Reality

Dirty Disney

Louis

"I hate this. I hate this so much." 

I shake my head as I stand in my room, looking at the reflection of myself in the mirror. I still don't know who came up with this 'Dirty Disney' theme, but I want to smack them across the face. But because I am a decent human being that does not get into trivial arguments, I will hold some self control. 

Although, I can't guarantee that my self control will stay strong. At this rate, with these housemates, I'm bound to snap at any moment.

The house has been filled with drunk people for the past hour, and I have yet to show my face downstairs. I locked my room door to keep out any of the curious party goers that tend to explore the house. I'm not up to finding people in my room, going through my stuff, and possibly breaking anything.

Did anyone even think this through before they decided that we're hosting a party? Furniture is bound to break, I'm sure a window will be shattered, and in the morning we will have to clean everything up. We haven't even met our neighbors; they can call the cops for a noise complaint. I'm pretty positive the music blasting through the speakers downstairs can be heard three miles away.

Just as I'm finally about to give up and stay cooped up in my room for the whole night, there's a knock on my door that puts me on edge. 

"Lou?"

I relax a little as I recognize the voice. For a moment I was afraid it was a stranger here for the party, but I'm thankful it's just a housemate. Walking over to the door, I open it slowly to reveal Harry, his costume very pathetically put together.

"Can I help you?" I ask, standing in the doorway to block him from coming inside. However, to my disadvantage, his height and strength allow him to push past me and into the room.

"Zayn is wondering why you haven't come down to the party," he takes a spin around the room I share with Niall before his eyes land on me. Suddenly a laugh escapes his mouth as he grins. "Is that your costume? Are you supposed to be Peter Pan or something? Nice hair."

"It's better than your costume," I retort, sending him a glare. "What are you supposed to be? A homeless child that grew out of his only pair of shorts?"

The offended look on his face spreads throughout his body, showing in the way he slumps his shoulders. "It's supposed to be a loincloth. I'm Tarzan. And I haven't washed my hair in about forty-eight hours on purpose. It's supposed to look messy, like I live in the jungle. It was Zayn's idea."

I'm about to tell him that his efforts are not good enough, but I stop myself as I realize his costume really is better than mine. Despite the fact that his Tarzan costume consists of nothing more than dirty hair and a homemade loincloth, it looks much more put together than my simple green tank top and brown shorts. Although, Brooke tried to add some orange-colored hairspray into my hair to mix it with the brown color it already is, and I think that's really the only way to tell what exactly I'm dressed up as.

"Anyway," Harry starts, taking a few steps toward my door. "Zayn sent me up to tell you that if you don't get down to the party, he'll jump you in your sleep."

Without another word, he slips through the door and runs down the stairs like the barbaric guy he's supposed to be dressed as. And as much as I really don't want to partake in the party, I know I really can't stay up here all night.

I slide on a pair of my Vans and draw in a deep breath. I have no intention of actually partying, but I think I need to be down there as a sort of chaperone. I'll just make sure no one is doing anything they shouldn't be doing.