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❝ evil to yourself ❞ ━ FARRAH ━
I won't lie and say I didn't miss going out and feeling the Chicago breeze on my face, sweat running down the valley of my breasts after a long night of dancing, alcoholic drinks and greasy fries filling my veins.
It's nostalgic to whine my waist against Alyssa's front and enjoy myself. It brings me back to my first years in my service when I wasn't so stressed over every single thing in my life. It was right before I met Michael and switched my life around.
I wouldn't say I was much of a party-girl, but I didn't mind going out every once in a while to bust it down. My grip tightens around my hanging belt as I try to pull it away from my skin.
I've been dancing and drinking since I got here and I could feel the tipsiness start to take over so I subjected myself to chewing on bread and sipping on water for the rest of the night.
Alyssa giggles mindlessly as I bend forward a bit and push my ass against her. It's always a good time dancing with her. Especially after the drinks have settled in. Our friendship is one blurred line of sharing the last cinnamon roll one day and kissing the next. However, we haven't done that in three years so I'd say we have a good handle on life.
With a Sean Paul song coming on over the speakers, I decide to take a break. If not for the sake of my sanity, then for the sake of my feet. They are screaming for help so I decide to make like Harriet Tubman and free them.
"I'll be right back." I call to Alyssa over the blasting music.
"Where are you going?" She responds and just like that, I also have the sudden urge to pee.
I jut my thumb in the general direction, "Bathroom."
"I'm coming with you." She sings and I don't object.
When we get there, I quickly pee, wash my hands, grab a paper towel, wipe off the counter then prop myself up on it. I release my little piggies and wiggle them as Alyssa runs a wet wipe along her heaving chest.
"Feel like I'm about to pass out." I fall back against the mirror and exhale tiredly. It probably wasn't the best idea to come to the club straight after a medium-length shift, but if I'd stayed home and taken a short nap, there'd be no going out for me.
Alyssa tilts her head at me, "So you gonna tell me what happened with Mr. Italian Casanova?"
I slightly regret telling her anything about him — mainly because she hasn't stopped bringing him up every fifteen minutes. I know she has good intentions, but her nosiness is one of her least favorable traits.
