Exclusives ❀ H.S

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬

However, unsuspected by you, it had rather provoked a rain-cloud-like haze to descend over your head, unable to distance yourself from the apprehension that you were behind on an assignment or tardily to a skills lab imperative to your graduation.

It was what had rendered your snail-like movements when getting ready for the party, applying blush to your cheeks and swiping mascara on your eyelashes as though it mentally distressed you to do so. It was what had you staring at the door of Serena's residence thirty-seven minutes later than you had initially intended, the brass knocker staring back at you in all your delinquent glory.

Running a hand along the pleat of your skirt and folding the lower hem of your crop top to lay flat against the soft of your stomach, you rolled your glossed lips together and released a puff of air in a desperate attempt to soothe yourself. You were attending a celebration hosted to memorialize the end of classes and, consequently, you should have been pleased, but instead you were standing outside the door and striving to erase the academic strain that still tormented your mind.

It was only when a drunken couple stumbled from the door of your friend's home, hands fussing to grope at each other did you acknowledge that remaining outside for longer than you already had been—a total of three minutes, and counting—that your apprehensions would not vanish by your directive for them to. Alcohol was the exclusive remedy you could envision truly alleviating it and thus, after tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and straightening your shoulders, you had brushed by the giggling couple and made your way inside the residence bustling with partygoers.

The room was dimly lit, bathed in a dark glow from the turned-on telephone torches from various groups of individuals attempting to initiate a trend and the subdued hanging lights, periodically exchanged for bronze orange and burnt sienna-coloured pulses. The living room to the left of the entrance was composed of a makeshift dance floor, the overflow of small dance circles indicating the unambiguous intention for the space.

It was reverberating with chatter and thumping music, and you recognized a few of your aforementioned classmates bobbing their heads to the beat and dancing as though no one was watching. Despite the diminutive space that stunk of booze and sweat, a lazy smile curled at the corner of your lips when you spotted a pair dancing to the macarena and humming along to the song they would unquestionably favour (if their actions were any indications of their desires) over what Serena had chosen to dominate the playlist for the evening.

           "Babe!"

The said woman's voice broke you from your thoughts and you turned from the living-room-turned-dancefloor and macarena-dancing pair to view the bubbling blonde, the feathered cut of her hair swiping and momentarily blocking her eyes from view. They were swarmed with various blue eyeshadows, Persian blue fanning the outer ends of her eyes and fading into Azure-like blends. Further emphasized by glittery tones that obscured the inner lid of her eye, bringing out the sharp Cobalt colour of her iris.

The makeup highlighting Serena's features predominantly outperformed what cosmetics you had applied to yourself, and the thought transmitted disquiet tumbling into your stomach quicker than you would have liked to admit. Your makeup was simple with glossy lips and mascara-coated eyelashes, blush and highlighter applied to the high points of your cheeks; it was nothing in comparison. While it wouldn't bother you on any other day—your pretty best friend appearing more put together and magnificent than you could have—the scholastic tensions still tormenting your intellect prompted unease at any instant and sent the back-of-mind desire for alcohol emerging into the frontal lobe of your brain.

           "Hey," you smiled softly as she curled her hand around your bicep, following her prompt for an embrace as you wrapped your arms around her back. It gave you a juncture to momentarily hide the longing to find the drinks table, hoping to avoid coming off as rude to the girl who had been kind enough to invite you to her gathering (that had grown into a much larger scale event with how groups or strays of individuals steadily poured into her home) despite knowing you weren't in your best state of mind. "I love your makeup, 's truly stunning. Really makes your eyes pop."