When you fell, your night was over. Stumbling was ok, you’d blame your shoes that were a little bit high and a touch too new, or a wayward pebble on the footpath. You’d smile at the bouncer and flick the flame red hair that made the boys go weak.

He’d scrunch his eyebrows and pretend to be unsure, tipping his head in imitation of thought, then he’d step backwards, allowing you to enter. We’d follow inside, relieved, loud music pulsing inside us, blooms of club steam clouding our faces.

But you fell.

And the bouncer knows falling means drunk, means tears, means vomit on chairs, in toilets and queues snaking from doors angry girls bang for admittance.

No, you’re not getting in tonight, darling.

 In an ideal world we’d leave with you, share the unmarked taxi with broken headlight, ask the driver what caused the black eye. We’d notice his gaze creep over your bottle-tanned thighs, slither up to your face of smudged make up, gears grinding in his skull, noting your melting wax features drifting to sleep.

 Our skin would prickle as a lizard tongue stroked his chapped lips, tasting possibility, making a decision.

 And we’d shout as he took the wrong turn down the unlit road of lonely houses, their window-eyes blind with nailed plywood. We’d threaten police and our fists as he switched off the ignition, and with our new salon nails, rip him to shreds as he lurched towards you.

But we’d spent too long preparing for the night out. We’d shaved our legs and applied pearly layers of slow drying lotion. We’d curled our hair with heated tongs, added extra strands from the plastic packet.

And Thursdays were hopping. Everyone we knew would be there.

So we went inside.

We didn’t want to go home with you. We didn’t fall.

***

Marie-Louise McGuinness comes from a wonderfully neurodiverse household in rural Northern Ireland. She has work published or forthcoming in numerous literary magazines including Flash Frog, Gone Lawn, Bending Genres, BULL and The Metaworker Literary Magazine. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and enjoys writing from a sensory perspective.