The Wrong Indian Flag | LGBTQ+[ON HOLD]

|4.1| a thing of the past

The entire room shakes as the music and beats pounds through it. It is like a thrumming heart, the people dancing to it, its blood. Neon lights cut through the room, pink and blue, often mixing to cast some of the room in vibrant violet shades. It makes sense why they call this club the Violet Room. The dance floor is full of people swaying against each other or jumping up and down, their thighs and foreheads slick with sweat with their hair flying everywhere. Guys grind against girls who grind against girls who grind against guys. It was an all-people-welcome-and-friendly club.

Facing the DJ booth is the bar, with the chairs glowing ethereally as the lights under them shine. Behind the chair and bar table, rows and rows of drinks catch the light and glimmer; the clear ones of vodka and dark, honey-gold of beer and more.

I cannot believe the fake ID worked. But I suppose the makeup that makes me look way older than sixteen and the dress Nisha let me borrow, was enough to convince the bouncer to let us in.

And boy, is it a se-xy dress. Black and short, it covers my breasts and then cuts slightly on the sides. On top, it is a deep v cut, with spaghetti straps that I tied around the back of my neck. The back was a big hole, with just enough fabric to cover my ass. My long, half-dyed brown hair is curled slightly and pulled into a tight ponytail that hits my mid-back with the extensions. The accompanying five-inch heels completed the look. Bright cherry lips, dark eyeshadow, and glowing highlighter smear my face. I look like a stripper.

A stripper who is currently grasping her girlfriend's hand like she is my lifeline. Nisha's hands feel smooth and warm beneath mine, her nails grazing my knuckles. Noticing how hard I am holding onto her, she turns towards me with a red-lipped smile on her face.

"Don't be scared, Alisha. It's just a club."

I have to strain my ears to hear her. Pulling her closer to me, so she can feel my breath lick the shell of her ear, I scream, "I know. But it's my first time. What if...what if we're caught?"

As opposed to the standard, 'rich girl' stereotype, I have never snuck into a club to drink. I've only drunk at parties when it wasn't football and dance season, and I rarely drank anything but beer or mild vodka. Until Nisha.

Her dark lips twist into a smirk, her thick eyebrows arching superiorly. "We won't be, baby. And if we are, we can just flash the security and run!"

I gape at her and she laughs.

"Kidding, baby. What do you say? You ready to have your real first drink at a club?"

"I guess."

My throat bobs as I take in all the people with clothes shorter than mine. All of them are loads older than me, Nisha included. She is eighteen but manages to look a bomb-ass 23 in her red off-shoulder dress. I feel like a fraud and I am surely going to be caught.