Salvation [Luke Hemmings A.U.]

VI - Better Judgement

I haven't taken off my makeup yet, all I'd need to do is get changed.

But Evan will think I've forgiven him; which I haven't.

But I'll be bored out of my mind just lying around. Mind as well do something with my time.

Getting wasted? I really don't need the hangover tomorrow, and I sure as hell do not want to deal with all of Evan's piss-drunk friends either.

But if I don't drink very much, I could end up having a great time. Plus, I haven't been clubbing in ages. Like three weeks! That's a new record!

But Evan...

Not everything is about Evan, dammit. I can go out and have a great time in the presence of Evan without my night revolving around him.

Against my better judgement, I crawl out of bed and shuffle over to the dark closet in search of an acceptable clubbing outfit.

I for one, am repeat-outfit-wearing offender, and I accept it. If an outfit looks good, I'll wear it more than once. What's the point of refusing to wear something that looks perfectly fine simply because you've worn it before?

I pull out the classic mid-thigh-length black dress I've worn multiple times clubbing, not ambitious enough to find a different outfit to wear. After locating the old, broken-in pair of black stilettos I've worn too many times to count, I study my reflection in the mirror, evaluating if I should touch-up my hair or makeup.

After a half an hour of re-doing my eyeliner as it smudged throughout the day, I conclude that I appear presentable. I go to grab my purse, calling a cab as I make my way out the door.

-

The club is just as crowded and overstimulating as I remember it being. I weave my way through the crowd, avoiding being jabbed by the elbows or being sloshed on by careless people with drinks in hand.

Then, I meet the eyes of someone I recognize, and make my way over towards the familiar face as not to appear lost in the crowd.

"Margo, you came!"

I smile politely to the tall, tan friend of Evan, nodding in response to his exclamation. "Hello Caleb."

The dark haired boy grins down at me, nodding as if I said something particularly interesting. Obviously, he's unable to make out my words over the music and he doesn't want to have to tell me to repeat myself. He takes a swig of beer carelessly before apparently clearing his throat.

"I'll let Evan know you're here. He's out on the dance floor." Caleb raises his voice, making wild gestures over towards the dance floor with his empty hand to overcompensate for his near drowned out words.

I nod stiffly at the young man in response to his words, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable for yet-again being unable to hear me.

Caleb deserts me to find my boyfriend in the crowd instead of leaving me to it, a gesture that I appreciate greatly, especially from someone who I don't know very well. I find myself wandering over to the hectic bar in hopes of picking up a simple beer or anything to quench my thirst and help me loosen up a bit.

After an unbelievable wait time, I'm eventually served a mediocre, overpriced cup of beer. I take the tiniest of sips to get a taste of the drink and to my dismay, discover that this particular alcohol is utterly disgusting.

But I paid nine good dollars for this so I'm going to drink it anyway.

I'm interrupted from my thoughts by a tap on the shoulder, causing me to jump in fright.