Trying to fall in love

It was 2000. Every Tuesday night you could find me at the same tiny, grimy bar, thick with smoke. Everyone wore black and the music was hard. It was one of those places, you open the door and everyone turns. They look you up and down, form an opinion and go back to their $2 pint (the reason we were all there). From my booth I had a good view of someone interesting. A punk. Not the kind of guy I usually like. But there was something about him. He was very beautiful, but somehow extremely masculine too. His clothes were very tailored, formal, dark. I was so blonde then, I shone. I caught his eye and looked down blushing. Looked back, held his gaze, not smiling, filling my eyes with lust. It was like a game back then. I had perfected it long before I met him. He came over right away. Bought me drink, tried to flirt. What do you think of the art? I asked, gesturing at the walls full of amateur paintings. They were all similar, bad perspective, ugly colours, actually painful to look at. "Oh wow I love them. I love art." Inwardly, I cringed. "I hate them," I said. "Yeah, actually they're pretty shitty," he agreed.
Lying on my bed, we swapped stories and shared a joint. "Did you know that cobwebs contain hemoglobin?" I asked. "And that's what hemophyliacs lack. So if you're with a hemophillac, and they cut themselves, you can stop them bleeding by putting cobwebs on the wound." I was fascinated with this idea. "Imagine, someone walks in on someone else stuffing cobwebs into a bloody wound... it would look so satanic, so suspicious." The punk boy was laughing his head off. Then he paused, "what's a hemo..um..philiac?" Oh fuck, why hadn't he asked me at the beginning of the conversation? I considered kicking him out. But I was drunk, and visually he was perfect. Naked he was glorious. He kissed my breasts... and came on my tummy. "Can I have your number?" He asked as I walked him to the door. "No."
I saw him a few weeks later, on the sidewalk outside my house. "Please give me another chance, I don't usually come like that, I was nervous." "No." The sex? was the least of it.
Tuesdays strung together all the same back then. That was just the way they were.