𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐀 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒 ༄ 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐧, 𝗆. 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 // profanity, (weed?)
𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 // anon
• 𝘭𝘦𝘵'𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥
• 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨? 𝘪𝘥𝘬 𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵. 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Your ideal Saturday night would be getting railed by the guy you met yesterday at the paddock after dinner, but instead, you have to awkwardly explain to the waiter that you've been stood up and would just like to pay for the one drink you had ordered. But it wasn't your fault; the man decided not to show up after an hour and had seemingly blocked your number as well after sending you a picture of his dick that you really wish you hadn't seen.

Classic.

"Once again, I'm so sorry," you apologised to the waiter. Once you had called him over to get the check, a begrudging look took over his once inviting face, and you've never wished to leave a restaurant faster. To make matters worse, in this shit place the guy had chosen, the card machine wasn't working, so you spent ten minutes scouring your purse for loose change. You would have much rather spent those few minutes calling a taxi to bring you back to the hotel.

"Así que has dicho." The young Mexican claimed with bitterness lacing his tone. You couldn't understand a word he had said — having taken French in school — but you knew he was dissatisfied with you leaving without ordering food. Without needing much information, you could tell he was an underpaid waiter working in a restaurant that undoubtedly didn't get enough customers. 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝

"Mhm," you hummed while grabbing your purse and saying goodbye to him. The cool evening air washed over your bare skin as you stepped through the creaky door, and you now remember the jacket you had laid out on your bed to grab before you left. Thing after thing piled up on you to ruin your evening, and you were exceptionally close to letting them.

You unlocked your phone to call a taxi but saw your battery was at one percent. Knowing you had no time to be able to make the call, you sent the one person you utterly knew would drop everything to come to your location and watched as your phone screen turned dark.

You hoped he wouldn't panic with just the one text you sent of your location and instead came from the hotel to meet you so you could walk back together. The unfamiliar place didn't give you much inclination to where you were, having come in a car to the restaurant. You've never been to Mexico before, and you knew if you tried to find your way back, you'd get lost.

The street you were in had little lighting, with the exception of dimly lit clubs and pubs. You walked towards one of the only working street lamps and sat down underneath it on the damp, dark pavement. The single car in the street — an old, cherry-red Nissan Tsuru — was parked to your right, sheltering you ever so slightly from the brisk winds.

No one paid you any mind as they walked back and forth between bars with plastic cups encased in their hands, trying to escape the cold that the night brought. Your dress was becoming wet as you continued to sit on the edge of the road, and your bare arms felt numb. A thought sprung into your mind, and you began to root in your purse for something.

The little clear container of leaves lay at the very bottom of the bag in a separate pocket along with the paper, but you found it nonetheless and began to take it all out. It wasn't a habit you resorted to often — considering it isn't legal back home — but you enjoyed smoking a joint at times. Your skilled fingers rolled it swiftly, and in no time you lit it and were taking a puff of the cannabis. So you waited, creating a little pile of ashes in front of you on the road. Minutes passed, but as you inhaled more smoke, your awareness of time deteriorated, and it felt as if, in no time, you heard his voice faintly in the background.