DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #85 - this charming man

I'm outside. On the terrace. On my own. Smoking my third cigarette in a row. Staring down on the Denver skyline at 2:30AM. Smoking. Poisoning my lungs. Smoking some more. Smoking my thoughts away. I'll probably smoke my entire pack of Luckies, and I won't give a shit if I empty it at some point, because I have another full pack in my shoulder bag. The tobacco smell is prevailing over my cologne, Lucky Strike is having Chopard beat 10-0, but at this point, I don't give a shit part two. I've chosen tobacco over perfume. And I've chosen the loner way, for the benefit of my mental health.

I've been all alone here for the last twenty minutes or so, and the only humans I've seen so far were fellow smokers making a cameo to have a smoke outside of the night club. They didn't look at me, and I didn't look at them. I just looked at the sky, at the cars down the road, I noticed a couple luscious looking bikes ... and I wished I were at home already. But I am still in Denver. I am still at this motherfucking night club and I can't go away until Starr decides to go away... because I am a good friend, I came here with him, more like he came here with me, on top of my Triumph Bonneville, and I can't leave him without a ride back to the hotel. He's my friend and my passenger. And I'm a fucking dumb ass, because partying the night away wasn't very much of a good idea. I knew it wasn't, but I've let someone else decide what was good for me... and I made a fucking mistake.

I should get back inside and check on Starr, my failed bodyguard of the night ... but after his blonde pal did the horny with me, touched my tits in the toilet stall and tried to fuck me, I'm almost afraid of heading to his table. Plus, the odds are stacked against me tonight, and with my infamous bad luck, I'd bump into Sean in 0.25 seconds, if I was to sneak back inside the club now. I want him. But I also don't want him. I want him to chase me. But I also want him to leave me alone. I love him. But I also hate him because he was an ass to me. I want to hug him. But I also want to smack his head against the wall. I want to kiss him and make up. But I also want to let him simmer for a while and make him realise that he really did me dirty. To cut a long story short, I don't know what the hell I even want from the guy, and the cocaine and booze in my system aren't helping with my confusion. One thing is for sure, and it's that I would never want him to see me now: runny eyeliner because I've cried a bit again, smeared lipstick because someone's dared to kiss me against my will, in the cubicle toilet right next to his. I am disturbed to say the least. So done with everything and everyone it's almost unreal, tonight. And I still haven't found the strength to reapply my lipstick, after the toilet incident with Laura.

Would be about fucking time I did, huh? I litter the butt of my cigarette, I sneak my hand into my bag, and I retrieve my makeup mirror, a napkin, and my trusted, mauve, Estée Lauder lip stain. First thing I do is wiping off runny eyeliner under my eyelids, because it's making me look like I'm a very endangered specie of koala, and it ain't the best look to pull at a night club. Once I'm chuffed, I remove my smeared lipstick, and I apply a fresh, thick layer of it. I smile at my reflection in the mirror, trying to trick myself into believing that I ain't looking that bad... but I am indeed looking like shit. I'm well aware of it, and the smile on my lips instantly disappears. More like, it turns into a whole fucking gasp, the moment someone tugs me by the arm, and my mirror hits the floor and breaks.

Seven years of bad luck my way... so who's tugging me now? Inez? Sean? Horny Laura? Cuntrell? Caballero? Jesus fuck, I've never been more afraid to turn, in all of my life.

'Oh my god, your necklace is so pretty! Where did you buy it?' A voice speaks from right beside me, and I sigh a huge, huge sigh of relief when I realise it's a chick. It's a chick, her hand is on my shoulder, not on my tits, she's low-key complimenting me over a little something... and her voice sounds much less mature than Laura's. I'm safe, no creeps my way. I secretly hoped it was Sean, my favourite creep in the world, 'cause that's what he is even when I'm mad at him... but this is a little secret between me, myself and I. I'm outside, he's inside, and I wonder what he's doing, now that he isn't trying to chase me. Knowing him, he's probably drinking the bar dry, alternating moments of hyperactivity and hypersociality to moments of elusiveness and apathy. My kinda man. When he doesn't treat me like I'm a fucking clueless idiot, of course.