Blonde Ivory

#10: Macha Emerson-Cleary

Macha Levay-Fitzgilbert: (Bassist of Blonde Ivory)

My body goes through an assortment of random twitches and pulses before I tune back into reality and fall slack against the bed. My breath comes out in sporadic breaths and I somehow manage to let out a throaty laugh. This time it wasn't too bad. It wasn't the best, but I have definitely had worse. If I had to rate it on a scale of one to ten, it would be a solid six.

The dark-skinned boy clambers off my body and tosses me my shirt from off the ground and a micro-fiber towel. "Thanks," I chuckle, though I'm not sure if I'm talking about the sex, the fact that he pulled out expertly, or the that he threw me a towel afterward because some of the guys I fuck don't even bother with that common courtesy. He shakes his head and quickly dresses. Without another word, he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

I'm left alone in a dark room with the bass thumping from the first floor against my feet, and I have no choice but to wipe the white substance off my stomach before it dries and redress in my uncomfortable leather pants. Sometimes I regret my party attire and other times I pass out before I remember what I wore.

"Nevermind then. Guess I'll go find another suitor for round two." I sigh to myself. I never usually have to do that. Most of the time, I successfully get drunk enough to pass out after drinking so much and having a satisfying lay. This time is not one of those times. I can still hear my thoughts and I can still feel my heart beating in my ears. The only solution is more alcohol.

I wait a few minutes before I leave the bedroom just in case anybody recognizes me or the boy I slept with. Mark has already been grilling me for the past few days about not being subtle enough with my one-night stands. In my defense, I can't just ask some random stranger to keep things low when they leave, especially if they don't recognize me as someone in the starlight right now. That would be way too embarrassing and I'm not usually the one to get embarrassed.

I'm met with the echoing of the music downstairs and almost like a predator, I look around at all the faces surrounding me to see if there's anybody I feel I could flatter. It's, of course, easier said than done. I half-smile at only the attractive people I see. The others drift into the background- my intoxicated mind quickly forgetting their unremarkable faces.

I finally find a girl I think is attractive enough. Brown hair, light brown skin, and big doe eyes. I walk up to her in what my mind registers as an enticing way. "Hey, I'm Macha." Before I can get much farther into my seducing, she is dragged away but a taller, beefier girl.

"She's not interested. She just got out of a relationship and is just here to drink. Thanks for the offer though." The other girl smiles sarcastically and my smile falls. That was awkward, but there are plenty of other people here who could be interested.

I make my way down the stairs and straight to the kitchen where people have decided to smoke weed and other substances instead of diving into the cheap beers and vodkas. I could be one of those people, but I've never been a fan of weed or crack. I hate the way it takes control of my mind. Alcohol does the same, but at least if I make a mistake, I'll probably be too intoxicated to remember it and I'll probably pass out. With weed, the high wears off in a few hours at most and if you make a mistake, you'll remember it. I would rather die than be burdened with one of my mistakes.

"You guys mind if I take this?" I ask referring to one of the small, stray bottles of vodka. Either the people I see don't care enough to answer or they're fragments of my imagination and intoxication. I shrug my shoulders and grab two. One gets stuffed in my pocket for later just in case I don't get drunk enough while I take shots out of the other immediately. I've been drinking so much tonight that I can barely feel the burning sensation in my throat.