That night, I knew it was a bad idea but they wouldn’t listen…
At first I heard someone groaning as if they were being tortured; then I realised it was me. I was so tired after last night, I tried to open my eyes but it felt like I’d put on tonnes of mascara and eye shadow the night before which was pulling my eyelids closed shut. I couldn’t move; I was bruised all over. What happened to me last night?
Gradually, my eyes stretched open and examined the room thoroughly. I couldn’t see that well, my eyes were blurry as I strained to decipher the image in front of me. It was one of my friends. Jasper, tall with a short blonde bob which girls would completely fall for. His arms and legs were flung at his sides, dangling over the top bunk.
At that moment, I actually stopped to wonder about where I was. It was a dormitory with a large archway which loomed over the bunk beds. I’d never seen the place before, but it sure looked dull. The ceiling, walls and furniture were all branded in white paint. It seemed unusual that someone would try to paint bunk beds white, considering the paint would flake away in a matter of days. But I was too tired to play detectives so I sat my self upright and gathered my thoughts about the night before.
All I remembered was me and my mates going down to the new nightclub down the road ‘Ice’. It was packed. Crowding round the doors were thousands of rowdy teenagers, raving with their vodka bottles up in the air. Some were already drunk, so they probably had no clue what they were doing. The police were crammed in corners of the street, waiting to pounce unexpectedly on any troublemakers. But no one seemed to cause any mischief, for once (normally drunkards would be jumping around smashing bottles into microscopic pieces of glass on the floor).
When we walked through the transparent glass doors, everyone screamed like maniacs. The band was ready up on the stage and the crowd went wild when they realised it was the Stiff Dylans. Alex, the joker of the pack, decided to go all-out and jump up onto the stage, as his mates we couldn’t just let him run wild. At first we tried to convince him it was a bad idea but he just brushed his hand down his black Mohican and kept on saying “Look, just chillax!”. We soon realised that Alex wasn’t going to give in. So we managed to keep up with him, amongst the large crowd, as he made his way to the stage, pushing and shoving past the drunkards at the front. Some of them only needed a slight push and they fell over like skittles. But Alex didn’t stick to his idea. He did jump up on stage, but for some stupid reason he started a fight with the guitarist, who was famous for brutally punching his competitors in the ring, as the world’s champion boxer would do.
But the rest of the night is just a long lost memory. I imagined that we’d all got kicked out, and must have ended up here, all of us suffering from hangovers.
It took a while to balance myself on the oak floor, splattered in white paint (again, what was it with the white paint?). I toddled over to Jasper’s bed. Accidentally, I tripped on his rucksack and fell on top of him, stirring him from his deep sleep. At first he was slightly startled to see me lying on top of him, but then his worried look turned into a cheesy grin.
I quickly scrambled to my feet.
“It’s not what you think, Jasper. Don’t you give me that dirty grin.”
“What happened last night anyway? We didn’t…?”
“NO!”
My face flushed red with embarrassment. He knew I liked him as more than a friend, but I hated to show my feelings for him. He’d always take advantage of me.
He soon broke the silence.
“Where are we?” he mumbled. He seemed more curious than scared.
“I’m not sure; we must have really gone over board last night with the vodka shots. I can’t take much of this in.”
