Everyone Likes the Bad Girl

I'm not 'lady', I am Seraphiel

I internally groaned at Dalton's smiling face.

How the hell do you get out of this?

Dalton's face was puzzled. He opened his mouth to say something, probably once he saw how my face had looked. I imagine it was an equilibrium between disgust and regret.

Oops?

Before he could let a word out, I nearly shouted with my damaged throat, due to panic. "I need to pee." Was all I could say as I shuffled to the bathroom with my dress barely hanging on my skin. Once the restroom door was between me and him, I sized myself up in the mirror. I nearly laughed at how ridiculous I looked.

My maroon strands were sticking up with knots on the top of my head, giving my hair a bird's-nest image; my black dress was falling over one shoulder, completely unzipped in the back and folding into itself; my brown eyes looked more like a raccoon's than a human's at the moment, and my shoes were nowhere in sight. In order to tidy myself up a bit, I splashed some water on my face, using a wash cloth to run off the excess makeup. Then, after zipping up my kind-of-not-exactly-anymore comfortable dress, I did my best at finger combing some of my disaster. Unsurprisingly, I couldn't untangle all of it, so I tied it in a loose bun that stayed obediently behind my head. Once I looked normal, at the least, I brought my one track mind on another track.

Steph.

I haven't seen her since last night. Was she safe? Where was she?

Phone.

Using my hands, I felt around my dress pockets (yes, my blessed dress had pockets) until I found my cell phone, which I then found sixteen missed calls, 23 missed text messages, and about eight voicemails that each where about two minutes long. I went straight to the text messages; 22 from Steph, one from Dan.

I looked at Dan's first. I knew the reason for texting me wasn't as urgent as Steph's reason, but I checked his anyway.

Can we talk?

I thought about it. I thought about it more. I guessed talking to him wouldn't hurt, and replied with a swift,

Later.

Then I went to Steph. Basically, they were just asking where I was and that she was in the car outside and she had my jacket and my keys and she needed to be at work at 1 and it's 12:45 and- oh.

I scanned the room for an exit. On the back wall was a small window, about the height of my waist and the size of my butt. Fortunately, yet unfortunately, my butt was pretty big. It wasn't locked, but it was hard to open, I found out. Nevertheless, it was openable, and now it was opened. I whisper-counted to three, mentally preparing myself for the climb.

"One-" I pressed my hands on the windowsill. "Two-" I practiced little hops, getting into a rhythm in order to have some momentum. "Three-" I grunted as I struggled to lift myself onto the high platform. Eventually, my body got itself up, but now it was exhausted. I sat on the sill for a few more seconds as I caught my breath.

"Everything alright in there?" Dalton's voice almost gave me cardiac arrest.

"Yeah, I'm- I'm fine. Just cleaning up." I shouted breathily, my throat still burning from whatever I did last night.

Dalton said something else, but I was outside by the time he finished another sentence. My legs folded from underneath me when I landed from the first story floor window, which caused my whole body to roll in the dewy green grass. Once I'd recovered, I sprinted to my car in the front yard, and in a matter of seconds, I was knocking on the shotgun seat of Steph's car. Stephanie sat in the drivers seat with blood-shot eyes and pale skin. She reluctantly unlocked the door, and I practically dove in, sighing in relief.