The Date Who Got Arrested

Welcome to 29 Dates, where we explore the weird, wild and sometimes wonderful world of dating — one date at a time.
I’m standing in a car park, watching you take a sobriety test. The police ask you to stand on one leg. It’s not sexy. I feel like I should look away — but I can’t. It’s like when a crappy show comes on TV and the remote is across the room and you’re under your favorite weighted blanket. You just have to sit and watch. 
I should be angrier. You got too drunk on our date. I told you not to drive. Not to sound bitter, but I told you a few times. You’re also 15 years older than I am. 
Earlier tonight, before we left the bar, we danced. We drank. We kissed. I began to furrow my brow and my blue eyes got all shiny. You took my gin and tonic away from me. I sat on your lap like a little kid in my little black dress. You were tall, and my feet dangled. I looked into your eyes with my blue ones, and thanked God you had all your hair. You asked me what was wrong. I said I wanted to go home.

I started to call an Uber, but you swore you were sober and could drive.

I started to call an Uber, but you swore you were sober and could drive. You pulled me by the wrist to my car. I dragged my feet. You buckled my seatbelt. 
Red and blue lights. We aren’t even out of the car park. You forgot to turn on the headlights. A senior moment? 
The night spiraled quickly. And yet, as I watch you — a man I thought I loved — being forced to walk in a straight line, I’m feeling pretty calm. One of the police officers asks me if everything’s okay. He's kind and concerned, the way my dad would be if he knew about any of this.
I pull up my Uber app and go home. I fall asleep right away, spending only a few minutes wondering if they let you nap when you get thrown in the drunk tank. 
The next day at 7am, I throw on a sweatshirt and call another Uber to go pick up my car.
Headphones in, I skip the Third Eye Blind song that reminds me of you. As I sit in the backseat and watch the tall buildings fly by, something like rage is finally starting to set in. What happened last night was not okay. I gave you power and it put me in danger. We’re all in charge of our own lives, but I thought I could trust you to know better.
As we drive, it hits me that I’m the only person who’s going to look out for me. I vow never to put myself in this position again. From now on, I won’t be putting faith in anyone but myself — no matter how gorgeous their eyes are, how many fun parasailing dates they take me on, how great their 5 o’clock shadow feels on my skin. 
Later that day, my phone rings and it’s your mother. We’ve never spoken before but she wants to know what happened. She’s nice — probably calmer than she should be. She says she’s bailing you out, which is good because I certainly wasn’t planning to. 
I hang up, and wonder if you’ll lose your licence. It’s only fair, since I think I just lost a piece of my heart. 

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