Confessions of a Bitch

Little Bad Girl

The music blasts my ears. The flashing lights seem to blur and blend into one another. My head feels light as the room spins round and round in circles. My body moves to the rhythm of the beat. Everyone's voices boom inside my head before fading out into the white noise. I throw my head back as I take another shot.  

Yep. This is my casual Saturday night. 

Someone grabs me around the waist. I turn around to see David with a half-smile on his face. His green eyes burn intensely within his eye sockets, sending a shiver down my spine, but I don't care. I'm too free to care. We dirty dance on the floor, our bodies rocking from side to side, touching and grinding one another. 

"You look lovely tonight." He whispers in my ear. His breath smells good: a mixture of cocktails and tooth paste. 

"Well thank you." I reply grinding my hips closer to his. 

"What are you doing here?" His breath feels hot on my neck. I need another drink. 

"Who says a girl can't party on a Saturday night?" He smirks as I unlace his fingers from my hips. "I've gotta go pretty boy." 

"You know you're so much fun when you're outside school." He leans in closer. "Why do you hate me so much?" 

I giggle and run my hand across his cheek, closing whatever space is left between us. "It's simple. You're an arsehole." And with that, I walk away leaving him hot and dry on the dance floor. Damn I'm good. 

I head back to one of the tables and scull down another glass of wine. I take out my phone and look at the time. Shit. It's 3am. I stand up and readjust my mini red leather dress before heading out the door. I clumsily enter my car and burp. Gosh my breath reeks. 

Someone knocks on my window. I open one eye. It's Mr. Hotpants. I open the window. "What do you want pretty boy?" 

"He leans in closer."Just wanting to remind you about your homework." 

"Since when did you care about homework?" I retort. 

"It's year twelve and I want to get good marks." 

I snort. "And you can have fun getting butt raped. I'll just stand in the corner and record the whole thing." 

David crinkles his nose. "Ouch. You really hurt my feelings Blondie." 

"I'm supposed to do that arsehole. Now step away from my car before I run you over." 

He gives me another half smile. "Night Blondie." 

"Night arsehole." 

I drive home like half the drunkard I am, speeding at a hundred and twenty kilometers an hour and swerving lanes. I'm lucky I don't kill anyone. By the time I pull up on the driveway I'm totally wasted. I stumble inside the house and then black out. 

Gosh I love my Saturday nights. 

I wake up to a burst of sunlight, in my bed with a big hangover. I roll over closing my eyes again wanting to be Aladdin so I'd have three wishes to use to get rid of my pounding headache. A wave of nausea rolls over my head and I squeeze my eyelids tighter. God I want this to be over. The urge to spill my guts to the floor overwhelms me, but I don't want my room smelling of vomit. I groan and lay still, wishing the air con is on because it's stinking hot. My dress sticks onto my flesh like a second skin and my face is wet with perspiration. I can slowly feel myself turning into roast turkey. 

I'm pissed. I'm effing pissed. Life isn't turning out the way it's supposed to be. I never ever have a hangover after a Saturday night. Never. Maybe my luck is running out. Maybe year twelve is going to be a year from hell. I still can't figure out what's worse: having an arrogant and flirty badass as my media partner, or the fact I have a serial criminal living next door. To be honest, I'd rather have Cross eyes back. Never mind the fact she almost butchered me and my mother.