Confessions of a Bitch

Born To Die

I drive through the quiet streets with Born To Die by Lana Del Ray humming across the car. I absolutely love her voice. The dark factor she emits through her songs is seductive and dangerous: just like Femme Fatale. Once you’ve heard her, you can’t get enough. It’s like being high on drugs and becoming addicted to it. It’s like snorting cocaine over and over again.

It feels good.

I take a left turn at the intersection as I head off to Victoria’s place. Half the time, I don’t know what goes through that girl’s head.  This is year twelve. Year twelve! She can’t afford to miss school for five days in a row. She needs to do well in Finals and get a suitable job –oh yeah. She wants to be a nun. I suppose there are no qualifications needed to join the nunnery.

Lovely.

I park my car on the driveway and hastily ring the door bell. Victoria has a lot of explaining to do. The door soon opens and I am face to face with her mum, Latifa.

“Hello Amanda. How are you today?” She asks as she opens the door wider for me to enter.

I flash a charming smile. “I’m fine thank you. I’m just wondering if Victoria’s at home.”

“Yes. She’s upstairs.” Victoria’s mum replies pointing towards the staircase. I quickly say a word of thanks before running up the stairs. I’m about throwing open Victoria’s bed room door, when I hear her screaming obscene things from her bedroom to do with Jesus, murder, babies, sex and tequila. What has that girl been smoking? I gently open the room door to my friend pacing the floor and stomping her feet at the same time while screaming out to the heavens for divine intervention. I clear my throat three times and scream out her name, before she finally answers me. I think she has a hearing impairment.

“Hey there Sugar.” Victoria says when she finally notices I’m inside her bedroom.

“What were you just doing?” I ask as I eye her from head to do. She needs to work on her afro. It now looks like a bird’s nest and is in big need of a combing.

“I was praying in the spirit.” She answers as she sits on the bed.

“Huh?”

“I was lost in the moment of prayer.” She clarifies as she tilts her head to the side like a bird looking at a can of worms.

“Talking about Jesus, murder, babies, sex and tequila? Oh shit! Are you pregnant?!”

Victoria looks at me like I’m from another planet, “Nope.”

“Did you lose your virginity?” I can’t believe I’m asking Victoria that. I just can’t believe it.

“No,” She says, craning her neck. “I haven’t spread my legs for anyone.”

This is fast becoming awkward.  I stand right in front of her and begin my speech, that I’m sure both Obama and Luther would be extremely proud of. “What year are you in, Victoria?”