hater ⇔ c.h.

one; she dazzled as a drunk

Clubs aren't my thing.

I've tried to explain that to her thousands of times.

And clearly, she doesn't understand, or I wouldn't be here right now.

Tori stood in the middle of the dance floor, skintight with some sleazy stranger. Wearing a short red dress and black pumps, I couldn't imagine how uncomfortable it must've been, dancing like that with those people. She's totally wasted and probably doesn't even realize the guy she's dancing with is a brunette. Tori only associates with the blonde male population.

I sighed, tearing my eyes from the crowded dance floor. My fingers clasped carefully around my full glass of vodka and Dr. Pepper. I paid eight dollars for this, but I'm not in the mood to stumble home in the dark. I guess I'll be carrying her home tonight.

"Hey, baby! Why aren't you partying with me?" she pouted, falling back into the booth across from me.

"The night is still young, and so are we! So let's get w-wasted!" she laughed madly, grabbing my hands in the center of the table.

She hiccuped, scanned the room, then ducked her head as if somebody was going to hear her over the loud music.

"Okay, let's make a deal. We'll each grab a hottie, and then take 'em home."

Tori grabbed onto my hair, pulling me into the center of the table where we gazed across the room cheek to cheek.

"Come on, anyone. I won't judge."

I rolled my eyes at how she slurred, probably not even understanding a word that came from her own mouth. The way she held me next to her, I could smell her breath clearly. Rum and mangos. Must've had a good night, that's her favorite drink.

However, glancing at the clock, I now realize it's nearly two am and we have work in a few hours.

Time to get out of this disaster.

"That one," I pointed to a dark haired guy with glasses. She giggled.

"Ooh, must be a college boy. Muchacho, we're hitting the big leagues."

When Tori's intoxicated, she seems to call me everything that isn't my name. Maybe she can't even remember it.

"Okay, you wait outside in the car. I'll go get him."

"What about-"

I knew exactly who and what she was talking about so I improvised, sending her on her way.

"I'll get him too."

I made a face while looking at the creep she was dancing with in the crowd.

"Okay," she sang. "I'll be waiting. Backseat," winking, her eyeshadow glistened in the light, "If you know what I mean."

Tori slowly made her way out of the club, weaving through underaged teens and older couples taking things a little too far for public space.

The whole room smelled horribly of booze, cigarettes and sweat. The music was way too loud, to a point where I almost couldn't hear Tori. Even when we were yelling. And it sounded like there was way too much bass. I believe the song is a remixed version of Love Me Harder. God, I hate the bass. But I'm too tired to care about how the music sounds.

My little black dress is riding up my butt, the four inch pumps are making my feet cramp, and my hair was probably standing on end with frizz. Not to mention my makeup, which was probably smeared all under my eyes. It's not like I tried. I didn't even want to be here in the first place.

Glancing at the clock again, I decided that Tori must be in the car, either passed out or close to it. On that note, I maneuvered my way out of Club Cincinnati. I think it was named after the owner's home town. Apparently he's from Ohio. Although, I think he should change the name to something that doesn't sound like a French strip club.