Runaways ~m.c

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Somehow I've managed to go a week without seeing my mom. She was only supposed to be gone two days, it's been a week. She won't be home until next week and I honestly think I may break down if I don't get out of this apartment.

I drag myself off the couch and go to my bedroom. I flip the light switch; the light fills my plain room. The pale blue walls seem dull and the white furnishing becomes too bright. The lamp at my desk makes the room much better after turning it on and the overhead off. Now step one: Pick an outfit.

This task is so much easier than it should be. I own countless pairs of jeans and plain shirt to band shirts. I honestly don't care how dressed up or dressed down I may look, I just like being myself. Though tonight, I want something different. The weather is wonderful and warm, so I decide on black shorts that hug me nicely and a white crop top with different places printed on the front. I go to my ever so reliable converses and the bracelet my mom got me from Vegas a few years ago. Step one is complete.

Step two: Makeup and hair.

This takes much longer. I straighten my hair so it lies perfectly flat. That's the easy part. My makeup routine is what the hard part is. Usually I would put some concealer and mascara on and go. Tonight isn't one of those nights. It takes me about three tries to get the perfect winged eyeliner and then four tries for the other eye. I apply some mascara and lip gloss. Step two is complete.

Step three: Leave.

Of course this is the easiest part. I grab my purse with my I.D and keys to the apartment then I go. Walking down the road I call a cab. It amazes me that even though I live close to Venice Beach that I can get a cab so easily. The driver doesn't even try to make a conversation while he takes me down town. I don't mind it though; I'm perfectly fine with being quiet for a while. Step three is complete.

The club is already wild at ten o'clock when I walk in. I almost want to laugh at the security guard who let me in without checking my I.D. I'm not twenty one yet so it's illegal for me to be here, but looking around I don't think I'm the only eighteen year old around. Tonight must be a wild night.

"Have a drink," a male comes up to me handing me a red cup. He has green eyes and lilac hair. I take the drink and speak a small thank you and make my way to the bar. I dump the drink, who would actually drink some unknown substance that could possibly be drugged? I'm not that dumb.

"Just give me something strong," I tell the bartender and he goes to make whatever it is. I glance around at the others sitting at the bar. An old man probably in his 60's sits alone smoking a cigar sipping from a full glass. He looks straight out the seventies. So cliché maybe, but I find it very vintage looking. I always find myself wondering what strangers stories could be. Does he even have a story?

"Aw, why aren't you drinking what I gave you?" The lilac haired boy is back and disrupting my thoughts of the old man and his possible stories.

"See that was your first mistake. You can't just hand someone a cup full of who knows what and expect them to drink it. You could have drugged it. A nice hi or hello would have been better." I tell him trying not to sound too sarcastic. Well, as toned down as I can be.

"What's your name?" He asks me.

"Here's your drink ma'am." The bartender hands me it and I leave the money to him.

"Victoria, and no you cannot call me anything shorter." I say taking my drink and going to the dance floor. I find my way through the sweaty bodies and luckily find an empty seat. Honestly I don't like to dance and party, but I do like to drink and laugh at them. Usually someone will find their way over here with me and try to make jokes, which usually suck, but I always try my best to get them to leave me alone.