My Crooked Perfection

So, I woke up. I didn't know what in the hell was going on. I was grimey, my dress was missing, and... Holy shit... Who's arm was around me? I slept with someone?!

It started to come back to me. In bits and pieces kind of.

Oh yeah, Maddy's birthday party ...

I shifted, just barely, trying to see who's arm was wound around my waste.

It was some guy from my school. Out of all the guys that were at the party, I couldn't have hated who I saw more. Alex Mitchel. He was the bad ass of the school. Ditches, drugs, the whole "I don't care" attitude about everyone and everything. I cursed myself, untangling myself from Alex Mitchel and got up, looking around.

Food was ALL over the walls. I mean, just nasty. Apple sauce, spaghetti, pudding, and some kinda nasty green stuff.

A memory hit me, resurfacing from the intoxicated mindset I'd been in only five or six hours ago.

"And in honor of the birthday girl..." I remembered someone announcing, and slinging a piece of cake at Maddie. She went in to the kitchen, found something and slung it back. And then all the sudden, everyone was engulfed in a giant food fight.

I looked around at the sleeping bodies scattered around on the floor. I spotted my dress, and tip toed across the room to it. I held it up to survey the damage. It smelled a bit like pot and vodka, but there were no stains or anything. I slipped it on over my head and walked around. Someone had been sticking post-it notes on everyone, saying mean things like "virgin" or "slut" or "bitchy". I walked around for several minutes, pulling all the paper off of their foreheads. No one even stirred.

I sighed, giving up on my finding shoes and going to find the bathroom instead. I found the door and knocked once, just to be sure and pushed the door open. There were three people passed out in the bathtub. I chuckled quietly and looked in the mirror.

My light blonde hair was sticking up every where and my make up... Let's not even talk about that. There was no food on me though, like there was everyone else. So I was pretty thankful for that much. I brushed out my hair, rinsed my mouth out with mouthwash, and took my make up off with a piece if toilet paper and water.

I walked around the house once more, searching for signs of wakefulness, but I came up empty handed. Guess everyone is cutting school today except for me.

I walked out through the back door in the kitchen, out into the yard. There was a police car, but it was uninhabited, so I'm guessing they actually attended the party. I chuckled again to myself. This party must've been bloody great, if only I could remember it...

Then, as I was walking down the street, I saw a couple, and the guy put his jacket on the girl. I smiled, admiring their public display of their relationship, when another piece if my fragmented memory resurfaced from the haze of my intoxication and smacked me in the face.

"Casey! Casey come here!" I was ducking on the floor, avoiding the food flying around the room, when I heard my name being called. I unshielded my eyes for a second and saw someone waving me towards them, peeking out from beneath the protection of a blanket. Me, being drunk and desperate to escape the food whirling around the room, I crawled obediently toward the voice. He pulled me under the blanket with him and pulled me into his lap. "I'll protect you," he whispers in my ear. Then I pulled back and looked into the face of none other than Alex Mitchel.

I scowled, yet again cursing myself. Who's bright idea was it to throw this stupid party? I stomped down the street, finally getting to my apartment building and climbing up the stairs to my suite and using the spare key under the mat to open the door.

I sneaked past the kitchen, where I was sure my dad was watching the morning news. I washed my hair in the sink(no time for a full shower) and changed my clothes, and applied quite a bit of perfume.

I took a few pain pills for my hang over and left to go to school.

I'm Casey Shultz. I'm 5.2" feet tall. I have dirty blonde hair. I don't have tits. I have an okay butt. I'm under 100 pounds. I'm 17. My mother is dead. My father is an abusive alcoholic. I have a slight eating disorder.

And this is the story of how my life got better.

This is my love story.

This is my crooked perfection.