If The World Ends Tomorrow | ONGOING

𝑜𝓃𝑒

𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟻𝚝𝚑

I hate life.

More than I hate warm pillows, and wet jeans.

More than I hate math, or chemistry for that matter.

In other words, I hate life more than anything.

It's fucked up, but so am I.

Literally.

Loud music pumps through the room, vibrating my eardrums at their core, bodies grinding against each other, faces smiling like they've never been more alive, and people sucking each other's faces off.

And then there's me, resting against the wall, a wedding picture to the right of my head, a girl throwing up on the floor to my left, a half-empty cup of vodka in my hand.

How many drinks I had tonight, couldn't tell you.

My vision is blurry, I'm drunk, but not drunk enough because I'm still thinking.

I wasn't 10 minutes ago (thinking I mean), but I'm at that weird in-between where I'm drunk, but not wasted. It's a strange place to be, you're everywhere but present, it sounds stupid, but there's no other way to explain it. I think I'll call it my version of a limbo, to be honest, I don't know what that means, but it sounds right enough.

Drink, it'll make it all better.

Drink.

It's Pax again, even though he's not physically here I can never get him out of my head.

Trust me, I've tried.

Drink.

Drink.

I down the rest of my drink before grabbing another, taking a swig of it as I weave through the people. I know all of them, they all know me or at least they think they do.

To them, I'm just Giselle Parker, life of the party, girl who lives life on the edge. I dance on top of tables, lead party chants, down vodka shots like water, if you want a fun time you come to me.

To be fair, that's all I show them, the only side of me they know, it's easier that way. Plus, they don't care enough to know the truth, to see it, to know me.

The colors in the room are swirling, mixing, making this ugly shade of gray and brown. The walls are like putty if I push too hard I might disappear into them. Come to think of it, that doesn't sound so bad.

I need air.

I feel like a ghost passing through bodies, floating around and through. Though I'm quickly set straight by the dirty glares of the people I bump into.

"Don't tell me you're leaving already, Gizzy," I recognize Jack's voice through the haze. I turn to him, he has a beer in his hand and his arm wrapped around Chelsea, they hook up more than occasionally, she loves him I think, he might know but I don't think he cares, she definitely knows he doesn't care, but she's one of those people who would rather suffer through having someone not love them back, than not have them at all. I wonder what it's like to love like that, might make the world less...dull.

"Don't worry you'll survive." I force a smile, pulling the cigarette from between his fingers, he's too drunk to protest, I bring it to my lips taking a puff. "Thanks." I walk backward towards the door.

"Asshole." Jack shakes his head but lets me keep the cigarette like always. "You coming down to the park tomorrow?"

"It's Sunday."