The Fence || h. s.

7 || Cheri

The party inside is in full swing, and even though it's barely been two hours since Sally and I got here, I'm already walking a fine line between drunk and tipsy. Having downed ten shots in a record time, I eventually decide enough is enough when standing straight in my high heels is beginning to feel like an uphill struggle.

I know I'm getting closer to the point when I could either grab an Uber and call it a night, or find a way of boosting my energy to survive this party up until the very morning. Choosing the latter, I maneuver my way through the sea of people and straight to the side exit of the club. 

When I finally make it outside, my eyes are slightly hooded from all the alcohol I had consumed in a short time; much too short to be considered smart. A decent number of party goers smoking, mingling, or making out are littering the dimly-lit alley, and I stay towards the edge of the crowd, leaning against the wall to appear unavailable. After all, the last thing I want is for some opportunist to try his luck with me. I didn't come out here looking for a hook up, I came here for solitude. Which is exactly what I got. 

Despite being the only single person out here, the lack of company isn't bothering me; quite the contrary—it's exactly what I need to get through the night. Meeting new people has always been a particularly painful ordeal for me, so after Sally and I had gone through the initial stage of name exchanging, I quickly excused myself to the bathroom before Kendall and her friends could take a better look at my face and put the two and two together. 

That was two hours, five dance partners, and countless drinks ago. 

I am in such a trance that I don't notice the crowd around me dispersing, leaving me the sole person outside the club, save for the gruff looking bouncer who seems to be more focused on his phone than anything happening out there. Soon, the reason behind everyone's hasty retreat becomes apparent: a tall figure, wearing a dark hoodie and holding a large camera in his hands. 

At first, we both just stand there looking at each other, and I wait for the dreaded moment when the man realizes just who exactly is standing right in front of him. Usually, it takes a hot moment for it to click in their minds, as my appearance has changed significantly in the last five years, but I'm aware that it's still way too late to be running away. The only thing I can hope for is that I'm looking somewhat presentable. 

A beat passes and now he's blatantly staring at me, eyes widening just a fraction. I know this is it: he's about to raise his camera and snap a picture. But, before I can react and maybe try to bribe him with a promise of something better than my boring self, we hear loud shouting coming from the front side of the building. Whoever is just entering the club, seems to have caused quite a commotion. When the hooded man swiftly turns on his feet and begins to run off—probably knowing that whatever's happening over there will earn him a lot more money—I let out an audible sigh of relief. Thank God. 

"Whew, that was close," I hear a cheery voice behind me, and I turn around to see one of Kendall's model friends I vaguely remember meeting earlier. 

"Yea, it usually is," I shrug simply. 

"Not a fan of this party either?" she asks, unbothered by my non-committal answer. 

"Oh no, the party's great," I tell her truthfully. It's not the setting I have a problem with, it is the socialising part that I've come to dread. 

She smiles at that, and I have a feeling she understands what I meant without me having to say it out loud. "Wanna smoke with me?" 

I cock my eyebrow in question, because the only thing I smoke occasionally is weed. I've never been a huge fan of cigarettes, finding it a pointless and literally nasty-smelling habit. "Depends what you have in mind."