bees, one
the music is loud. theyre blaring that one beabadoobee song through the cheap stereo system. its tinny and sounds an octave higher than usual. must be the alcohol. probably, right? she finds it mildly amusing. for someone so antisocial to be in such a situation, again no less, is an achievement in and of itself. oh well, at least they have good taste in music.
you dont seem to be enjoying yourself, he shouts a near-scream into her ears. she winces and takes another sip. the plastic cup feels flimsy in her hands, and she nearly crushes it as someone bumps into her.
i am, dont you worry, she smiles a half-smile, knowing that the boredom in her eyes is barely visible in the dim fairy lights of the flat. turning away to pour herself more vodka, the only way she can possibly stand the god forsaken volume of this party, she stares wistfully out of the balcony window. the night sky is obscured by sweaty bodies talking, drinking, laughing.
she sighs. the night is young, and here she is wasting a perfectly good saturday night on booze and... and what? she is too easily swayed, she curses silently. aware that she is not completely there anymore, she downs the rest of cup and stumbles out onto the balcony. relief in the form of a light breeze and the lazy quiet of a weekend night washes over her. she smiles and closes her eyes. the two constants at parties seems to be alcohol and balconies. this isnt the first time shes had to put a glass barrier between herself and a whole horde of wasted teens before, and it clearly isnt going to be the last either. trust her best friend to have to be in THAT college party phase that all lonely, horny teenagers inevitably go through.
she is in the midst of tipsily sorting through what she could possibly put together out of their starved fridge for supper when a soft cough and the bitter smell of tobacco interrupts her thoughts. oh boy. her horoscope today DID say something about meeting “someone unpleasant at someplace equally so”, and the stars have rarely been wrong before. disregarding the self-fulfilment aspect of such fortune-telling bullshit, of course, does she really believe in it?? even she has had doubts. but then again, it gives her a satisfying sense of control in her daily routine, so she really cant complain.
lowkey dreading having to reject the advances of yet another tipsy fuckboy, she sighs and gives the loudest WHAT she could muster.