365 Days.

I groan softly at the voice and turn my head,
trying to get away from the light that pierces into my eyes.

A few light slaps hit my face.
I flinch,
whimper,
and curl into a ball.
“Go away,”
I somewhat manage to moan.

My head hurts,
it pounds,
and my eyelids are too heavy to open.

“Wake up!”

Whoever the person insisting for me to wake up is,
they are pretty damn stubborn.

A few more slaps greet my numb cheeks.

“Fucking piece of shit,
open your eyes, you!”

This time I obey,
opening my eyes and look up at the blurred image of a girl.

She’s got frizzy brown hair,
and her piercing brown eyes drive daggers into me.
Her wrists are covered in all sorts of bracelets,
her shirt is a loose tank top with a few holes for style,
and ripped skinny jeans.
A brown satchel bag is slung over her shoulder.
Behind her I see a clock.
It’s six in the morning.

I sit up and frown,
looking around.
“Where am I?”

The girl rolls her eyes,
stands up.
“About time you came to.
I was starting to get worried I’d have to call the ambulance.
You guys made this shithole of a place even worse,
what the hell were you doing?
Raising demons?”

I remember briefly the pounding music,
the screams of laughter,
the chanting at midnight as the group in the club got in a circle,
hands on shoulders,
swaying too and fro over some candles and what looked like an Ouija board made out of paper.

“Something like that.”

The girl kicks a chair out of the way.

I flinch as it hits something,
causing loud noise to erupt and worsen my headache.
I moan in pain.

“What’s wrong?”
She walks over and puts her hand on my head,
looks me in the eyes.
“You’re hung over darl,
never been hung over before?”

I shake my head.
“No,”
I whisper,
cringing at more discomfort.

She lightly chuckles then rummages around in her bag,
humming softly,
before pulling out some pills.

I eye them warily,
somewhat remembering what they did to me last night.

“Painkillers.
Trust me.
Look.”
She pops one in her mouth and drinks it down with water.

When I’m sure she’s not about to get high,
I take two and drink them down as well.
After a few seconds,
I start to feel better.

I try to move,
but pain flares up everywhere and I give up at the attempt.
The most discomfort comes from somewhere I usually wouldn’t expect.

“My butt,
it hurts.”
I mumble.

“That’s probably cause you’ve had sex with someone,
don’t tell me you didn’t know?
Oh lord,
you’re not a newbie to this,
are you?”
She quirks a brow,
stands and continues to clean.

“What?”
My eyes fly open.
“I what?
I had sex with someone?
It can’t be,
I’d never!”

The girl shrugs,
“See for yourself,”
and gestures to the mirror.

This time when I stand,
I’m able to move,
and as I approach the mirror,
my eyes widen at my own reflection.

I’ve got bags under my eyes,
a tired look to my face,
and just in general I look wasted.

But my neck is what strikes me most.
It’s covered in bites.
Up and down.
I tug at my shirt,
moving aside the ripped collar and watch the bites trail further down the skin.

My virginity,
lost,
gone,
just like that.

I cry out in a wail and sink to the ground.

The girl comes over,
“Hey,”
she says softly and puts a hand on my shoulder,
“It’s okay.
Worst that can happen is that you’re probably infected with some STD or something.”

I look at her and whine some more.
“What am I supposed to do?
My father will murder me.”

She only shrugs and holds her hand out,
“The name’s Kenzie.”

~ * ~

I didn’t think it could be worse,
but when we walked out of the hall we had used as a club,
I couldn’t even recognize where we were.

“Where are we?”
I question as I watch her lock the door.

“Gauze Street,”
she replies casually.

I do a double take,
stopping in my tracks.
“Where?”

“Gauze Street,”
Kenzie swings the gate shut and locks it,
“You know,
the down part of downtown.”

I can only stare at her.
Gauze Street?
The pounding music returns from my memory and I cover my eyes,
“Shit.
Holy shit!”

“There’s nothing holy about shit,
and I don’t see shining crap anywhere.”
She folds her arms,
“Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“My father’s going to kill me!”
I continue,
ignoring her.

“You happened to mention that earlier,”
she points out.

“He’s going to skin me!
Alive!”
I throw my hands up.
“Gauze street!”

Kenzie looks confused,
“What’s so bad about it?
Yeah sure it’s famous for drugs,
wild parties and is teeming with addicts,
but there’s no reason it should get discriminated so.
I happen to live here,
it’s a great place.”

I stare at her,
giving a pained laugh that turns into a shriek of hysteria.
I start going into a fit.

“Gauze street!”
I squall,
twirling in my spot,
eying the street as if it is filled with mad dogs.
“Gauze! Street!

“Hey chill,
calm down,
I’m getting offended here.”
Kenzie tries to grab my shoulders.

I whirl away from her and let out a scream,
“Fuck!
Shit!
Fuck shit!”

“Take it easy on the language!”
Kenzie desperately tries to calm me down,
“There’s no need to cuss out the dictionary!
Nor have sex with shit – it’s not hygienic.”

I whine,
leaning against a fence and slide down it,
burying my face into my hands.

“Alright,”
Kenzie sits beside me,
“Now that you’ve seemed to calm,
what’s so bad about being here?”

I sigh,
collect myself.
“My dad’s a mayor and he’s strict,
very serious.
I’m not just a mile away from home,
I’m on the other side of the city.
So if he finds out…
which he will of course,
he’ll murder me.”

Kenzie looks thoughtful,
“I pity you,”
she then says,
“But unless you want to lie here and cry about your problems,
I suggest you start heading back home.”

“How?”
I look at her with blurry eyes.
“How am I supposed to get home?”

Her eyes sparkle.
“Honey,
it’s called a taxi.”