I hate parties. As soon as I arrived home on Tuesday afternoon, a feeling of dread and pure regret washed over me like a small tsunami. I needed this energy-drilling getting ready process to be as uninterrupted as possible.
I stood at my wardrobe, throwing clothes continuously onto the bed in frustration. Being a girl is damn hard: you're forever expected to be the definition of immaculate, even if your true form is an unattractive panda bear with fatigue ridden eyelids and a humongous appetite.
Subsequently, I struggled to button up a green and navy flannel shirt, which I tucked into uncomfortably-tight black jeans. Before pulling over my usual, dull coat, I glanced over at the luminous red display of the alarm-clock perched beside my baby cactus and mountainous pile of Maths homework.
Minutes ticked by, formally from seconds. I had fallen into a trance via the flickering of numbers, as if I was there, but I wasn't (apparently, an antidepressant side effect). My text tone drew me away. Pulling it from my charging port, I read two unread messages:
To: Alana James💓 From: Anonymous Friend💓
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To: Alana🌙 From: Riley🌵
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Without noticing, I was switching between text messages, pacing in parallel lines across my laminated flooring. I must've been doing this for a while, as my mum shouted up the stairs to me in concern - "are you sure you don't need any help with your outfit?" - I shook her off, insisting that nothing was wrong.
Everything was wrong. I'd been thrown into the unknown, clutching desperately onto two friends. The text from anonymous indicated many ideas, sending them in wild streaks through my brain. The areas were as followed: 1) she was closer than I thought she would be and 2) she would be within my field of existence tonight, and I don't know how comfortable I was with that.
Was I comfortable with the idea of anonymous friend being Rain? Was I comfortable with anonymous friend being anyone I knew at all?
Momentarily, my dad stood at the bottom of the spiral-staircase. He peered up into my bedroom, communicating the idea that it was time to leave. I grasped my phone, occasionally shooting directions at him. When we arrived, I kissed my dad on the cheek, just in case he believed I used him only for taxi-related purposes.
