Contact between opposing parties and forces in my life. This is never a good thing, especially when said opposing forces are my best friend and my newest girlfriend. Yeah. Very much with the badness. …and no, thanks, that was not a Buffyism.

See, life had been going pretty good for me. I was finally over my last girlfriend's suicide and my last boyfriend's not so subtle dumping of me and Neil's sister was having a phase of temporary remission and all was fairly well in the world of Carmin. So, I figured I owed myself a night out. A club where I could drink the night away and yes, shut up, I know drinking isn't the best idea after the stunt I pulled last month with the semi-alcoholic tendencies. It was a little hole-in-the-wall club with good music, better patrons and even better drinks. The atmosphere was that of a gathering, not so much a frat party where everyone's either high or drunk and the night ends with the police scraping their collective asses off the floor to be halled off to a prison cell for the night. NO, this was a group of moderately, at least, mature individuals out looking for a good time in a moderately mature environment.

So, this girl comes up to me, all lace and silk and so fucking looking to get some it's not even funny. She asked me to dance, and I, having nothing better to do, excepted.

The song was something fast and hard by Garbage, and I laughed as she twisted her anerexically thin body around me like some sort of oversized snake.

"I was angry when I met you I think I'm angry still We can try to talk it over If you say you'll help me out."

I've never been the biggest fan of Garbage. I mean, they're good enough in a pinch, but I much prefer Nine Inch Nails, or Tori Amos. So we danced, and I found out later that her name was Sasha. I introduced myself, we had a couple drinks and I went home alone to sit by the phone and stare at the crumpled napkin with her number scrolled on it for about two hours.

I am not a shy person, by nature. Nor, however, could one classify me as particularly exuberant. I'm fairly good at keeping to myself for the most, only stating my opinion when I feel it's necessary or when I'm specifically asked for it. It's one of the perks of being a writer. If one is questioned on one's extended lack of participation in a discussion one may simply explain that one is observing and getting lines and plot and ideas for a story, and people immediately leave you alone. Because, you know, every person who is a writer has this one massive novel just sitting inside their head off of which they will, one day, make ridiculous amounts of money. Yes, I am a journalist. Yes, you can shut up any time now because I'm never going to have a hope in hell of being rich beyond my wildest dreams. But anyway. Back to the point. It took me about a week before I got up the courage to give her a call. She picked up on the second ring, sounding exhausted and as if I'd just woken her up. But she said if she had to be woken up, she was glad it was me who did the waking.

We hung out that day at the mall, and she laughed at me when I spent twenty dollars on cigarettes. I just muttered something about having to keep up the stereotypical pretentious starving Goth artist façade, and she didn't listen because she was talking on her cell phone. After a few weeks of hanging out, I started to notice that sort of thing. The blowing off of me when other things called her attention. It didn't bother me, really. I've got a knack for getting into psychologically abusive relationships, I know.

Neil, playing his role as the clichéd older brother to a t, warned me off of my newest shiny distraction with all the wisdom of a billion year old Buddhist, and all the subtlety of a freight train. Me, being what I am, which is stubborn and opinionated, blithely ignored him. I decided that, to dispel any concerns they had about each other (my Sasha is very possessive), I would organize a dinner date at my apartment to let them meet and generally get a feel for each other. Neil said he'd bring the main course. Sasha said she'd bring dessert. I promised not to poison the coffee, and all was well.

I stood in front of the mirror, staring for lorenly at my reflection. I was so screwed.