Kiss Me Hard; Damn You!
Here I am, take me.
I was revived and still felt like dying, right after the little affair from the night club.
I don't do such things, never.
I paced the many many crowded streets tranquilly and peacefully, after a nice good fuck I got myself for a gift(big occasion : Valentine's day). No, I don't care about the fact they think I'm easy, slutty and whatever the hell. I am who I want and desire to be, a thing many people do not and most likely will never even dream of.
I creeped up the many stairs up to my matchbox-like apartment of mine like a blair witch. Like a spirit. I swear. I felt no physical exhaustion, like I should have had, as I smoke like I breathe. My house, carelessly thrown on a 6th floor on the most random is sometimes the kind of place you feel claustrophobic in, the kind of place you feel alone in at other times. As soon as I slammed my damn door shut, I allowed myself to slide to the floor, spread-legged, and started searching my purse like there's no tomorrow. So I guess I'm drunk - I'm talking shit. Pardon, thinking shit.
Finally, I find the damn cigarette pack - my beloved Marlboro 100's. Oh no. I just called some cigarettes beloved. I really am drunk. Lighter? Lighter! Aaah yes. I also manage to find my small black lighter with the red rose(ever so tacky).
I practically made the three cigarettes left in my pack disappear and slipped completely nude into my refreshing black silken covers.
I was awoken by some highly annoying sun rays only hours and hours later, late afternoon. Everything felt dry and painful, my head throbbed and I was close to crashing down with every step I took.
Finally, after a cold shower and three painkillers I could finally establish myself in a spot, without a continuous need to move because of pain. As I sat at my laptop, in front of my large window that peered over the monster city, on the screen constant beepings and funny colors appeared. Another instant-message thirsty person bothering my disturbing hangover. My older sister. I refuse to answer, so I soon turn off the computer. I don't get to relax and sit back much, admiring the stupidly busy city, because the cursed phone starts to ring. My annoying sister, again. I truly know and realize she means only well - but when someone doesn't answer on the Internet isn't it a definite sign that they don't wanna talk?
Anyways.
'Rose, I was worried. Why did you ignore my message?'
'Sorry,' I murmur not meaning it by a ball part 'I'm rather tired, I have been at a party last night.' I tell her, annoyed by her using my name at that time and situation. 'Something with business...' I say, not lying.
'Should have thought you're having a hangover. Honestly, Rose, if you had a relationship, you wouldn't have to get drunk to have fun.'
'Sorry, I have to go. It's my boss on the other line.'
'Sure - ' but I don't allow her to finish her ego centrist line, the one she always puts out, about her perfectly perfect her life is. Then again, I'm not in my best mood, and am going totally ironical and unbearable(am I ever in a different mood?). 'Hey Sebastian.'
'Majestic Hotel, room 1406, tonight 10 o'clock. Be stylish.'
'Like always, Sebastian.' I say rather bitterly as I press 'Close' and throw the phone onto my king size bed.
That was my best friend, and this is me. Rose Wexler, mostly known as Rose,whore escort lady, and this is my life.
I don't do such things, never.
I paced the many many crowded streets tranquilly and peacefully, after a nice good fuck I got myself for a gift(big occasion : Valentine's day). No, I don't care about the fact they think I'm easy, slutty and whatever the hell. I am who I want and desire to be, a thing many people do not and most likely will never even dream of.
I creeped up the many stairs up to my matchbox-like apartment of mine like a blair witch. Like a spirit. I swear. I felt no physical exhaustion, like I should have had, as I smoke like I breathe. My house, carelessly thrown on a 6th floor on the most random is sometimes the kind of place you feel claustrophobic in, the kind of place you feel alone in at other times. As soon as I slammed my damn door shut, I allowed myself to slide to the floor, spread-legged, and started searching my purse like there's no tomorrow. So I guess I'm drunk - I'm talking shit. Pardon, thinking shit.
Finally, I find the damn cigarette pack - my beloved Marlboro 100's. Oh no. I just called some cigarettes beloved. I really am drunk. Lighter? Lighter! Aaah yes. I also manage to find my small black lighter with the red rose(ever so tacky).
I practically made the three cigarettes left in my pack disappear and slipped completely nude into my refreshing black silken covers.
I was awoken by some highly annoying sun rays only hours and hours later, late afternoon. Everything felt dry and painful, my head throbbed and I was close to crashing down with every step I took.
Finally, after a cold shower and three painkillers I could finally establish myself in a spot, without a continuous need to move because of pain. As I sat at my laptop, in front of my large window that peered over the monster city, on the screen constant beepings and funny colors appeared. Another instant-message thirsty person bothering my disturbing hangover. My older sister. I refuse to answer, so I soon turn off the computer. I don't get to relax and sit back much, admiring the stupidly busy city, because the cursed phone starts to ring. My annoying sister, again. I truly know and realize she means only well - but when someone doesn't answer on the Internet isn't it a definite sign that they don't wanna talk?
Anyways.
'Rose, I was worried. Why did you ignore my message?'
'Sorry,' I murmur not meaning it by a ball part 'I'm rather tired, I have been at a party last night.' I tell her, annoyed by her using my name at that time and situation. 'Something with business...' I say, not lying.
'Should have thought you're having a hangover. Honestly, Rose, if you had a relationship, you wouldn't have to get drunk to have fun.'
'Sorry, I have to go. It's my boss on the other line.'
'Sure - ' but I don't allow her to finish her ego centrist line, the one she always puts out, about her perfectly perfect her life is. Then again, I'm not in my best mood, and am going totally ironical and unbearable(am I ever in a different mood?). 'Hey Sebastian.'
'Majestic Hotel, room 1406, tonight 10 o'clock. Be stylish.'
'Like always, Sebastian.' I say rather bitterly as I press 'Close' and throw the phone onto my king size bed.
That was my best friend, and this is me. Rose Wexler, mostly known as Rose,whore escort lady, and this is my life.