Worst. Flippin'. Date. Ever.

I don’t really know what to say. I keep smiling and then I start laughing at other people’s jokes. I mean, that’s fine though, right? If they’re only a few tables down, they are technically close enough for me to hear, so it would be normal if I heard their jokes and responded accordingly. I guess we do share something in common, though, we did pick the same restaurant, after all. And in all of that, I completely forgot about Robert. My date tonight, sitting right in front of me eating his duck souffle as I tuck into the standard “on my first date so I am going to impress him by eating a caesar salad” meal. Well, I say caesar salad, but I did order the Caesar without the salad. I just wanted Caesar, I wanted him so badly all over me and inside me hard and warm making me drip like… and then, shit, I forget about Robert. Robert isn’t Caesar and I knew that because he was lanky and his glasses didn’t make him sexy enough for me to want to rip his clothes off. But nonetheless, I was on a date with Robert.

By the time we have both finished our food, we had shared about 20 words and nearly 10 of them were “OK, cool” from me. Robert goes to pay and I let him because that is also standard date procedure. We walk outside and as little as I knew Robert, something definitely did not seem right with him and it wasn’t the fact that the most awkward 45 minutes of our lives were spent together only moments ago. Robert grabs my hand, which I think is very forward, and he walks me across Beak Street and all the way through to Regent. He wanted to be somewhere busy, which I also thought was a good idea at least, then we would be able to hear some kind of conversational development taking place this evening. Robert is still holding my hand as we power down Regent Street, which is very difficult in my 3 inch wedges. We are walking so fast so I decided to increase our word count share to 23 when I said “Robert, stop. Please.” And he did. And he stared at me with a look I could not read. It was almost as if there was an emotion I was not able to register or sympathise with in any form whatsoever. He grabs my face and squishes my cheeks, which in a weird way I kind of liked and then he kissed me, and then I had no idea at all.

“Were you two eating at Vinoteca tonight?” I turn around and see a man in a suit and a police officer.

“Well yes, we were, actually,” I said to them without hesitation because that was in fact where we were. Robert, still holding my hand, squeezed it tightly and pulled me to run. And then we were running and at this point I am beyond confused with everything and anything. I hate running, I am a very shit runner, but we were still going. And they were chasing us and I have never been chased before, especially not by a guy. Sprinting down side streets and main roads; Robert obviously knew London very well. My mind started going numb, or maybe that was just my hands being cold. But my mind was actually numb from thought and feeling; it was terrifying to feel like you had no thoughts. Your legs just moved because someone else made you believe that was what you had to do and any line of thought was just pinned there at that point, completely discontinuous.

What I learnt that night was that there is only so far you can run and you most definitely cannot hide. Round the back of a building, Robert threw me into a garbage bin. One of those huge green ones, and then he jumped in after me and closed the lid. I was sitting in blackout with Robert and the rubbish. In the two minutes we were in there our word count rapidly increased as I swore the living shits off to Robert about what the actual flipping shit was going on. Now, Robert doesn’t have a stutter, but he is a stutterer and I didn’t get a damn word out of him. That was also probably because it was me talking the entire time. I find myself being cut off mid sentence by the light outside, which was gloriously blocked by the man in the suit, the police man and this time two police cars as well.

I didn’t realise prison cells were so cold. They don’t really even have chairs in them etiher, they kind of just have a wonky bench on the side. That was where I spent my Friday night, locked away with a real life idiot. I don’t know why Robert couldn’t just pay the bill like a normal human being. I don’t know why Robert makes rash, stupid decisions. I don’t know why he is the first person I absolutely cannot have a conversation with. But that night, I realised something truly special. Something about that night made me feel as though my heart had set and I had found something magical. That I would never see Robert again. I still wanted Caesar. Without the salad.