Story Sent in by Erin:
Laura and I were out on date number four. It was at a point where we had kissed a few times and when we spoke of the future, it was in terms of each other. It gave me butterflies to think about, at the time. She was really terrific. At least, up until that night.
There was a dingy biker bar she had wanted to try. I had never been to it (I'll admit it: I was scared to) but I wanted to impress her, so I suggested we go there for our date.
She loved the atmosphere in there, and I'll admit that I also had a good time. We played pool (and won a game) against these two huge guys and even fit in a few games of darts. The music was great, the drinks didn't stop coming, guys flirted with us, and it was fun.
Laura had a couple too many drinks, and by the end of the evening, it became increasingly clear that I'd be driving her home, which wasn't at all a problem. I nudged her to leave, but she kept saying, "I'm having fun! Why do you want to leave?"
She wound up throwing up in the bathroom, and I waited there alongside her and held her hair up as she did so. Finally, when it seemed as though all of her stomach contents had been thoroughly emptied, I led her outside, toward my car.
She tore away from me and ran for the back of the building. I followed her to a sort of cliff side, with rock piles and bushes growing out at all odd angles.
I asked her if she was okay, and then she stumbled into me and said, "I know why you wanted to leave. Come on..." She kissed me and pulled me down, toward the rocks.
I tugged away. "Not here." Someone might've caught us, but more concerning was the fact that there wasn't a safe place to lie down. There were rocks everywhere, and I didn't want either of us to be hurt.
"Come on, come on, come on..." she kept cajoling, and I kept telling her that I wanted to leave. She said, "Not until we're done, back here. Let's go. Slice me... slice me..."
I didn't know what "slice me" meant (I chalked it up to the alcohol) and I kept saying to her that I wanted to go, and that I'd put her to bed. She was in a really bad state, and looked like she'd throw up again at any moment.
I went inside the bar and found one of the guys who had been flirting with us. I explained the situation to him, and he and a friend followed me outside to where she sat among the rocks. When we found her there, she was humming a song and her hands were bleeding.
They helped her up and into my car, where I wrapped a towel around her hands. I thanked them and drove her home. Her wounds weren't so bad that a hospital would've been necessary, but I dragged her into her own bathroom and cleaned her up and put her to bed.
I crashed on her couch and stayed through the next day. She woke up around three in the afternoon and asked me how she made it home, the prior night. I explained everything to her, and instead of thanking me for taking care of her, she told me to leave. I did, and thenceforth, my future plans no longer included any talk of her.
Story Sent in by Erin: