After sculling the drink, I felt... happy. It was my relief. The bittersweet aftertaste reminded me that there was alcohol in it. I came here to forget, and I will not leave here until I do.
"Another shot, please." The bartender smiled at me. He was cute- snap out of it Alex! He is a guy. That means he is a douchebag. They all are.
I didn't smile back. He looked confused but he still got me my drink. I turned to see that my best friends had ditched me.
I was in a bar alone, high on sorrow and drunk on depression, without the girls.
Kill me now. I deserved a f*cking Oscar for surviving.
I stared at the vibrant drink. It looked fruity. I held the shot glass, threw my head back then chugged the drink down. Minty.
"Hey," arms snaked around my waist. Just dandy. I could taste the sarcasm. A drunk man-whore wanted to f*ck me. I wondered what spelled out sexy about me. I beat the crap outta him.
Drunk or not, I was not a slut. He let go of me after getting raccoon eyes delivered by "grandpa and grandma fist." I wasn't a red belt without a reason.
"Alexandria!" Sh*t! Someone was calling me. Maybe it was another girl with the same name.
"Alexandria Carrero!" No! It was one of the girls.
The lovable Olivia was staggering towards me in six-inch stiletto heels that made her five feet three frame taller. She was that short.
"Alex! Where the f*ck were you?! The girls thought a guy kidnapped you!" Yeah, he must have had a date with my fists first.
Her eyes landed on my busted knuckles and the blood oozing out of the cuts and staining the cheap tiles of the club.
"Alex," she was worried. Not for me of course, I can kick ass. "Who did you beat up this time?"
"A motha-fucka who wanted sex." It sounded like a question. Olivia chuckled. She held my wrist gently and led me to where the girls were dancing.
Zita was busting some moves from the fifties and people were trying to avoid her. Nella was leaning on the off-white walls and staring at the neon lights, she looked ready to puke.
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