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Photo is Fire Storm
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Iliana
"You cannot be serious. No. We're going clubbing, and you're coming."
"But I don't-"
"Iliana, you're coming. We'll meet up at your place and you're driving because you fucking love me so much. Right? Right."
I glower at my best friend, the most irritating and stubborn person on the planet, my arms crossed over my chest. "I hate you," I tell her grumpily, turning away to go put the new CDs out on the shelves. I work in a music store. Well, music slash book slash coffee shop. She works in the coffee shop portion, while I work in both music and books.
Fire Storm's arms are thrown around my torso from behind, and she smacks a light coloured kiss onto my cheek. "I love you, too! Come on, it'll be fun. We can go to the movies tomorrow. Rad?" I roll my eyes, a small smile breaking over my lips as I rub off her kiss. I nod with a half-hearted grumble, and she kisses my cheek again.
"Eww, friend cooties," I complain, making a face as I pull away, rubbing at my cheek with my sleeve. My best friend just giggles and heads back behind her counter.
Hours later, Fire is letting herself into my bathroom, interrupting the process of my hair being straightened.
"Here, let me do that," she says, taking the flat iron from me and sitting me on a stool from the kitchen. Running her fingers through my long, hazel brown hair, she asks, "So. That Nick guy. You gonna call him back? You guys dating? What's the deal?"
Rolling my eyes, I sigh. "I dunno. He's okay, I guess. Not really my type, you know? Too big of an ego," I say with a wink in the mirror. Ego being his package, in this case.
"That scrawny thing has junk? Really?"
I giggle at her shocked face. While she does my hair, I decide to put a clear polish on my nails, just for the heck of it.
"What about Erin? She seemed...."
"Clingy?" I finish for her. She nods. "Yeah. Not my thing. Gorgeous, that one, but one does not simply call my phone every five minutes. In the middle of the night. On a Wednesday."
Fire laughs, shaking her head of dark brown fluffy hair. She's got the classic scene look, her hair layered and fluffed out, but not poofy. The long, thin strands of dark hair reach about her navel, her bangs swept over to her right, partially concealing an hazel, boldly made up eye.
The buzzer for the apartment door goes off, and Cianna yells, "I'll get it!" Her shouting is followed by the sound of a body falling into my coffee table and a loud groan of pain. Haze can be heard laughing, a rare sound.
Haze is just coming out of depression and a drug addiction. Fire met her at work and introduced her to the rest of us, and Cianna sort of took her under her wing. Cianna has feelings for the blue-haired girl, but Haze hasn't a clue, as Cianna wants her to get completely clean before she even considers admitting her feelings. That, and as far as we know, Haze is straight.
A few minutes later, the front door opens, letting in my best friend's fuck buddy, Smash. She's the oldest out of us five, at 22, and generally assumes the role of protector.
Smash dips her head in the bathroom door. "We ready?" she asks casually, knocking a light rhythm in the door frame with her knuckles. "Doors opened at nine, I wanna be there by ten." She leans in the doorway, hooking her thumbs into the black belt at her hips that holds up a pair of dark jeans under a white T-shirt with some sort of design on on the front. A few wristbands adorn the right. Her naturally brown hair is dyed a light blonde on the outer layer and reaches just barely below her shoulders, her bangs swept off to her left. Smash keeps her look pretty simple.
"Oh, hey, hotstuff," says Fire, running her hands through my hair one last time before turning off the hot appliance. "I'm done."
Picking up my eyeliner, I tell them, "I'll be out in, like, five minutes. And tell Cianna to put my chips away! She forgot, last time," I call as they leave the bathroom, Smash's hand around Fire's hip.
Twenty minutes later, made up and in a floral dress with sleeves to my elbows, I am locking my car door across the street from the club. Cianna wears cute little black dress, which provides a sharp contrast to her long, white-over-orange hair. Her arm is slung about the bare shoulders of Haze, who is dressed in dark denim short shorts and a shoulderless black shirt. Haze's hair fades from an off-white blue at the top to a dark blue at the ends, and her forearms are covered by fingerless gloves. Fire Storm also dons the dark shorts, but wears wears her wrists free in a black shirt with partially scratched-out white stars, accompanied by her skull necklace I bought her a while back.
They all have their fake IDs for alcohol, save for Smash, who doesn't need one. I don't have one, because I only ever really drink when we're just hanging out at home, and even then, I don't drink much.
Thus, I drive.
Inside, Smash and Cianna get us a round of drinks while three of us find a booth to hang around for a bit. The music is loud as ever. A few women, already drunk, dance up in the elevated cages, some of them grinding against each other. It isn't a gay club, but the LGBT community is welcome here.
The girls come back with a Coke for me, complete with a slice of lime, a half bottle of tequila, and a couple of beers for Smash. We sit around, drinking and laughing like goofs as we scope out the crowd. Fire whistles loudly at one of the girls in a cage, while Smash lounges with her arm behind Haze's shoulders, drinking her beer from the cool bottle.
Cianna, beside me, sighs. "Can we dance, now? We can drink more later, but I wanna dance." She rumples her hair gently, fluffing it lazily. Fire gets out of the booth, heading off with Cianna, who I have to scoot out for. The orange headed girl drags Haze along, leading her by her hips into the mass of people.
This leaves me with Smash. Her real name is Shawn, but everyone calls her Smash. The semi-blonde glances over at me as I scoot back into the booth. Stroking a stray strand of my hair away from my face, she asks seriously, "You doing okay, hun? Come here." Her voice is deep, but sweet and full.
I scoot in closer and fit into her side, her strong arm around me loosely. I can smell the sweet beer around her, but it's oddly comforting, around her.
Don't get me wrong; I don't like her like that. She's like an older sister to me. Yeah, she's gorgeous and all, but it would be weird.
"Yeah, I'm good," I answer, closing my eyes as I rest against her. "Just not in the mood, really." I feel her short hair brush my cheek as she nods, and we slip into a comfortable silence.
A while later, she leaves for the dance floor with a skanky looking redhead. Reverting back to my anti-social mood, I find myself a seat on the side of the bar and pull out my phone, deciding my high scores in Angry Birds need to be beaten.
