Trust No Bitch: Part 1

Cleo King: Friday, 13th June, 2015

Lines of white powder. Muted lights. Rolled up 50s. A snort. Euphoria.

The mundane trappings of everyday life had a soporific effect on Cleo King. She had always been the kind of woman who lived in a world of sporadic lows and unshakeable highs. Favouring plots and sensations over sentiments, attachments. Everything she had in her life, she possessed because it made her feel a certain way. She whipped her head up, rubbed her nose on an emaciated arm and sniffed again, tilting her head up in front of the mirror to check for residue on the rim of her nostrils.

"Perfect." She whispered to her reflection with a smirk, commenting on both what she saw and the blissful high that had just hit. Tucking the packet of powder back into her bra, she then sashayed out of the bathroom and towards the living room of her friend Lilly's flat. It was as she picked up the 3 bottles of Smirnoff left on the side and balanced them between 3 fingers, that the strait of the corridor opened up into a vast, ornately-decorated rectangular room. Upon fully entering it, she raised the bottles triumphantly above her head, silently surveying the group of women sprawled across the living room, before making her declaration.

"Ladies." She said loudly, her smile broad; her call to attention was reminiscent of a queen commanding her kingdom. "Tonight...We are going to royally fuck shit up." Of the four, two gazed up at her, starry-eyed. The other nodded in agreement, with an eager grin upon her face. The last, who was applying mascara in the mirror, had her back turned. She put the wand down, and eyed Cleo wearily over her shoulder before marching over, snatching the bottles out of Cleo's hand.

"I think you are "fucked up"-" She embellished the words "fucked up" with some not so subtle air quotes, "-enough already, Cleo." This was Alice Jenkins. She was Cleo's favourite little problem. An erudite drug addict, who masked her hamartias with books, blazers and bossiness. She was almost certainly more intelligent than everyone she met, assiduous to the point of obsessive, and nearly always right. Alice sighed as put the drinks on the side and inspected the dark circles under her eyes in the mirror.

"Lilly, have you got concealer I can borrow? I look like I was up all night shagging death." She asked, frowning at her reflection.

"Yeah of course, it's in my bedroom." One of the other women replied quietly with a wave of the hand, Alice disappearing down the corridor to retrieve it. Cleo smiled to herself, waiting until Alice was almost out of view to make a comment; Despite her best efforts to hide it, Alice had been experiencing withdrawal symptoms for the past week. Cleo couldn't help but marvel at how well Alice had managed to conceal it all: The extreme fatigue, scorched-looking eyes, and perpetual sheen that graced the forehead of someone going cold turkey. Most people wouldn't realise but anybody who had experienced the symptoms themselves, as Cleo had, could recognise them almost instantly, regardless of how many layers of concealer the sufferer plastered on. Cleo, a casual user, was strong enough to get through the symptoms; Alice, on the other hand, she knew not to be.

"Are you sure you're okay, Alice? You do seem a bit under the weather." Cleo called after her with false concern, Alice walking back round the corner to look her in the eye.

"I'm fine." She said stiffly, glaring at Cleo. "Why would you ask that?"

"Really? Because me and Gemma were saying-"

"We were?" One of the other women said under her breath, with a puzzled glance from Cleo to Alice.

"Yeah, we were. Do you not remember? We were just saying Al seems really worn out, right? Like, not in a bitchy way or anything. We're just concerned."

"Well, don't be. I'm fine. Completely fine." Alice retorted, disappearing round the corner again as Cleo sniggered. She turned round to Gemma Akintola, the woman whom she had utilised moments before to irritate Alice, expecting to see her confused about why an entire conversation had just been made up. It seemed, however, that she had moved on; already, Gemma's attention had transferred itself onto the drinks that Cleo had just brought into the room.