Complications of a Styles Twin || 1D & 5SOS

Chapter 26

Serena's POV

I stood in front of the mirror, trying to flatten out the unusually creased dress, something didn't feel right about tonight, and I just have the sudden urge to rip these clothes off and instead wear my sweat pants and oversized t-shirt topped with Louis’ jacket he left with me.

My antisocialism had peaked once I suddenly hear the great clashing close of my front door and the loud clacking of Bianca’s 12 inch heels against the hardwood floor.

“I’m here! You ready yet?” Her voice blares through the loft.

“Holy shit, girl. In the winter I forget you have legs!” She blurts out yet again as she entered my room all done up.

I smile a smirk at Bianca’s complement and try to curtsy in my incredibly tight black dress with a tiny leopard print drape at the very top, really making everything bulge out. I have an urge to tug it down every ten seconds because that’s how often it rides up my ass. I’m wearing a pair of black platform heels that I bought only to admire and never wear, because they are fifteen inches and god knows the amount of times I will be tripping over these tonight – If I even end up going.  

“I don’t know if I want to go tonight Bianca; I mean I just don’t know whether I am up for it or not, I feel so jetlagged and I-“

“You disappear to a different continent for a couple of weeks and come back a completely different person! The Serena that I knew would move jetlag and heart ache to the side, and come to the party with me! The old Ser would also have Viv draped around her arm but we will talk about that at another time I presume?” Bianca asks and  I nod towards her, knowing she is right, but I’m still not 100% about this outfit; it will have to do for now though.

I spent a whole hour straightening my hair so that is drapes in -brown waves down my shoulders, just under my breasts. I have applied more eyeliner to my eyes than I think I have ever used in my whole life. It makes me look five years older than I really am. Everything about my outfit makes me look like a tramp.

And I feel fucking fantastic.

“It’s a party, not a fashion parade,” Bianca reminds me for the tenth time as I perfect my bouncy long brown, straight hair.

“I know,” I say distractedly. “But if I’m going I might as well go with style.”

Just to emphasize my point I twirl on the balls of my feet, pull Louis jacket from a hanger in my wardrobe and put it on with a flourish. New York deserves some decent fashion. I happen to be an excellent supplier.

Bianca rolls her eyes. “You’re so hot I’m melting,” she says over-enthusiastically. “Can we please go now? Everyone’s waiting.”

“Alright, alright,” I laugh and skip out of my bedroom door, linking my arm in the crook of her elbow.

I grab my keys. “Let’s go.”

The car nears the clearing in the woods where most of us teenagers spend weekends getting high, stoned and drunk. The leaves are pretty sunken into the ground from being trampled on by sloppy adolescent feet and the dirt is dry – dead – from the pollution of human piss, vomit and cheap alcohol. In the middle of the space there are wisps of black smoke rising into the darkly veiled sky. When I strain my ears past the numerous loud, chatting, animated voices I can hear the pounding of the music and the lights streaming from the warehouse windows.

We all mosey on through the crowd of increasing teenage presence and random bodies; soon enough I lose Bianca and I am here, now fending for myself.

Somewhere throughout all the muffled, loud noises of the wasted adolescence, I am handed a red cup with God knows what in inside.  What the hell -  I thought as I brought the cup up to my lips, and the cold sour drink burns down my throat.