Biting Back (Completed)

Dance floor tragedy

My back-ups back-up friends had my back and agreed to hit the club. I don't really get along with them that well, that's why their my back-ups back-up. I put on my sluty red dress that reveals my one and only regret. Yes, I have a tramp stamp. This happend many years ago. It is my biggest regret. I regret it more then dating men. This shit stains my bare human existence. It's a butterfly with some branches out of it. If I am not a survivor of early teen break through fashion, then I must be a victim of it. My stamp is a mark of a distant memory, of when I dated cute emo boys and pretended to like beer. I regret nothing but that tattoo.

I met up with the girls and we went to the first club. I hit the dance floor, then I hit the floor. We collectively decided to go to a diffrent club. We never agree on anything. There was not a single hot hit or even a cute little guy. The next club we hit was all too familiar. Nothing matters when I'm dancing the night away. The trial can watch me shake it up and vomit in the bathroom. That is called freedom. The night doesn't end however. I got to the dance floor and danced with some guy. I didn't even look to see who it was. I just took anything remotely human shaped and went with it. I was feeling almost dizzy and felt like vomiting. I closed my eyes and ignored it and kept dancing. I couldn't stay up anymore I had to get to the bathroom. I opened my eyes and stumbled to the bathroom. I refreshed my look and gave myself a little pep-talk. I started thinking how quiet it had went. I hadn't even noticed I was the only one in the bathroom. The place had never felt so empty. I walked back out only to see the place was empty. What time is it? It was packed just a few moments ago... The bartender had left. Only one customer remained, drinking in peace at the bar, a little too peacefully. I must leave before I get myself into some shit. Those girls left me here all alone, everyone did. I was walking to the door ready to leave but I felt a pair of eyes on me. A familiar glance. God damn, little glitter bitch is here, isn't he. I looked back to the bar. Empty, like his nonexistent soul. I tried the door panicked. The door opened swiftly as a gust of wind flew from behind me. Rain was pouring down outside. I took the first step out. Everything felt empty. The world was empty. Not a sight of life. I walked to the train station sat down and waited on the empty platform. Drops of rainwater dripped down from my hair, as did the tears. I waited and waited. No train ever arrived, but I kept waiting and waiting. I didn't expect any train to arrive, I also saw no point in not staying.

I woke up in my little red dress covered by a blanket. What in the world. Where the fuck am I? What in the flipping fuckery is this. I reconize this place. Is this- "Oh hey babe. You're awake." -"I was just wondering...  does chees dip count as spaghetti sauce.? It's the only thing I could find." He said holding a half empty cheese dip. "What the hell are you thinking?" I anwsered angered. "I take that as a no? I'll keep looking." He anwsered confused and left the room. What the fuck is he thinking. I broke up with him for a reason. I got up, barley. The fucking room is spinning, holy shit! I stood up and fell down with a loud thump. "-hey I'm almost finished!" I heard Micheal shout from the kitchen. This idiot... what does he think he's doing. I got back up and walked to the kitchen. "What the fuck is that smell?" I asked before running to the bathroom and vomiting on the side of the toilet. I cleaned myself up in the sink and left him the mess on the floor besides the toilet, on the toilet, even a little bit got on the wall. I went back to the kitchen to see he was attempting something preposterous. He can't cook even if his fucking unborn child's life dependent on it. Brainless little donkey hybrid rat ass can't do anything well, so why would he be cooking of all things. I asked him to please take the trash out, it smells like shit. He looked at me offended. He said he was making spaghetti and meatballs. Did he use expired meat he dug from the trash for the cooking. What the fuck is that stench? No way that he could have messed the recipe up that baldy. He finished his shit show of a spaghetti dish and gave me a plate. "This is not food. This is not even remotely edible. I don't even think the bacteria want to chew this shit." I said looking down at the slob of yellow greasy pasta sprinkled with whatever the brown chuncks were suppost to be. "It's not that bad. You can't beat it till you try it!" He said eagerly as he looked at me waiting to take a bite. "It's already beaten so there's no reason to even try it." -"besides your cooking, or lack there of, what the fuck am I doing here Micheal?" I said looking down at the plated diarrhea and then back at him. "Your girl friends called me. They said you collapsed to the floor at the club." He said as he threw dishes in the sink that was already full of dirty dishes. "Why would they call you- oh those damn-" I interrupted myself as I realized they didn't know we had broken up yet and thought it was a great idea to call him. Why wouldn't they call an ambulance instead, it's not like their going to be the one to pay the bill. I think I'd rather get brain damage on the dance floor than in this fools home.