Fascination Street

one : ups and downs

I was so wasted. So absolutely. Wasted.

I still had enough wits about me to know that I would die in the shoes I was wearing if I tried to walk another step farther. I sat on the dance floor and pulled the high heels off. My vision and senses spun watching the people dance above me. I felt nauseous from the contrast of colors in the room. Strobe lights colored the smoke a thousand different colors every second. People wore too many different colors. I felt like I was going to puke. Nausea was why I didn't drink. I should have never taken my friend's challenge to try to drink a whole fifth of vodka. I had thrown up afterwards.

Some random stranger pulled me to my feet.

"Aha, th'nks... man!" So fucking wasted.

My body swayed. I threw up on my feet.

This was the last time I would ever touch alcohol. I could snort as much coke as I wanted, but I couldn't even handle a drink. Fuck. I was going to go home after that last guy, but no, I just went and fucked that up. Damn friends and their alcohol.

I stumbled out of the night club and paused outside the door. The Strip glowed in a thousand colors, hundreds of cars filling the roads. The air seemed cleaner outside. The heavy smell of cigarette smoke, sex and drugs was gone. It was almost like learning to breathe again.

God, I felt so sick. Kill me now.

I stumbled over to Penny, my little red Pinto, and collapsed into the driver's seat.

✈ ✈ ✈ ✈

I woke up and puked on the passenger floorboard. I must have passed out. Alcohol. Never again.

I shook as I pulled myself up and shut the driver's door. Everything was so fuzzy. My nose felt weird. Where was my purse? I looked around in a panic. The glovebox clattered open; the armrest screamed as I yanked it up. My throat constricted. Shit, shit, shit. I pulled myself into the backseat, throwing cassette holders and boxes of condoms out of my way.

I didn't have time for this shit.

I crawled back into the front seat and moved to get out of the car only to find I had been sitting on my purse. I sighed.

Moving around had made my stomach do a flip. I hunched over the steering wheel and groaned, more tears staining my cheeks. Alcohol was bad. So bad. I forced myself to sit correctly and reached for my purse. Drugs were a cure-all. A bag of coke sat on top of my bag of crack. I grabbed it and poured out some onto Penny's dashboard. I clumsily raked them into two lines and pulled myself to sit on the armrest between the two front seats to snort the lines.

The rush hit me immediately. The stomach ache was gone. Everything came into focus, all the lights along the Strip, each car flying by. I jumped back into the driver's seat and fell heavily onto the door. I grabbed the steering wheel to help me sit right and started up the old Pinto. I focused on the clock: Three A.M. Shit. I put the car in gear and we rolled out and onto the Strip. Traffic lights, neon signs and cars flew by in thousands of colors. Warm night air filled the car from the windows. I felt like I could do whatever I wanted.

I floored it until I saw the traffic light to our street.

I turned right, cutting across traffic to our road. Headlights flew at me, swerving to avoid head-on collisions. Horns honked, people yelled. I clumsily weaved through traffic, my hands curled painfully around the steering wheel and gearshift. I didn't even know what to do with my feet. I felt like I was going to throw up again. Every movement sent the world swaying.

Where the hell did I leave the parking lot? I didn't feel like dying because I was drunk.

The parking lot was where I had left it. Thank God. The car slid as I pulled her into a hard right turn. I parked Penny at the far end of the lot, killing the engine and just allowing the still, dry night air fill the inside my car. My body shook. Fuck. Shit. Damn. I laid my head on the steering wheel and let my hands shake wildly. I felt like I was on a boat. A boat in a hurricane.