Part 2

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I got off the bus and walked the short block to get to my house. I was feeling so psyched even though I almost fell asleep on the ride home. I practically skipped up the steps. I unlocked the door and took the stairs two at a time then headed right to the shower. I really just needed rinse off. That’s the one thing I hated about working at the pizzeria. I ended up a sweating, stinking mess by the time I get home. I turned the water on, peeled off all my clothes, and got right in. The cool water felt so good on my skin. I heard my phone ringing from inside my jeans pocket but I could tell it was just a text from song I had set as my ringer. I soaped myself up real good, checked to make sure my legs were still smooth and I didn’t need to shave again. They were good, so I rinsed off, shut off the water, and got out. I wrapped a towel around me then grabbed my phone out of my jeans before I headed to my room. The text was from RC, one of my two best friends. “Wen will u b arriving miz thing?” I typed out a quick message back to him “I’m getting ready now. I’ll be there in 25-35 minutes. Love ya.”

I towel dried myself off then slathered lotion on. I put on a black pair of lacy underwear, then one of my infamous barely there short short plaid skirts. The one I put on was hot pink, purple, and black. As my top I chose a corset with see through sides. There was about four inches of visible skin between my corset and skirt. And of course to top it off, the last part of my outfit was my knee high Demonia boots with a five inch wedge heel. Those boots were one of my most prized possessions. The only other material things that meant as much as these boots were my sketchbook filled with drawings, pasted in mementos, and posted in notes from friends and the box I had stuffed with pictures from the present day all the way back to when I was in the crib. I don’t know what I would if I lost either one of them. The boots I had since I was 14. They had been to hell and back with me.

I plopped myself down in front of my mirror to fix my hair and make up. My waist length brown hair just needed a little gel to fix the frizz so I focused on putting my fake eyelashes on. That was finished within two minutes. I’d become a pro by now. I slicked on some liquid eyeliner and hot pink eye shadow, then found some matching lip gloss to throw in my bag. I rooted through the bag real quick to make sure I had everything in there. Cigarettes, lighter, keys, iPod, cash in wallet, ID, lip gloss, condoms, cell phone, charger, perfume, and of course, the pills. Everything was there so I hoisted myself up and did a once over in the mirror. I looked damn good.

When I started dressing up with the boots and skirts, black eyeliner, skull shirts and other gear like that it was really just my style. It worked with the hard core music I liked. When I dressed like that I felt tough, like I could take on anything. For someone as insecure as I was back then, if there was I could do to make feel good about myself in anyway I kept on doing it. Of course I got a lot of male attention. I really didn’t care. I just chalked it up to how guys could be pigs sometimes, that they would honk or whistle at any warm body with boobs and a short skirt. Over the years though I began to feed off the attention. I felt bad when guys didn’t notice me when I walked by. I hated how I had gotten this way but I usually blew that thought off. I thought about sniffing another pill before I left but it had only been an hour since the last one and I was still really feeling it so figured I would hold off until later.

I headed out of the house and locked the door. I walked to the bus stop at the corner of my block which would take me right to the park. The summer air felt so good, it was beautiful weather for a night at the park. I pulled out my iPod to pass time until the bus came. I played this game with myself where I would see if I could guess the artist and name of the song before 15 seconds of it had gone by. I’d see how many I could get right in a row. It made the time go by so much quicker. I got 17 songs right before the bus pulled up. I already had my bus pass out so I swiped it through the reader and found a seat, glad to see there was one open. I hated having to stand up during a bus ride, constantly knocking into other people and having to worry about not falling on my ass. I saw some guys staring at me but I ignored them, though it gave me that thrill inside that they were checking me out. I let the song play on my iPod and sent a text to RC telling him I would be there in 15 minutes or less. Then I leaned into my seat, closed my eyes, and let my thoughts drift to Jack.

Last night Jack and I went to a party, where we both got blitzed. I know I was a whole lot more out of my mind then he was after all the pills I had sniffed. We ended up spilling our guts to each other about extremely intimate and private things for hours, the way only copious amounts of alcohol can make a person do. Then we somehow ended up back at his place where we proceeded to have sex. Ugh. A good amount of last night was blacked out, which tended to happen more and more lately when I drank. I wish that part of the night would have been blacked out too. Not that it wasn’t good, or that I didn’t like Jack. But honestly, for me, it was just sex and nothing more. I hoped Jack felt the same way and we could still be friends, goofing off at work as usual. I hoped he didn’t get some idea in his head that we might start dating. If anything, I hoped that he would just want to have sex again and that be then end of it. He really didn’t know me. He didn’t know what a mess I was and that if he let me in, I could end up tearing him to pieces.

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