Self Destruction - 18+

2.CLAIRE

"A bit small, don't you think?" I asked Hope as I looked into the mirror. The dress was black and short - but not to the point where you could see my scars, and it had two spaghetti straps.

"I don't know why some clothes are made out of leather!" I called to Hope who was in the bathroom getting herself ready. 

The dress was tight, showing off curves I didn't know I had. "But you look so sexy in it!" she called back. I smiled at my reflection. 

My eyebags had disappeared as I actually slept last night, my hair was soft and shiny, and my skin was practically glowing. I stared at myself in the mirror for a while, a soft smile creeping onto my face as I admired myself. 

There's a first time for everything, am I right?

"Jesus Claire, you're going to have every boy bowing down to you tonight," she whispered, clapping her hands together in an excited fashion.

She was wearing a simple london fog coloured dress with two soft straps that rested on her shoulders. It wasn't as tight as mine but it flattered her nicely, giving her a soft feminine look. "John will have to wrestle so many guys tonight," I said, fixing a group of hair strands sticking out from the back of her head. She snickered before slipping on a pair of white heels. 

* * * * * * * * * *

John opened the car door for Hope and then for me. I smiled before elbowing him lightly. "Don't let her get too drunk," I muttered, receiving a smile from John. 

I looked at the large house. No- mansion. The music was ear splittingly loud and it shook the entire neighborhood. The vibrations making my legs slightly weak. 

I gripped the bronze handle and pushed the door open- of course. 

Couples, or just random people planning to hook up were left and right. Almost everyone was making out or grinding against one another to the music. I looked at Hope and then at John. "Just don't swallow each other," I warned, smiling as I walked away into the crowd of horny, drunk, twenty year olds. 

I looked down as I felt the stares of a few people. 

"Hello princess." He was tall and muscular. His blonde hair lay slightly tangled on his head. 

Brett Anderson. Popular, rich, full of himself, asshole. 

"Hello," I spoke through gritted teeth. I wasn't going to be a complete bitch tonight, but I wasn't going to bend over for every god damn man I saw. 

"Fancy a drink?" he asked, his eyes trailing over my sharp figure. "I'm alright thanks," I spoke, flashing him a piss off smile before walking to a corner in the room. 

I was here for inspiration. Not to get drunk, or railed. But to finish my painting. 

I scanned the room, trying to find an image that didn't include grinding, kissing, or drinking. I pulled the hem of my dress down as I felt it begin to ride up my thigh. "I should have at least brought a god damn sweater," I muttered to myself. 

I pulled out my phone from the small red purse that hung from my shoulder. 

Snap!

I took a photo of a purple high heel on the ground.

Snap!