She woke up gagging. Her whole body ached, but she needed to get up. Slowly and with a weak sound – like a groan – she sat up and looked around. Where were they? She needed them badly now. Her eyes shimmed over the dark messy room until her eyes locked on the target.
A little black box.
She stumbled to her feet and felt back onto her knees on the floor, being reminded of the swollen left foot she got herself last night. Slowly, but steady she crumbled through the piles of clothes and paper and garbage sprawled on the floor. Right until she reached the little box.
With shaky hands she opened it and took up her price. Her eyes glinted desperately and her throat pulled itself together by the thought of the dry taste. She put the price to her lips and lit it with the lighter matching the box. A sensational feeling slid over her aching body as she inhaled and for a short moment she felt at ease.
Ok now, what happened last night?
Weakly she scrambled to her feet and tried once again to walk. This time she managed to stand upright, but she crumpled every time she stood on her left foot. Finally she reached the toilet and there she stood for a while, hovering over the sink. Once she had been so beautiful; with her shiny white hair and crystal blue eyes, her skinny body with a bit of curves (medium sized breasts and a normal sized butt), her long fingers with strong nails – yes, she had been so beautiful. All she saw now was a beat up girl with a swollen eye (making it impossible for her to look through it), bruises all over her naked body, a distended shoulder, one teeth missing and a few cut gashes torn open on her arm. Much had happened, indeed.
She rummaged through her foggy memories and tried to remember what she had done… Something about Fuck-Face calling for a line of magical snow. Then he had babbled about a party going on and some hot guys wanting a fight. She had checked her phone for possible escapes, but in the end Fuck-Face was her only friend.
Tired and not willing to go she put on some baggy pants, a black tank top that showed her stomach, a few rings on both hands, a necklace and to end the costume party she put up her hair with a little pink butterfly she had had since she was a little girl. Then they had stalked down Duke of York Street and ended up at East India Club. They went inside to drink… what was it again? Oh well, lots of drinks. And beer – most importantly beer. She also remembered a lot of snow. Snow everywhere. And pushers and drugrapers. Yes, they got stoned and high and then came the boys Fuck-Face had talked about. She remember thinking about why she even called him that? Then the boys got mad at him and began pushing him. She was really not in the mood for a fight, but she could not stand seeing an innocent person get hit. Then she threw herself into the fight. They were three against two – actually only against her since Fuck-Face was a weakling and only hiding behind her back – and she managed well. She got pretty beat up, but the guys implied that she was pretty strong for a girl and all.
Afterwards her and Fuck-Face got kicked out of East India Club – for the third time this week. They had walked back to her place, but then Fuck-Face had to run. After that she remembered nothing.
Her guess was that she’d gotten a blackout. As usual she thought to herself while sucking in the last breath of the cigarette in her hand.