Short stories

5

I grimace with every creak in the floorboards. I finally reach the restroom down the long hallway and the weight on my shoulders floats away. I lock the door and lay against the door. The music is faint but the bass is still slightly shaking the room.
I. Hate. Parties. My hand tugs on my hair. Why did I let my friends convince me to come here. If you could even call them that. I look at myself in the mirror. I stare at my reflection. Smeared mascara, hands shaking, and finally I broke. With one teardrop came another, and another, and another. Tears become sobs. Sobs become screams.
I hate myself so much. Why do I even put myself into these situations. I reach into my purse that's sat upon the counter. I wipe away a tear as I pull out my flask. I quickly unscrew the top and chug the liquid it contained. My eyes squeezed shut and my tongue became dry from the bitterness of the vodka. Maybe drinking will make me even more empty than I already was.
It wasn't long before two or three songs passed. I let the alcohol set in. It wasn't enough to make me even buzzed. I decide to finally walk out of the bathroom. I make my way into the main room that was flooded with drunk and sweaty teenagers. I walked around the crowd and finally reached the bar.
Before the bartender even came to me I yelled, "Give me your strongest drink."
The quite muscular man nodded and began mixing the concoction. A few minutes passed and he finally rolled the drink towards me. I gulp it down in less than a few seconds. The world started to become dizzy but it wasn't enough. I lifted my hand and he began to make it again.
The cycle repeated. Raise hand, make drink, roll drink, chug drink, and start over. It wasn't until about 4 drinks later I was actually getting the results I wanted. My hands tingled and I didn't feel anything. Everything was hazy, but I didn't care. As long and I didn't feel pain, grief, sadness, anything, it was fine with me.