Melissa Crumpton is a ruined remnant of the once-angelic girl. Contrariwise, Kevin Archer decamps the drudging slavery to grow into a small rate successful artist.
When the artist lays his eyes on a ruined redolent young woman, he thinks of bringing...
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Melissa'sPoV:
The party wasn't bad as I anticipated it to be. Mrs Harrison had me accompanied most of the time. When she went to greet other guests, I enjoyed myself watching people. Trust me; people watching can be taken as an interesting hobby.
Josh's house was bigger than mine. It could accommodate the minimum of a hundred people at a time. And if I wasn't overestimating, there were nearly hundreds of guests. Everything from the lights to the decorations in the house rolled in money. Overtaking the fragrance of the room spray, a robust mixture of cologne lavished the place. 'A grandiose show-off,' I thought.
It was absolute chaos everywhere. Surprisingly, that wasn't getting on my nerves at all. When the whole space got packed with both adults and pupils, I wondered if it was just a student's birthday party after all. I detached myself from Mrs Harrison and walked out looking for a space that was less crowded. When I spotted the guest room being almost deserted, I walked towards it. But I was shaken at the revelation of the place. Honestly, they had a bar set in there. It was so unlike Britain.
When I was about to evade that place, I heard someone saying, "Hey young lady. Came for an early catch huh? I was asked to not open the bar until late. But I can let loose the rope for you."
"Er... no! I'm a minor," I said as if she would understand. She seemed purely exotic with a pink pop cut hair and ear and nose pins. Her black leather jacket with her t-shirt tied in front revealing her belly button ring, her high boots, and her slang was all different and screamed danger.
"Whoopie do! Rules are for losers. When I was about your age, I had tried every drink in the world. I used to love tequila those days which I never knew why. But now, all I love is to have a good amount of beer downed in a gulp. Tastes differ with age, right?"
Her hoarse voice was intimidating. I nodded in agreement though I didn't want to.
She gestured me in front of her saying, "C'mon. I'll be more than privileged to teach you a little about tippling."
"My parents don't allow me," I reasoned.
"Are they here too?" she asked intrigued.
"Not now. But my mum will be back soon to pick me up," I said.
"Then, it's the end of the debate. I will get you something that will not booze you already," she said placing a shot on the table. I was apparently caught in a cleft stick.
"No. I'm fine," I miserably tried catching at straws when she kept insisting me on having a shot. 'This party can never get worse than now', I thought. When I was helplessly racking my mind for an answer that would politely get me out of there, I heard, "What are you doing here?"
