What did girls even wear to a party? The questions was dumb - only I didn’t know what to wear. I felt pathetic. And I felt even more pathetic when I Google searched ‘party outfits’. I came up with ball gowns, fancy dresses, women and girls with barely any clothes on their bodies. But I did find an example that I liked the most.
I didn’t have the exact outfit, but I had something similar. I got up from my bed and dug through my closet, then found what I was looking for. A floral tube top, stopping just above my navel, along with high-waisted black shorts, studded at the sides and ending shorter than I was used to. I decided on black TOMS instead of the black heels I’d found, then dashed a bit of eye makeup on, along with a light lip gloss. There wasn’t much I could do with my hair, so I simply pulled my bangs back with a bobby pin and called it good.
I didn’t know why I even owned these clothes. I guess my mum just had this idea that I was friends with everyone. She thought that I went to parties while they were gone, as did my father. Why they didn’t care, I had no idea. Weren’t parents supposed to care if their child was drinking under the age? But in contrast to their belief, I neither had friends nor went to parties. But given that they weren’t here ninety-nine percent of the time… I was a devout introvert, because just my presence was an inconvenience for everyone. It was about seven thirty when I was finally ready, then headed down to grab a snack before Niall came.
Niall had said he’d pick me up tonight, and I was weary to be in a confined space with an unstable person. Though, Niall had been kind today. He didn’t abuse me, didn’t put me down with his words. He’d even asked me to come to one of Keaton’s parties. And from the conversations I’ve heard in the hallways, Keaton’s parties were usually anything but tame.
But Niall was acting different. Was all he needed just some time alone with me? Was that all it took to make him see that I’m not his enemy, nor his punching bag? After about ten minutes of internal debate, I decided I’d give him the benefit of the doubt. Niall was changing.
I grabbed a quick bite of toast, then took my phone in my hand. It wasn’t much to eat, but I figured that I’d have something to eat at Keaton’s. I wouldn’t get drunk, I told myself. Niall would probably have that covered, and I didn’t feel comfortable riding home both intoxicated and being driven by an intoxicated person.
Soon, there was a knock at the door. I sighed, my heart leaping a bit. I walked down the main hallway, but stopped just short of the door as the wall mirror caught my eye. There were bruises in the shape of fingertips dotting my thigh - from when Niall had hurt me. I winced, remembering the incident. I turned my forearm up, and sure enough, the fading scabs were there as well. I hadn’t remembered to cover them up, and I didn’t have the time to anymore. Another knock at the door made me jump, and I quickly opened it.
Niall was dressed in a red polo with tan shorts, ending just below his knees. His hair was combed to cover his forehead, per usual. He wore a smile, stuffing his hands in his pockets. I couldn’t help but smile back, despite the previous view of the marks made by him.
“Ready?” he asked. His eyes traveled up and down my body, and I leaned against the doorframe, a bit embarrassed. Did I look okay?
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He then nodded back and started walking back to his car. I followed, making sure to lock the door as I left. I hid the key under the flower pot by the door, as my mum and dad always instructed, then walked the rest of the way to the curb and opened the passenger’s side door.
Niall started the car as I slid in, the radio beginning to play a soft Michael Buble song. He quickly turned it off, then threw the car in gear and pulled down the street.
