Sleeping With a Liar

Jordan awoke three days later to the sound of her phone ringing loudly from the almost pathetically small night stand next to her bed. From under the covers, Jordan reached for the device, knocking several books to the floor in the process. Groaning at the newly made mess, she pressed answer and held her phone to her ear, the plastic making an obnoxious noise against the metal from her earrings.

“Jordan, it’s two in the afternoon and you haven’t left your apartment in three days. What on earth have you been doing?!” Diane yelled. Jordan held the phone away from her ear until the volume died down before replacing it, again greeted with plastic scraping against metal.

“Calm the fuck down, I’ve been writing. And I’m going out tonight. So shut your trap,” Jordan muttered in response, quickly hanging up the phone.

Sighing, Jordan glanced at the clock on her night stand. It was in fact two thirty. Deciding she had a few more hours until she needed to get ready, she buried her face back into her pillow and promptly fell back asleep.

The next time Jordan woke up, the sun was slowly setting, and the clock read half past six. Rolling out of bed, Jordan stepped over the pile of books on the floor, and made her way towards the small bathroom. As the water heated up, filling the small room with steam, Jordan stripped out of her pajamas and stepped into the stream of scalding hot water. As the liquid ran down her lightly tanned skin, hitting the shower floor with a loud ping from the metal basin, Jordan stared at her body. Her hips were narrow, and the bones jutted out from her skin. Her tattoos broke up the monotony of plain, bare, skin.

She traced the letters of the first tattoo she had gotten, over a year ago now, spanning from hip bone to hip bone. The familiar words almost made her sad now. He may be her best friend again, but in reality, how long was it going to last? How long until he left her again?

Sighing, Jordan stood in the pouring water for another twenty minutes, just long enough that the hot water started to run out, but not long enough that there wasn’t any left at all, before stepping out into the slightly cooler bathroom. After wrapping a towel around her petite body, Jordan wiped the fog off of the mirror, looking at herself in the mirror.

The girl in front of her looked tired, exhausted, as if she couldn’t keep going. She may have just slept for fifteen hours straight, but Jordan still felt exhausted. She didn’t know what to do with herself anymore. Compete aloneness, it wasn’t her style. She was never good at being alone, but now she was completely along in Dublin. She didn’t have many friends here, and the ones she did have, they weren’t like her. They had real jobs. They were older, they couldn’t go party every night and get completely wasted just for the hell of it.

Jordan was alone. All she did was write, drink, and smoke. She didn’t talk to many people, and the ones she did talk to were mostly the drunken idiots at the bar that wound up in her bed, confused, and naked the next morning. She never expected to be this person. She never wanted to be the girl that only had one night stands, rather than an actual relationship. She never wanted to be that girl, the one they all talked about.

The one with so much potential, the one that wasted all her talent.

Sighing, Jordan dried herself from the shower and pulled on her jeans. Rummaging around in her drawers, she finally found something suitable to go out in, and pulled the glitzy black tank top over her head. She looked in the mirror again, taking in her outfit. It looked fine. Everything looked fine. Nothing looked amazing, not on Jordan. Brushing on her makeup, fifteen minutes later, Jordan was out the door and walking down the Dublin sidewalks.

As she walked, she listened. Her heels hit the concrete in a steady pattern; 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4. The occasional scuff of the heel dragging interrupted. She could hear the cigarette burning between her lips as she smoked it, sucking in the chemical air. It was her addiction, filling her with the poison smoke. Hell, maybe if she smoked herself to death at least she’d be happy. She’d die on a high. That’s all she wanted.

She sighed; smoke poured out of her lungs and into the cool air. Goose bumps popped up all over her arms, the small hairs on her arms standing up in the chilly weather. Dublin was never warm, let alone warm in the autumn. As she got closer to the club she had planned on attending that night, she took note of the men staring. They watched her as she walked by, staring at her ass. She knew it, but she ignored it.

They could look all they wanted, but who would want to fuck the druggie girl?

Jordan knew the bouncer, and he knew her. He let her in without a word. She smirked at the girls waiting first in line. They looked like they’d been there awhile, and all glared at her as she entered the club without a pause in her stride. Jordan tossed her cigarette butt at their feet and winked at them, quickly disappearing into the pitch black room.

Inside, Jordan took a look around. It was full of the usual crowd, no doubt, as well as the tourists there to party on their night out. Dublin wasn’t that great of a place, in Jordan’s opinion, she didn’t know why people came there from all over. Each to their own.

Jordan took a seat at a bar stool, waving to Adam. He knew what she wanted. Drink in hand, Jordan headed for the dance floor; as always, she was going to take over the party. And as always, she was going to get her ass beat for doing it.