I woke up to the sound of Brian, my older brother, shouting my name. I immediately felt a massive wave of nausea and a headache... Hangover. Last night there was a massive houseparty at my friend Mary's house and I got home at around 3 in the morning. God, I really have to calm down. I groaned and drifted off to sleep again. Then footsteps thudded up the stairs. My door slammed open. "Goooooodmorning sunshine! Get up it's late and I don't want you to be late for the gig tonight, knowing how long it takes you to get ready!" It was Brian, shouting in his thick British accent. Once again, I groaned and rubbed my eyes. "Alright alright, I'll get up... Besides how come you're so chirpy already? Calm down, it's bloody 4 o' clock... Wait what?! It's 4 o' clock?", I muttered. "You're right! It IS bloody 4 o' clock, all that partying isn't good for you Stace, honestly. Besides, I can't help my enthusiasm, it's SMILE's first gig in aaaaaages, remember? I faintly smiled and got out of bed. I gently hit him on the shoulder. "I don't remember a thing, I'm hungover Bri... But I'm sure you'll smash it, I'm sure of it" He grinned at me and joked: "I always smash it Stace, I'm pretty much a rock God now" I scoffed. "Rock god?! Christ, hold your horses" We laughed. Brian's in a band called "SMILE" he plays the guitar, and two of his friends Tim and Roger are in the band too. Tim's frontman and plays the bass, and then there's Roger, I'm convinced that he is a rock God. I mean, he's basically the hottest drummer that will ever exist? Anyway, he's beyond exited 'cuz they will be having a gig tonight in a club near college and it's the first time i' ll see them perform live. "Anyway i'll get changed now" i said. Brian nodded: "Make sure you're on time, the gig starts at 6. And you can dress fancy if you like, it's a rather flamboyant club" he said in a posh manner. I rolled my eyes and chuckled "That's 2 bloody hours to get ready, as if I won't make it on time... It's only a gig Bri, not a fucking concert at Wembley." My brother laughed at me, "Knowing how long you take looking in the mirror... Just sayin" "Don't you have any practicing to do? You're getting on my nerves!" I exclaimed. "Alright alright grumpy chops, but remember: 6 pm!" he said while leaving my room. I walked over to my wardrobe and picked my outfit for tonight. Red flared trousers, a floral blouse and my dusty pink platform sandals. Like many pieces of clothing I own, the floral blouse was from Biba, the shop Mary works at. I put my outfit aside and stood In front of the mirror. I looked at the state I was in. Massive bags under my honey brown eyes, hair full of knots, my cheeks full of streaks and smudges of mascara and eyeliner... I was a mess. I smelled my shirt I still had on from the party last night. I smelled of strong booze, smoke and sweat. Time for a shower. I took my clothes with me to the bathroom and immediately got in the shower. I instantly felt better and the awful hangover faded away. When I was done showering I put on the outfit and brushed my dark brown wavy hair. It was a frizzy mess, so I put it up in a ponytail with a black scrunchie. I washed my face, admiring each and every little freckle on my face. That was basically the only thing I really liked about myself: my freckles. Most people are ashamed of freckles, but I think it's nonsense. You should embrace them. Then i put on some makeup: consisting of bright red lipstick, thick eyeliner, and about a dozen layers of mascara. It is what it is, I thought to myself. Lastly I lightly sprayed some perfume on my wrists and on my collarbones. Vanilla and orange... Waaaaay better than the faint smell of sweat and alcohol.
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I runned downstairs and looked at the clock: 17:50 Perfect. I grabbed my car keys and my handbag and left the house.
