Oh, Baby. I'm A Classic.
1/1
So maybe I'm a "cliché." So maybe I'm that girl that people say is unique, but in all truth I'm "uniquely" the same as a thousand other girls. But hell, sweetie. If you're lucky enough to meet me, you're sure as hell going to remember me.
It was another night of sex, drugs, music, alcohol, dancing, and any combination the five. I staggered through the doorway of my apartment, knocking into the frame before slamming the door and falling on the ground. On my back, staring at the ceiling, shielding my eyes from the sun coming in slanted through the windows.
Hangovers are a bitch.
After a few minutes in that position I managed to pull myself up and into my room, where I could change out of my clothes from yesterday and recover for tonight's excursion.
Once inside the safety of my dark, quiet room I slipped off my dress. I guess you could call it a "little black dress" but I'd say it was closer to "tiny" or "non-existent." There wasn't much to it, but it certainly left an impression. Falling elegantly to the ground in a silky heap, I left it next to the hamper, too dizzy to bend over and pick it up.
The sheets of my own bed felt good on my exposed skin. I examined the black—slightly shiny—pile on the floor by the door. It looked like a puddle, of what I didn't know. It could be blood turned black by the filtered lighting. It could be tears shed from a woman's eyes, battered and bruised, left alone in a strange bedroom, exposed and violated.
Damn, fatigue really brought out the morbid poet in me. If only the pen and paper was within arm's reach, I could be writing this down.
After analyzing a few more shadows in my room, I woke up. I wasn't aware that I had fallen asleep, but since the clock on my dresser said it was 8:30 p.m. it was obvious that the day had passed. Stretching a bit and extending my legs, I got out of bed. I somewhat remembered last night's events.
A club… A guy… No, there were quite a few. I only went home with one, though. There were drinks… Something with vodka, but the rest was hazy. And judging by my sore nose, there was probably cocaine involved, too. There almost always was.
With a groan I gave up on trying to remember. I'd be repeating it in a few hours, anyways. I somehow made it to the bathroom, a miracle. I leaned over the sink and hung my head, preparing myself to look up into the mirror.
Mustering all my courage, I pulled my head up to face my reflection. A strange thing gazed back at me. It was a gorgeous girl, but in terrible shape. Waved brown hair hung over her exposed shoulders, frizzy and unbrushed. Her make-up was smeared and eye looked tired. She wore only a lacey bra and matching underwear. She looked like she was falling apart.
"No, I am falling apart." I corrected my own thoughts out loud. Another flash, and I was in the shower. Once again, I'm not sure how. Thankfully the hot water pulled me from my haze. It ran over my shoulders, chest and down my legs. It felt good. Like I was washing off the guilt of the night before.
I flickered again, and was suddenly out and drying my legs, stomach, arms, neck, hair with a towel. The clock now said 9:15, an acceptable time to start getting ready.
A red dress and cab ride later, I walked into the club with ease. Bouncers were easy. Somehow fitting into the grinding, groping, dancing mob wasn't. I walked alone into the crowd. Why bother with a date, when I can find one there? Slipping past the ugly, desperate and rhythmically challenged I found someone worthy this piece of ass. He was with a girl, but that could be changed.
And it was. Soon enough we were dancing, he was buying drinks, and after a few of those I once again jumped forward to the future. We were in the back of a cab, and getting a head start on what was bound to happen once we got to his apartment. And then we were in the door. Down the hallway. In the bedroom. Clothes were falling. Lips were smashing.
And then I woke up. Yeah, this time I remembered falling asleep. It was a dream, of course. I wasn't in a guy's bed, or a shadowy room with silky black puddles. Nope it was my bed, with no shadows. Just an alarm going off and band posters staring at me. Yeah, I'm a cliché. I'm a girl dreaming of the life of a woman. Oh, baby. I'm a classic. Just like that little black dress.
It was another night of sex, drugs, music, alcohol, dancing, and any combination the five. I staggered through the doorway of my apartment, knocking into the frame before slamming the door and falling on the ground. On my back, staring at the ceiling, shielding my eyes from the sun coming in slanted through the windows.
Hangovers are a bitch.
After a few minutes in that position I managed to pull myself up and into my room, where I could change out of my clothes from yesterday and recover for tonight's excursion.
Once inside the safety of my dark, quiet room I slipped off my dress. I guess you could call it a "little black dress" but I'd say it was closer to "tiny" or "non-existent." There wasn't much to it, but it certainly left an impression. Falling elegantly to the ground in a silky heap, I left it next to the hamper, too dizzy to bend over and pick it up.
The sheets of my own bed felt good on my exposed skin. I examined the black—slightly shiny—pile on the floor by the door. It looked like a puddle, of what I didn't know. It could be blood turned black by the filtered lighting. It could be tears shed from a woman's eyes, battered and bruised, left alone in a strange bedroom, exposed and violated.
Damn, fatigue really brought out the morbid poet in me. If only the pen and paper was within arm's reach, I could be writing this down.
After analyzing a few more shadows in my room, I woke up. I wasn't aware that I had fallen asleep, but since the clock on my dresser said it was 8:30 p.m. it was obvious that the day had passed. Stretching a bit and extending my legs, I got out of bed. I somewhat remembered last night's events.
A club… A guy… No, there were quite a few. I only went home with one, though. There were drinks… Something with vodka, but the rest was hazy. And judging by my sore nose, there was probably cocaine involved, too. There almost always was.
With a groan I gave up on trying to remember. I'd be repeating it in a few hours, anyways. I somehow made it to the bathroom, a miracle. I leaned over the sink and hung my head, preparing myself to look up into the mirror.
Mustering all my courage, I pulled my head up to face my reflection. A strange thing gazed back at me. It was a gorgeous girl, but in terrible shape. Waved brown hair hung over her exposed shoulders, frizzy and unbrushed. Her make-up was smeared and eye looked tired. She wore only a lacey bra and matching underwear. She looked like she was falling apart.
"No, I am falling apart." I corrected my own thoughts out loud. Another flash, and I was in the shower. Once again, I'm not sure how. Thankfully the hot water pulled me from my haze. It ran over my shoulders, chest and down my legs. It felt good. Like I was washing off the guilt of the night before.
I flickered again, and was suddenly out and drying my legs, stomach, arms, neck, hair with a towel. The clock now said 9:15, an acceptable time to start getting ready.
A red dress and cab ride later, I walked into the club with ease. Bouncers were easy. Somehow fitting into the grinding, groping, dancing mob wasn't. I walked alone into the crowd. Why bother with a date, when I can find one there? Slipping past the ugly, desperate and rhythmically challenged I found someone worthy this piece of ass. He was with a girl, but that could be changed.
And it was. Soon enough we were dancing, he was buying drinks, and after a few of those I once again jumped forward to the future. We were in the back of a cab, and getting a head start on what was bound to happen once we got to his apartment. And then we were in the door. Down the hallway. In the bedroom. Clothes were falling. Lips were smashing.
And then I woke up. Yeah, this time I remembered falling asleep. It was a dream, of course. I wasn't in a guy's bed, or a shadowy room with silky black puddles. Nope it was my bed, with no shadows. Just an alarm going off and band posters staring at me. Yeah, I'm a cliché. I'm a girl dreaming of the life of a woman. Oh, baby. I'm a classic. Just like that little black dress.
♠ ♠ ♠
There ya' go!