested we go to a club on the other side of town.

On the cab ride there, I heard from the other guy. I messaged him briefly and told him my battery was dying (which it was).

Moments later, we were at a club with blaring hindi music and a table filled with alcohol. I danced for a while and then stood there awkwardly. He introduced me to his brother and his friends and I heard them make snide remarks like “ghar le jao, bhai”! (Translation: Take her home, bro)

Not too long after, he was forcing vile shots of blue alcohol down my throat until he spilled half of one on me and I demanded he stop.

I stuck around long enough for him to grab his keys from his brother.

“I’m sorry we didn’t go to mine earlier.”, He said, “I came here to grab my keys so we could go cuddle”

I raised one eyebrow at him and looked at my phone nervously… 1% battery.

“I think I’m about to do something really stupid. Help. I have one percent battery left”, I managed to type without my phone give out on me.

He responded almost immediately and I explained that I was untouched in the cardinal sense of the world and was about to consider going home with another guy.

Although his messages came off as calm and unsurprised, I knew he was probably itching anger.

I got home later that night and turned my phone on to see missed call notifications. I called back and babbled, even cried a little, and eventually, fell asleep to the sound of his voice.

I never heard the end of that story because he never brought it up. He calmly continued to talk to me like nothing ever happened that night.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.