✔Sᴇx. ✔Aʟᴄᴏʜᴏʟ. ✔Dʀᴜɢs.
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"This shit way too formal, ya'll know I don't follow suit."
The strobe lights crackled against the sides of blurred faces, streams of light slashing through the haze that clung to the low hanging ceiling.
"Stacey Dash, most of these girls ain't got a clue."
Flashes of white and red refracted against endless rows of heads thrumming to each rumble of the base. Out from the sea of people, an occasional plume of smoke from someone's vape would filter up to the ceiling, spiraling into twirling shapes that would sway with the beat.
"All of these hoes I made off records I produced."
Dark. Wet. The night was close to cloaking everything- everything except for those in the crowd that consumed each other with every embrace. Each dip of the beat, they dug deeper, dropping down in sync and exchanging a mess of sweat, saliva, and regrets.
"I might take all my exes and put 'em all in a group."
Travis Scott was a great way to start a party, but Sicko Mode was a song to wind the party down. If Kaylah was in charge, she would have started with something like Sad! by XXXTentacion.
Trevor's party could use some help, but it wasn't the cluster fuck she thought it was going to be. If she could find him, she would give him credit where it was due, it was the least she could do for one of the few people that didn't hate her guts over some petty drama.
Sliding her way between the small and ever moving gaps through the dance floor, Kaylah made her way towards the bar. This was her fourth fucking beer. Where the hell was Bug Eyes at? Did he get last minute cold feet about this whole thing?
Downing half the can, Kaylah huffed out a sigh. She should have guessed. The goody two shoes would never have it in him to do half the things he needed to become a Monroe Elite.
It wasn't that she blamed him.
Far from that, really. If Kaylah was good at anything else, like academics for example, she would be spending her nights doing that. Yet, things like this was her scene and it was one of the few things she was good at besides charming people, which everyone at Monroe would disagree with about right about now. So, being an alcoholic was the only talent she had left, she supposed.
Yikes. This was getting depressing real quick; Kaylah needed a smoke.
A cigarette balanced between her lips as she made her exit, pushing through the swarm of people coming in to catch a much needed breath of fresh, night air. It was too damn humid, and hopefully someone outside had a lighter that didn't have an irrational hate for her.
If they did, they sure were nice about it. Left and right they declined her with gentle smiles and apologies until she reached the back of the line and outer yard of the house.
