Calum Imagine: Saving You at a Club
You could feel his eyes on you from across the dimly lit room, following your every move.
You were highly aware of it, the way he was just standing there, too casual to be casual, too happy for someone who was planning to just enjoy himself at the club.
He was thinking of more than that, with his dirty eyes trained on you.
You tried to brush it off, you tried to ignore it – but you couldn’t hide the panic that spiked your system every time he started to move closer to you.
And it wasn’t your fault that you came to this club alone; it wasn’t your fault you wanted to have some fun on a late night, it wasn’t your fault that you wanted to look good with the dress that made you feel beautiful and heels that put you on top of the world; makeup that made you smirk into the mirror with red lips.
It wasn’t your fault for being beautiful – no, that’s not a fault at all – but the way he was looking at you made it feel like it was.
You tried to lose him in the pulsing bodies, the fun of the night replaced with fear, panic in your system where the tipsy spin of alcohol was.
But he was always there, underneath the yellow of a florescent light, just before it flashed red.
Do you want to dance with me?
You politely declined him the first time he asked – when you first walked into the club, a small smile on your face, insisting that you really just wanted to sit for a bit.
He frowns a little, but he says just remember to save a dance for me and he’s off, just another boy who’ll move on to another girl and you’ve encountered people like him before; he’ll forget about you the moment another girl caught his eyes.
But it’s been two hours and he keeps on coming back with that greasy smile on his face and when he never leaves his eyes from you even as he steps away.
You don’t like it.
“Where’s that dance you promised me?”
And his voice is too low, his mouth too close to your skin and you don’t like the way his eyes sweep over you, you don’t like this, you don’t like him.
“I didn’t promise you a thing.”
“’Course you did, baby. C’mon, just one dance.”
He’s looking at you like a meal but you weren’t made for his hungry lips.
“I don’t want to dance.”
“Just one won’t hurt anybody. I’ve been waiting for you all night.”
“I said no.”
You try to sidestep him but he uses his broad shoulders to block you and his hands are on your wrist, tugging you towards him while you try to pull yourself away again.
“Let go of me.”
“No need to be so tense, babe. Don’t be such a killjoy.”
He’s practically trying to drag you now, a pointed smile on his lips at the sight of you trying to wriggle away from his grip.
You claw at his veined arms – aren’t you glad you did your nails today? – and stomp on his foot – hard – with those spiked heels that you loved so much.
He yelps with a loud swear that makes everyone within vicinity turn and look your way, letting go of you in an instant, clutching at his foot that was sorely bruised – fucking broken, you hope – from your spiked heel.
“You crazy bitch!”
“Crazy bitch who doesn’t want to dance. Take a hint, creep!”
You make your way through the crowd – who was gladly parting for you – leaving the boy to limp away in shame as you held your head high.
You’re in the midst of texting your friend – who was likely asleep, but you’d give it a shot anyways – to come and pick you up and listen to you rant when a tall figure in front of you blocks the light you were using to see the small screen.
You look up with raised, expectant eyebrows.
“Hey, uh – are you okay?”
Tall, tanned, sharp lines accented with the shadows and the flashing lights, art on his arms and peeking from his shirt, eyes that were dark enough to drown in – you would’ve called him cute in a way that didn’t mean just hair-ruffling on any other day, but today you weren’t having it.
You say it in the way most people would clench go away.
“Listen, I know you’ve just had a rough night – and I know you were looking for a fun one – and I know you’re probably sick of testosterone at this point, but I think it’s in your best interest to know that the creep you just single-handedly slayed has friends.”
You try to hide the panic underneath a stony façade, but you can feel your chin trembling.
“I saw them in the men’s room and they didn’t look too happy about one of their mates suffering a stiletto stab to the foot – and as much as I would love to rewatch you do that like six more times tonight – totally epic, by the way, you have my total respect – I’d rather not put you through that.”
You’re quiet, staring at the boy’s immaculately clean shoes and long legs, trying to gather your thoughts with tightly wound fingers around your purse.
“What were they saying?”
The boy hesitates and you already know what it means.
“Listen, do you have a ride out of here?”
“I – she’s asleep.”
“Call a cab. Now.”
You fumble with your phone, quickly dialling the number and stammering out an address, pleading for a fast driver and the closest possible parking.
When you hang up, you think you feel something collapsing inside of you – the dam of calm, cool, collectiveness – and the fear and worry starts to rush in.
He sees it and he stoops down to your level, trying to catch your eye.
“Hey, hang in there, alright? Breathe, there – just like that, good. I’m Calum. Hood. At your service. What’s your name?”
You manage to tell him in between deep breaths and stutters.
“There we go. We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? Don’t worry – you’re a strong girl and this is just a bad night. Don’t worry.”
His hands hover over your shoulders but they never land on it; he’s a step away, just enough for you to inhale some fresh air without the shadow of his body over you.
You close your eyes and take a few more deep breaths before looking into his steady gaze again.
“Thank you, Calum. I – “
“Found someone else to run to, huh?”
The greasy voice is right behind you and you swallow your fear and turn to face him.
“Was my message not clear enough the first time? Leave me alone.”
You refuse to tremble in front of him. Like the fucking mutt he was, he could probably smell your fear.
You are not the prey.
Even if he has his friends circling you.
“Do you think you’re clever?”
“Oi, fuck off, mate. She clearly doesn’t want you, so go leech on someone else.”
Calum’s jaw is set and his eyes are narrowed at the other boy, muscles in his arm tensing.
“Gonna hide behind your boyfriend?”
“Gonna call the fucking cops for harassment if you don’t leave me alone.”
“You won’t do it.”
“Bet you didn’t think I would crush your foot either, but here we are.”
You’re trembling visibly but the fire in your eyes don’t subside.
The boy steps towards you with sturdy steps, his friends starting to do the same.
Calum swiftly steps in front of you, and you just manage to peek from behind his sweat-glistened shoulders.
“Listen, asshat – there are at least a hundred people in this club, fifty of which saw your slimy ass hands on her and eighty who heard your pansy-ass screams when you didn’t understand the meaning of no. All eyes are on you, buddy – what are you gonna do?”
Calum’s words are a growl and you can see his fingers curling into fists in the corner of your eye.
The other boy takes another step closer to Calum – practically chest-to-chest now – this guy really didn’t understand the concept of personal space – spitting his words right back.
“Does playing hero make you feel better?”
“Does a foot up your ass sound good to you?”
Calum isn’t backing down, and the poison in his voice is enough to keep the creep and his friends at bay – though it’s probably a mix of that and his muscled build, which you were thankful for.
“Listen, you piece of horseshit, try anything – if you even look at her the wrong way – I will not hesitate to kick your worthless ass to the curb and smash your dirty head in for the rats to eat. I am saying this once and once only – fuck off.”
“You think you can say the same words when I string that head up on my wall?”
This time, it’s you to steps in.
“Listen, I don’t know what kind of weird-ass Twilight coven shit you have going on with you and your boys, but you have got to get a hobby.”
“Why, you – “
“Crazy bitch, yeah, I know. Slutface McHooker queen, whatever trashy name you want me to soothe your itty bitty aching heart from rejection – but if you wanted a fucking dance, maybe you shouldn’t of treated me like a piece of meat. Hard, I know. But maybe if you – oh my god, wait for it – treated me like a fucking human, then you’d have a chance at this one fucking dance that you wanted so much.”
He’s glaring at you openly now, his hands twitching at his sides.
“Seriously, mate – there’s at least fifty other girls in this club and you look like a dick for getting so worked up over one. Just leave it alone.”
Calum’s trying the calmer approach, though you still see the veins lining his arms from the tension.
“I don’t like being disrespected.”
“And I don’t like being handled by your greasy-ass hands – deal with it. You must love being the fool though, because I spy with my little eye fucking security coming your way.”
The other boy whips around so quickly you swear you hear his neck crack a little.
Sure enough, the black-figured security was heading your way, and the creep with his gang of friends are quick to try and scamper away from you.
“Everything okay here?”
“Can you take out the trash, kind sirs? The lady’s had a long night.”
Calum says the words with utmost respect and sincerity to the bulky security guard, and with a small nod, they grab the entourage that once surrounded you and harshly push them out, whispers and camera flashes from the other clubbers following their path out.
When they’re gone, you finally exhale in relief.
“Do you have like an on switch in your head to be a badass or…?”
Calum laughs breathily at you, and you can’t help but to grin at his words.
“My knees were shaking the whole entire time, oh my god.”
“They’re gone now. Strong girl.”
He places a steady hand on your shoulder and you smile gratefully at him.
“Thank you, Calum. I – I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Probably kick some ass. Might get some enemy blood on that pretty dress of yours.”
You laugh and shake your head, a small smile playing on his lips.
“I mean it. Thank you.”
He nods in response to your sincerity, a quick pat before his hand leaves your shoulder.
“Get going now. Your ride’s here.”
You follow his gaze to the bright taxicab in front of the club, undoubtedly yours.
You look back at him and in a moment of spontaneity and gratefulness, you envelop his sweating body in your arms for a quick hug, your lips brushing his cheek as you pull away.
You rush out of the club after that, clumsily fitting yourself into the taxicab with a split-second smile before the car whisks you away.
He watches you get into the car safely, watching the lights disappear down the lonely street.
He’s not sure how to explain to his friends your red lipstick stain on his cheek or the lingering remnants of your perfume on his skin.
Got lucky, Cal?
He thinks of the girl with the fire in her eyes and the arch of her brow, the confidence in her stance and the authority in her voice despite the trembling of her fingers.
Yeah. I did.