Chapter 8|Greasy food is good for hangovers...and the soul

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The week seemed to pass in a blur, Friday came around fast which meant I had to supervise Tara at some party.

I had learned throughout the week that the guy throwing the party was named Jack Daniels. Now if that doesn't scream trouble then I don't know what does. I kind of felt sorry for the guy, his parents were probably either alcoholics or had whacked senses of humour. Either way it was partly his fault for living up to his name.

"I wonder what shade of slut Erika will be wearing tonight," Tara sneered as she twisted a lock of her hair around the curling iron.

I shrugged. "Can it get any worse than what she wears at school?"

"Babe, to her that's like wearing a nun outfit."

I grinned, imagining Erika in one of those long dresses that nuns wear. Though she would probably find one way or another to try to woo the priests. Maybe with her charming personality. Or her peanut sized brain.

I strolled into my closet searching for something descent to wear. I wasn't going to wear a dress or a skirt, because let's face it, those things are dangerous on so many levels. I settled on a pair of light wash high waisted shorts, not the kind where half of your ass hangs out, and a long sleeved lace top which I tucked into my shorts. I slid my white converse onto my feet, exiting my closet.

"Hot damn," Tara whistled as I came into view. "You should wear those shorts more often, you're ass looks great."

I chuckled, rolling my eyes. "Thanks."

"Annnd done!" Tara exclaimed, switching off the curling iron.

"Can we go now?"

"Girl I was only talking about my hair, don't get too excited." I groaned, throwing my own tangled hair into a high ponytail, before flopping into my bed with a thump.

Tara liked to look perfect. Her hair had to be perfect, her makeup had to be perfect, her outfit had to be perfect. Even her eyebrows had to be perfect. If they weren't on point, she wouldn't leave the house.

"I don't know why you even bother to put that paint shit on your face, you don't need it," I mumbled.

"My complexion is blotchy and I look like I've been smoking crack if I don't cover my dark circles," she said, waving the mascara brush at me like she was conducting an orchestra.

"Liar," I muttered, "you have great skin."

"Says the girl with the perfect olive skin and no acne."

"I was born this way."


When we arrived the party was already in full swing. The reason being we were about an hour late, or as Tara called it 'fashionably late'. You already know how much I hated being late, however Tara enjoyed being in the limelight so she liked the stares she received when she walked in.

Thankfully dad had fixed my jeep for me, so that we could actually get here otherwise that would have been a drama.

Tara went straight for the booze, pouring herself a beer. I headed to the kitchen, leaning against a wall where I could watch Tara. She disappeared into the mosh pit of sweaty teenagers, but soon reappeared at the beer pong table. I rolled my eyes. Typical.

Tara was usually pretty easy to spot because quite often she was the girl dancing on tables, and equally as often she was the girl falling off tables. The last party she went to she agreed to do body shots and started taking her clothes off. I had to drag her away. She's lucky she had me.

The party seemed to drag on forever, occasionally I uttered a couple of words to passers by, but most of them were loud drunks so the conversations didn't last very long.

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