She sat on the inside, feeling the beat of the loud music, making it so hard for her to keep herself still when all she wants is to sway her hips to the intoxicating music so she drinks.
The people around her keep talking. She doesn’t understand what they are saying. She tries to understand but ends up not listening to anything so she stare at strangers, catching their eye from time to time, giving them a wry smile. They return with a knowing smile as she looks away, seeing vapes, cigarettes and an ash tray. She frowned but turned back to filling her cup, gazing at the bouncing lights, taking a sip – no, a whole gulp.
Her eyes roam the place once more.
“Oh God. What am I doing here?” her mind whispers over and over again.
The pretty girls. The good-looking boys. The are-you-okay looks. The let-me-escape-to-the-bathroom to keep up my composure and to check my makeup. The I’m-okay-but-I kind-of-want-to-go-somewhere-to-let-my-guard-down-entirely-because-I-don’t-trust-the-people-here. The I-just-rather-get-drunk-with-you-at-home-with-loud-music. The I’m-“cool”-with-whatever-you-are-doing.
She looks over to everyone around her. She feels a tiny stab so she drinks again, pretending she feels nothing because she does not want to feel pain. She had a great day and this night was not going to ruin it for her. She feels tipsy but she is able to keep her composure. She does not trust that easily.
But she let it slip out of her fingertips when a stranger offered her a drink. She knows she shouldn’t take a drink from a stranger but she drinks some before the stranger takes it away and consumes the rest. Maybe it’s just distraction she wants to stop herself from over thinking. Over thinking kills. Over thinking makes her sad. Over thinking angers her. Over thinking hurts.
She immediately regrets taking that drink.
“I’ll be fine,” she reassure herself.
She looks over to the people she just met. Another stab enters the heart. Her eyes focused on the other people in the room and her head lost in the music. She doesn’t know what she wants anymore.
“No way you’re keeping up with them or anyone who knows them. You’ll fall into a black hole,” her mind warns, already knowing the vicious cycle.
“Be careful. You could be thrown out-of-the-way like trash. They seem like the type who are capable of robbing your life,” her mind continues on.
But then again, the number of stabs feel so good. Feeling stabs mean feeling something right?
“I’m so messed up,” she tells herself.
Silent tears fall the next night with scenes replaying in her mind. She’s such an idiot. She knows it.
At the same time, the heart bleeds as she becomes more wary of the threats that can strip her already damaged soul naked. She’s afraid. She just wants to put up more shields but at the same time, putting up more shields prevent healing so she tries not to; and if what she worries about happens, she may lose it so badly that no one will ever see it coming.
So she hopes. She hates the word “hope” but she still does it anyways for the only thing that can either keep her alive or kill her.