Seventeen

5 - Poison

The drive itself was nauseating, like swallowing a spoonful of unwanted goo that my mother prepared for me for my first meal as a six month old baby. It felt disgusting in my tongue, a texture that I've never had before, as my head throbs, a sign that my brain wanted everything to stop.

I popped a mint in my mouth and gulped half of the contents inside my trusty water bottle. You know that feeling, when your mouth is all minty and you drink some water, and it tricks you into thinking that the water is ice cold but it really isn't? Like taking an anti-depressant for you to think that everything is fine when in reality it isn't? Humans are crazy. We literally invented a drug to artificially make us believe that we're happy.

I arrived at the party early, which was unusual, but it was almost nerve-wracking to pull up at the parking space thinking that I was already thirty minutes late, I really wasn't. I had decided to distract myself by coming into the bathroom to check if I looked okay, as the flock of early birds eyed me almost suspiciously when I entered through the big doors. I adjusted the too-tight silver headpiece on my head and ran my fingers through the curls of my hair too many times before deciding that it was enough. I looked enough.

I knew that something was up when it was my friend's turn to walk into the big doors. Everyone was cheering, the music was too loud, and the air felt different on my skin. I almost knew what it was.

It felt weird to realize that I knew almost no one when we got to the part where nothing was planned. The program was over, people were starting to pile out of the function room to head down to the after party, and I knew that I was expected by my friend to be there as well. The lights were a lot darker than it was from when the party had started, and the buzz of the air was more noticeable. I let my heels make a beeline towards the corner of the room where my friend was, surrounded by strangers who were about my age, maybe older. It was odd, but it felt okay to be there.

The thing is, when you're not entirely familiar with someone, you'd usually pop the question: What's your poison? The look on their faces would either light up in excitement or be confused with a hint of shock, or maybe stronger than just a hint, depending on how you phrase your answer. You are always expected to have an answer ready once you arrive at the table of hell, but there I was, on that corner, with a bunch of strangers, expecting the question to arrive so that they could believe my shitty white lie of a response. The peer pressure was definitely present in the room as everyone had their glasses of poison.

I was shocked when all of a sudden, a small shot glass was passed onto my hand. It was pink and purple, swirled into something I wasn't entirely familiar with. I wish I could stress the word entirely. It took me less than a second to let the substance flood down my throat. It felt good.

I had always been told by my mother, every single time that we exit the church doors, she'd tell me to never try the devil's poison. I was told of its dangers to the insides of your body, your soul, your mind. I was determined, with all of my life, to obey that rule. But I was also really interested in breaking rules.

I've tried glitter, at this point, what's the harm in a little bit of poison?

A tiny glass turned into two, three, four... Until I was unable to count. The ground started to spin and the songs started to make sense. My makeup was smeared all over my face, and the all too familiar scent of poison was stuck in my mouth.

And the worst part of it all was, the tattoo of regret stuck on my skin forever.

- "Poison", September 19