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Where?
Annie
Bar? Club?
Camilla
I’m in.
I get dressed in record time, wearing a little black dress with stilettos. My makeup is done—a glam look. I’m rocking a smoky eye with winged eyeliner and red lipstick. I usually don’t wear much makeup unless there’s a special occasion, but tonight, I need to feel something. I’ll probably get drunk at the club with Annabella, and if I’m being truthful, I’ll more than likely have more than alcohol. Maybe.
Within the hour, the house is eerily quiet. I know Annie is home getting ready too, but she must have heard the commotion because she hasn’t come out of her room. The other girls are clearly not here yet, though. I’m not sure if we’re all going out together or if it’s a two-person ordeal, but I don’t actually care.
I open the door quietly, but it still creaks. Well, that’s annoying. Thankfully, the house is so quiet I’m sure everyone left. Annie’s door is open, and she stands in front of her mirror, touching up her hair. It looks beautiful, but she is obsessed with it, so she probably will repeat this three to four times before we get to the club.
“It looks fine, Annie.” I sigh, and she rolls her eyes. “How much longer do you need?”
“Two more minutes?”
I sit on her made-up bed, “Alright.” Annie applies a purple lipstick that goes well with her pale complexion, and smacks her lips together. “When are you getting laid again? Tonight?”
Annie just broke up with her boyfriend of seven years, Josh, about four months ago, and she’s been sulking for at least three of those four months. I think she’s finally turning a corner, and I’d go as far as saying tonight would be the best opportunity to get back out there. Even if I have to Uber home on my own.
Josh and Annie had been together since middle school, but he was never attentive. He was distant, always wanting to do things with his friends instead of her, and he was always mean to her. Even the sex was subpar, according to her, which I guess makes sense if he didn’t know what he was doing. I don’t know how they lasted so long, but I’m glad they’re done.Finally. It was painful how this dragged out.
“I’m not ready,” she replies.
“You had shitty sex for a long time,” I tell her with a smirk. “Go find some good sex, girl.”
“Maybe soon.”
Annie finishes fixing her hair and looking over her makeup, and then grabs a little purse off her bed right next to me. She turns off the light on her way out of the room, and I follow after her, all but sprinting down the stairs just in case my parents are still here. As I pass the dining room though, I notice everything is cleaned up and the house is empty.
Thankfully.
Around fifteen minutes later we’re standing outside of a club called Winx, one of the nicest clubs in the area. We usually don’t come here; it’s for the stuck-up rich people. The mafia kids, like us. Except we don’t usually socialize with them. This is a spot where people forget their alliances and rivalries, and just act their age and enjoy themselves. They can be whoever they want for the night, uncaring of affiliations.
By the time we’ve cleared the line, there are about fifty people behind us. Holy crap. There’s a lot of people in this club. We step in, following a line to the VIP section and sitting on the lounge chairs. The music is loud, the bass thumping, and I close my eyes to get lost in it. A dainty hand touches my forearm and I open my eyes.
Annie gets closer to me so I can hear her, “Do you want to dance?”
“I do!” I reply excitedly, “But first, let’s get a drink.”
Or four.
We go to the bar, which is packed, but the guys make room for us when they see us, eyeing us appreciatively. Their gazes roam down our bodies, our legs especially. I’m used to people telling me my legs are nice since I’m a dancer, but it's an even bigger compliment when guys look at them that way. Not that I care; they’re not getting lucky. But maybe Annie will give one of them a chance, so I can’t shut them down yet.
I order three shots of Jameson—the bartender winks at me and doesn’t even card me—and Annie’s eyes about bulge out of her head, then she orders one shot of tequila. I need the alcohol more than she does, and I know she can tell because she’s now acting like nothing is out of the ordinary, like I do this every time we come out. I don’t. But I’m on edge after that dinner, and more than that, I’m on edge about Nikolai coming to my party on Saturday. Not that I expect him to, but the possibility is there, and it’s making me nervous.
What was I thinking, inviting him? Am I a masochist? The pain I felt all those years ago is coming back in full force, preventing me from sleeping and being a fully functional person. It’s as if I’ve lost him all over again, as if I’m suffering the pain I inflicted upon us anew. Fucking Leonardo.
I should’ve never talked to Nikolai at lunch the other day. It made the pain even more fresh. He looked so genuinely regretful for the things he said the last time we spoke, that now I don’t even care about what he said. I was hung up on it for years, as if I didn’t fuck him over first. Maybe he had the right to feel the way he did. Who am I kidding? I know he had the right to.
After downing all the shots of Jameson, there’s a burning sensation settling in my throat, down my esophagus, and in my belly. Just what I’ve been needing. So I grab Annie’s hand and lead her to the dance floor. Under the Influence by Chris Brown is playing, and we both begin to dance immediately, swaying our hips to the music seductively. I feel eyes on us, except maybe it’s all in my imagination. This place is packed.
There’s a person behind me, getting closer, not grinding on me but definitely uncomfortably against me. Annie’s face turns ashen as she looks behind me, and I tense. When I look, Ilya is the one swaying to the music too, plastered to my back. Why is he here? And why did that affect my best friend so much?
Ilya grabs my face roughly and squeezes my cheeks together, “Who hit you, darling? Do I have to go beat someone’s ass?”
