Skinny Jeans Have No Place On These Thighs
Morning After
It’s Sunday morning when I finally emerge from my pit. I know that I’ve spent the entire morning in bed. I also know that I did some stupid stuff last night.
Cocaine, again. Only this time it seems to have been for nothing since Marcus and I didn’t even kiss.
What was last night? Was it a date? Marcus paid for everything so that’s a possibility, isn’t it?
But then why on all the other nights (well, most of them, anyway!) has he tried to kiss me whereas last night he barely showed any interest at all? Doesn’t he realise I’m only doing this stuff so he’ll fall in love with me too?
Melodramatic, I know. But I'm fifteen, I'm allowed to be like this if I want to.
It’s not going to happen. I know what you’re thinking. Because this happens all the time in stories. The girl is insecure and thinks oh boy, no one’s ever going to look at me, especially not so-and-so and then lo and behold! He not only notices her but spends time with her and falls in love with her too...only she’s just too gullible to see it.
Well, let’s recap, shall we?
For one thing, this isn’t some fairy tale where Marcus is a saintly Prince. He’s tried it on too many times for that kind of thing.
And also, all of the girls in those stories are always actually really quite attractive but just really modest or too plain thick when it comes to their own appearance.
When it comes to my appearance, I am not thick. I might be hard on myself but I’m not lying when I say I am not only no beauty, but last night, I couldn’t hold a candle to any of the girls there. They were all thinner, glossier, smilier, pouty, interesting, brooding, mysterious, trendy, vivacious and more stunning than I could ever dream of being.
And I know that’s a lot of adjectives and that they weren’t all all of those things. But I was the bottom of the barrel. In fact, I was the ugly face that the sticky, rotten underside of the barrel was parked on. Got it?
Even if you don't believe that, I was just a normal looking person compared to them. You may think now, if she's normal looking why does she inflict such a lot of pressure upon herself?
Maybe you would have to be me to understand it. Or maybe, if you're like me and want to better yourself, you'll grasp that I just want to look the best I can.
I instantly check my phone but Marcus hasn’t texted. See! In the fairy tale, he would have texted to see if I got home safely, etc.
In reality, I know Marcus went back inside that club, got drunk and pulled someone with hair down to her waist with insurance on her arse.
I can’t really blame him entirely for wanting to do that though. Aside from all those girls being beauty queens, I was on such a downer last night.
I remember feeling so low and it literally seemed to come out of nowhere.
I don’t know whether it was the excitement of being at The Stage Door or simply being out somewhere with Marcus or the cocaine or cocaine mingled with alcohol or all the above but I have never felt worse in my life. Not even in my lowest moments has anything compared to the end of last night.
I can’t remember if what Marcus said triggered it off or if I was looking for reassurance from Marcus because of how I was feeling. I shouldn’t need a boy telling me stupid stuff to make myself feel better, I know that, but let’s be honest here, it doesn’t hurt.
My phone starts ringing right then and of course my heart leaps a thousand feet in the air only to fall a thousand feet back down and smash into a trillion pieces when I see that it’s only Bridget.
“Hey, did you go out with Marcus last night?”
“No!”
I lie immediately and before I can really wonder why I’m lying to Bridget, she says, “Are you sure? Because Seb said Marcus and Q got into an argument and Marcus went into your house. Then Max saw him out somewhere at, like, four in the morning, dancing about in the road with some Polish girl.”
Polish girl? I have to sit down as the crushing disappointment seeps down through my torso, into my thighs. I mean, it’s what I suspected would happen but it’s awful to have it confirmed.
“Oh, yeah, he did come round for a bit.” I can’t be bothered to deny the entire story.
I don’t even know why I can’t bring myself to include Bridget in what’s going on. Not the cocaine part obviously. I don’t know why but deep down I just have this stronger than Zeus feeling that she would disapprove highly of the underage drinking.
“Really?” Bridget’s tone is surprised but not rudely so. “I didn’t think you guys knew each other well enough for that. You know, for him to come round to your house and everything.”
As I can’t shrug down the phone, I just mumble something about how Marcus wanted to catch a TV programme about nature before he went out.
I then make an excuse and say good bye because, and I honestly don’t know why, I can’t talk to Bridget about this.
There is only one person I can talk to about this and I don’t even know if she’ll respond to a text message.
After a little though, I send the following message –
Urgent help required re Marcus. Plz, plz tb! XXXX
I just hope she’ll respond. While I’m waiting I go downstairs although before I do I make myself stare at my stomach for a few moments in the mirror to remind myself not to eat anything else. I had two pieces of toast when I came in last night and this cannot be repeated today. I’ll never get anywhere otherwise.
I can hear Mum laughing in the kitchen. At least she’s in a reasonable mood. And also, thank GOD I beat them back here last night. There would have been drastic consequences if I hadn’t.
Mum and William Birch are sitting at the table when I walk in, drinking tea and looking at something in one of the extra magazines that comes with The Times. I’m bored within three minutes but pretend to be interested just in case my disinterest is an after-effect of last night’s cocaine come down.
I needn’t worry though because within a few moments, I get a reply.
Meet me at 1 at McDonalds. Help shall be granted. R U OK? X X
Izzie, darling, you have no idea.
Cocaine, again. Only this time it seems to have been for nothing since Marcus and I didn’t even kiss.
What was last night? Was it a date? Marcus paid for everything so that’s a possibility, isn’t it?
But then why on all the other nights (well, most of them, anyway!) has he tried to kiss me whereas last night he barely showed any interest at all? Doesn’t he realise I’m only doing this stuff so he’ll fall in love with me too?
Melodramatic, I know. But I'm fifteen, I'm allowed to be like this if I want to.
It’s not going to happen. I know what you’re thinking. Because this happens all the time in stories. The girl is insecure and thinks oh boy, no one’s ever going to look at me, especially not so-and-so and then lo and behold! He not only notices her but spends time with her and falls in love with her too...only she’s just too gullible to see it.
Well, let’s recap, shall we?
For one thing, this isn’t some fairy tale where Marcus is a saintly Prince. He’s tried it on too many times for that kind of thing.
And also, all of the girls in those stories are always actually really quite attractive but just really modest or too plain thick when it comes to their own appearance.
When it comes to my appearance, I am not thick. I might be hard on myself but I’m not lying when I say I am not only no beauty, but last night, I couldn’t hold a candle to any of the girls there. They were all thinner, glossier, smilier, pouty, interesting, brooding, mysterious, trendy, vivacious and more stunning than I could ever dream of being.
And I know that’s a lot of adjectives and that they weren’t all all of those things. But I was the bottom of the barrel. In fact, I was the ugly face that the sticky, rotten underside of the barrel was parked on. Got it?
Even if you don't believe that, I was just a normal looking person compared to them. You may think now, if she's normal looking why does she inflict such a lot of pressure upon herself?
Maybe you would have to be me to understand it. Or maybe, if you're like me and want to better yourself, you'll grasp that I just want to look the best I can.
I instantly check my phone but Marcus hasn’t texted. See! In the fairy tale, he would have texted to see if I got home safely, etc.
In reality, I know Marcus went back inside that club, got drunk and pulled someone with hair down to her waist with insurance on her arse.
I can’t really blame him entirely for wanting to do that though. Aside from all those girls being beauty queens, I was on such a downer last night.
I remember feeling so low and it literally seemed to come out of nowhere.
I don’t know whether it was the excitement of being at The Stage Door or simply being out somewhere with Marcus or the cocaine or cocaine mingled with alcohol or all the above but I have never felt worse in my life. Not even in my lowest moments has anything compared to the end of last night.
I can’t remember if what Marcus said triggered it off or if I was looking for reassurance from Marcus because of how I was feeling. I shouldn’t need a boy telling me stupid stuff to make myself feel better, I know that, but let’s be honest here, it doesn’t hurt.
My phone starts ringing right then and of course my heart leaps a thousand feet in the air only to fall a thousand feet back down and smash into a trillion pieces when I see that it’s only Bridget.
“Hey, did you go out with Marcus last night?”
“No!”
I lie immediately and before I can really wonder why I’m lying to Bridget, she says, “Are you sure? Because Seb said Marcus and Q got into an argument and Marcus went into your house. Then Max saw him out somewhere at, like, four in the morning, dancing about in the road with some Polish girl.”
Polish girl? I have to sit down as the crushing disappointment seeps down through my torso, into my thighs. I mean, it’s what I suspected would happen but it’s awful to have it confirmed.
“Oh, yeah, he did come round for a bit.” I can’t be bothered to deny the entire story.
I don’t even know why I can’t bring myself to include Bridget in what’s going on. Not the cocaine part obviously. I don’t know why but deep down I just have this stronger than Zeus feeling that she would disapprove highly of the underage drinking.
“Really?” Bridget’s tone is surprised but not rudely so. “I didn’t think you guys knew each other well enough for that. You know, for him to come round to your house and everything.”
As I can’t shrug down the phone, I just mumble something about how Marcus wanted to catch a TV programme about nature before he went out.
I then make an excuse and say good bye because, and I honestly don’t know why, I can’t talk to Bridget about this.
There is only one person I can talk to about this and I don’t even know if she’ll respond to a text message.
After a little though, I send the following message –
Urgent help required re Marcus. Plz, plz tb! XXXX
I just hope she’ll respond. While I’m waiting I go downstairs although before I do I make myself stare at my stomach for a few moments in the mirror to remind myself not to eat anything else. I had two pieces of toast when I came in last night and this cannot be repeated today. I’ll never get anywhere otherwise.
I can hear Mum laughing in the kitchen. At least she’s in a reasonable mood. And also, thank GOD I beat them back here last night. There would have been drastic consequences if I hadn’t.
Mum and William Birch are sitting at the table when I walk in, drinking tea and looking at something in one of the extra magazines that comes with The Times. I’m bored within three minutes but pretend to be interested just in case my disinterest is an after-effect of last night’s cocaine come down.
I needn’t worry though because within a few moments, I get a reply.
Meet me at 1 at McDonalds. Help shall be granted. R U OK? X X
Izzie, darling, you have no idea.