PEPPERMINT

PROLOGUE

Prologue:

The backlight of my phone gave luminance that resembled the sun when compared to the dinghy bathroom I was in. Faintly, I could smell urine and definitely an underpinning tone of vomit. The smell clutched at my stomach in a similar way to my hand. The friends I'd arrived with had long since found partners for the night and slowly trickled out of the green exit door. I was alone, drunk, and sitting on a toilet lid, phone in hand. I giggled at a picture that had been posted - I was so wasted my pants were around my ankles. If I was drinking, you could be damn sure I was sinking the ship, and taking my liver with me.

When my not sober brain had convinced me I was recovered enough to leave the stall, I stumbled out of the restrooms and toward the same green doors I had watched everyone leave through. The nightclub was almost empty, a few lone people still sitting at the bar, one on the ground her hair splayed around her, dress around her breasts. I smiled, head slipping to the side and strutted out, at least it felt like I was strutting.

I unlocked my phone, draining my final five percent power on replying to numerous comments on my picture. I pouted when the screen went blank. The security guard looked at me, alone on the step, hair draped down my shoulder and touching my thighs. "You alright to get home Elise?"

I responded by humming, and waving my arm around, hand displaying a thumbs up. I was a regular, and this was a recurring conversation. "I'm super Eddie," I stuttered. Eddie chuckled and went back inside, leaving me alone. The heels I'd adorned for the night seemed like a worse idea as the seconds ticked by, I kicked them off and threw them beside me with my phone. I had no phone to call a cab, and even if I did, I had no money to pay said cab. Against my mother's best advice, I stood, pulled my dress from between my underwear and buttocks before gathering my possessions and walking toward what I hoped was my house.

This wasn't the first time I'd walked home after a night out, but it was the first time I'd done it solo. It felt oddly empowering. I glanced at an older house, out of place in our modern town and frowned. That was where I'd lost my virginity; to an all around nice guy, except when it came to returning calls, and sticking around. I pushed the memory aside and focused on placing one bare foot in front of the other.

In comparison to the harsh sidewalk with pebbles embezzled in it, the heels seemed like a good idea again. I dropped – very sloppily – to the ground and strapped myself back in. The realisation that I had a dress on that had fallen – giving the world a very clear view – came when I received a cat call from a taxi filled with boys I vaguely recognised. I hitched it over myself and stood back up, relying heavily on a concrete garden bed.

I was fairly confident my house wasn't much further, and that I could cut the time down by going via the local arena. With a renewed sense of confidence, I powered on, falling only once. Since there was no show tonight, the arena was abandoned, and the side alley pitch black. With all the liquid courage I needed still swirling in my veins I kept going. It was about half way through that my basal need to protect myself kicked in – it was that or the drunken hysteria I was prone too. I shivered in my spaghetti strap dress and began crying, certain I was about to die.

Likea true movie scene, something beside the dumpster moved, and I shrieked. The scream lasted a second before a man stepped out. "Could you please be quiet,"an English accent taunted. I still couldn't see any defining features, aside from his figure. The guy was slim, but muscled, and fairly tall. A long mop of wavy hair had been tied above his head in a bun. The man stepped closer, his face now illuminated by the moonlight. This wasn't a homeless man, although sometimes his looks suggested he was. In a drunken state, makeup smudged, and shoes scuffed, I was in front of Harry Styles.