Confessions of a Bitch

Boy Like You

My eyelids fly open when the alarm on my phone rings. It’s eleven o’clock; perfect timing. I throw off my blankets and turn on the bedside lamp before hurrying towards my wardrobe. I have a date tonight, at the club. I take my dress from the hanger and place it on my bed. The curtains are slightly open and I rush towards them. As I’m about closing them, I take a quick peek outside. It’s dark and Old Man Black’s house stands at the end of the street. For a split second, I am reminded of Cross Eyes. I cannot help but shudder. The curtains are quickly shut and I hurry towards the bathroom to get ready. A ton of makeup is applied to hide the loathsome scar on my cheek. The doctors had said the scar would disappear after a few years, well before I’d become an adult. I guess they were wrong.

Stupid, fucking liars: all of them.                               

My hair is hurriedly curled, and I sustain two burns on my scalp in the hurried process. Not surprisingly, the results are shit. But, it adds to the trashy effect, so I suppose it isn’t that bad. I hasten back to my bed and quickly change into my dress. It fits perfectly and reaches mid-thigh.

It’s perfect. Rhys would love it.

I reach under my bed and pull out the shiny, black stilettoes I bought at Betts and look at reflection in the mirror.

Still perfect.

I apply some red lipstick and smile. It complements my gold dress very well. I smack my lips together and batter my eyelashes at the mirror.

I’m definitely perfect.

I stare at my reflection for a while longer, trying to remember something. I run my hands across my leg. I definitely remembered to shave this morning. My head is full of curls and my makeup has been applied. I brushed my tee-

Shit.

I run towards the bathroom sink like one of those sluts in chick flicks, running across the street in stilettoes, and grab my tooth brush from its holder. Swear words swirl through my head as I hurriedly apply some toothpaste to the brush and begin brushing my teeth. I can’t believe I forgot to do that. Out of all the things that could happen, I forgot to brush my teeth. I can’t help but cringe when I realize that I’ll have to reapply some makeup to my chin, and lipstick. I finish brushing my teeth and look at the mirror. I almost faint at my hideous reflection. It’s eleven thirty. Fuck. . I spend another five minutes making myself look socially acceptable before having the guts to look at my reflection once more.

This time, I thank the gods of vodka and brandy because I look presentable.

I grab my car keys from the table and with my stilettoes in hand, sneak downstairs. It’s Saturday night. Mum and dad are probably dead to the world right now. My car, as usual, is parked outside the garage, and it’s not long before I am on my way to the club.

The words, EVE DANCE, are illuminated in the night sky. The muffle of the songs playing inside can be heard in the car park. I slowly put on my stilettoes, step out of my car and lock it. There’s something about me on a Saturday night. I turn into a magnet, drawing people in like wildfire. The boys in the car park, smoking pot and drinking shit, whistle at me as I walk past. I can’t help but smile and swing my hips even more.