As Easy As Murder

36. girls cry out

"I fail to comprehend why we need a designated night for this, we drunkenly venture out like  every night." Bishop remarked, slumped over a round stool in the corner of her apartment, propelling herself around with her hands. While the rest of us spent thirty minutes maticulousy perfecting our looks and get that eyeliner wing angled just right, Bishop could effortlessly pull off anything, including completely all-naturele. 

Every 3rd Sunday of the month is girls night out. We all gather at Bishop's humble abode, and for better or worse, drink ourselves wild. Not that this hasn't become weekly routine, but this night holds special, considering the absence of any males and the absence of Jesse, who tries to weasle his way in every single time, and has to be reminded that he can't join us in the group bathroom trips, meaning he's not included.

Vicky, Vera, Bishop, Loretta and I hit the town and hit it hard, wearing essentially lingerie and patrolling the streets like our names are on the deeds. While we hold no confirming certificate, we basically own each inch of the ground our stilletos so confidently hit.

I've tried to rid my mind of Kori, just for the evening and give my girls my full undevided attention, but like a fish to water, I find myself clueless without him. Everything looks like a complicated task. Furthermore and to my disadvantage, my hair always looks like a lions mane on girls night out because Jesse usually curls it for me for our outings. 

That being said, my fashion dillemas crumble under the competition of Loretta's. 

I sat down next to Vicky to watch whatever was about to walk out of Bishop's closet, which serves at the communal one every gathering. After all, we can't just crumple something up and bring it to her place, and we absolutely can not break the tradition of getting ready there. 

Exceeding my already sky-high expectations, Loretta walked out wearing the closet in it's entirety. "What do we think?"

One of us isn't thinking, I can tell you that much.

Vera took the stage and said what we were all thinking. "That's a lot of clothes."

Loretta nodded, studying herself int the mirror. "Well, I'm known for my simplicity, so I thought I'd try out layers."

"All 500 of them?" Vera muttered from behind her book, the encyclopedia of spells. We all knew it was only a matter of time before Vera got into witchcraft, but It still came a shock when she announced it. 

Loretta scoffed, removing a scarf from the leaning tower of patterns. 

I rolled my eyes, allowing myself to fall back onto the bed. I noticed an email from my court systems professor and clicked on it, hoping he wasn't going to get on my ass for ditching his class for ice cream sundaes with Cheryl. Hey, not my fault he scheduled his course on Cheryl's break hour, it's a no brainer really. 

"Wait-" Vicky was standing on Bishop's bed, hair now a highlighter yellow, temporary dye being her new best friend since she gained her fear of having the same thing for too long. Infact, she threatened to shave it all off last week and it took a good three hours to plead her out of it. "We need to have a game plan. What if we get seperated like last time? A man almost carried me out."

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms, leaning back against a support pillar, the ugly one in the middle of the room that was almost a dealbreaker when I went with Bishop to look at this place.
"You told him you were too heavy to pick up. Never tell a man you or any object is too heavy. It's like announcing war."

By the time we finally made it out the door, it was an hour later than we had planned. Loretta, somehow snuck in an impromptu pregame and was already stumbling a little. Vicky was squealing and giggling about some milestone she and Travis hit in their relationship-apparently, he brought her toilet paper. I don't know why I surround myself with these delusional people, but to be fair I'm starting to deravel myself.

So, the 5 of us started to strut down the street, putting it all out there, emanating confidence and sending shock waves through every male in a 6 mile radius. And possibly a couple of streams of vomit from Loretta's part. 

We hopped in my bug and started on the city roads, taking off to our first destination of the night of our lives. Which destination? We had no idea. 

"Where are we going?" Bishop said, shoving the keys into the ignition with the coordination of a slamander and the motivation of a sloth in hibernation.

"The Drunk Ladybug!" "Travis's frat!" "The Cemetary Brewery!" "Uhhhh..I dunno."

I'll leave it up to you to guess who's was who's. 

After much bickering and heated disagreements, we ultimatly settled on my suggestion, The Drunk Ladybug. This charming,  quaint female-majority club caters to a woman's every need: an abundance of wine, a section brimming with books for your quieter type, and a blissful absence  of axe body spray. 

The only problem is that Loretta likes to get her kicks, and when she's drunk, she starts actually kicking, so our nights were now going to be interfered with by Loretta trying to take down some chic in the corner.

Upon entering the club, I hadn't even moved an extremetie yet. Hadn't wiggled a toe. Hadn't shuffled a foot. Yet I was so drowsy that I felt like collapsing in the middle of the brightly lit interior and acting as the dance floor itself. Hey, maybe it would be like a back massage and eliminate the perpetual aches I had been terrorized with for the past week and a half. Who knew I'd be in a geriatric state at 20. 

Girls were climbing on things, clinking glasses, celebrating break-ups and new beginnings, meanwhile I felt as far from the start as one can go. I felt like I had been alive forever. 

I collapsed into a booth in the corner, slumping and sipping the martini bishop handed to me, slumping down on top of me. We lay there like corpses, watching fellow young people live it up, looking on like we were missing our youth while in the very act of wasting it becasuse we
had some inflammation of the joint, probably due to previous ventures off campus. 

Loretta did not share our situation and was dancing with one of the 3 or four guys the bouncer deemed suitable to get in, all inherently not of the straight type. He was clapping and hyping her up, and it only took her swallowing that barf down 7 times to nail a headstand.

I gave it a solid 3 minutes before running out the club with the velocity of a cheetah. Noise felt like a bunch of tiny pins pin-pricking into my brain, the air and thoughts slowly deflating out of it like helium. 

I just ran, abandoning my group of inebriated friends. It wasn't a responsible position, but they had Bishop to watch them, if she didn't 'rest her eyes' a little too deeply. There was a pack of cigarettes in my hand. Bishop had handed it to me when she caught me eyeing it. 

I've been tempted. 

But when I got to the alley, I couldn't open the box. I dropped it to the ground, sliding down the wall and burying my head in my hands, my hair coming up around them, teasing my skin. I wanted to pretend that everything was fine