The Perks Of Being A Girl ♀ Zayn Malik

Perk 6 - Gracefulness

The Perks Of Being A Girl [Zayn Malik]

Perk 6 - Gracefulness

*

What the hell?

I don't know about you, but I really wanted to leave the place then.

Not only was it Marcel and Leeroy dancing, some other drunk people were dancing with them too.

Now I know why adults are disgusted with teenagers in clubs.

Shit.

I actually get them.

Stop it Veronica. 

Even though I agree 100%, doesn't mean I agree with them 100% on other confidential statements.

Leave, my subconscious said. But reality slapped me cold across the face, obviously indicating a hell no.

The daily life of Veronica Malik, ladies and gentlemen.

You couldn't even see what they were doing; it looked like they were having seizures.

Leeroy does better than Marcel, however. Marcel was whisked away in a sporadic chain of movements that nobody could ever guess what the hell he was doing.

I nearly puked; I needed to use the bathroom. The sight was sickening me.

I literally pushed people out of the way with my right hand. My left hand was covering my mouth, preventing the bile from escaping my mouth.

I have no clue why I was growing sick of this. Shouldn't I be like those other girls and drool dreamily over them instead?

Oh yeah, I'm not supposed to. Why?

1) I'm not a girl. I'm a decoy.

2) Have you seen Marcel and Leeroy before?!  

Once I finally deciphered the labyrinth of a mansion, I slammed the door shut and emptied my stomach.

Worst party ever.

Leave.

Okay, I thought, giving in to my consciousness.

I felt my way into my "bra" - I'm never going to live this down if the paparazzi found out - to be met by my fake boob.

Crap. Where the hell did my keys go?

I just remembered . . .

I locked them in the car. How in the world did I do that?

Guess I'm stuck here. No, I'm stuck here. Help!

Reality ruined my life.

Smoothing out my dress, I fixed my hair and looked in the mirror.

That was a nightmare. Me and the party.

I had to go downstairs - soon - or else, people will be "curious" of where I've "been" and more importantly, "whom" I've been with.

I blame social networking and stereotypical assumptions. 

I went downstairs - nearly vomiting in the process - to be met by Marilyn. Seriously? It just has to be her. 

"Veronica!" She squealed. If I wasn't wearing small ear plugs, I'd be deaf already. Not from the music, though. 

"So," she said, dragging out the word annoyingly long, "did you get some?" 

"No!" I yelled in her face. 

What? She deserved it. 

I left her there, dumbfounded - as if she wasn't dumb in the first place - and walked back to where Marcel and Leeroy were gracefully "dancing". 

Still suffocating. 

My timing is absolutely perfect - absolutely perfect. Just as I was about to run home in my four-inch heels (they're not cheap I promise, I learned it the hard way), Marcel just had to do the splits. 

Marcel? 

Splits?

Not a good combination. 

Nuh uh. 

In the same fucking process, not only did he rip his overalls completely in half (cheap), but he just had to dislocate his kneecap. 

Everyone ran away, literally. It was only Marcel and I in the room. 

I swear, this place is haunted. 

Sighing, I called the paramedics. I couldn't even hear the official talk on the other end, Marcel was screaming in pain in the background. 

When the paramedics came, all Marcel could squeak out was, "Thank you." 

You're not welcome.

*

I'm terribly sorry for all these crappy and short chapters. I basically have no inspiration whatsoever and I (kind of) have a life and I just can't. I'm trying to drag out the story, but it's hard :/

5 votes? <- I never get my votes :/

~ Jolie LaMontagne