Blinded by Perfection

8- Something In The Punch

Chapter 8 | Something In The Punch

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Very long chapter ahead. Enjoy and make sure to leave a vote!

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We trail back and settle ourselves on the perfectly unblemished white couch, which is now empty. Out of breath, I reach over to the coffee table beside me and grab my punch, hastily bringing it to my lips to take a long swig. All of that dancing has made me exhausted, and I hadn't even been the one in the dance battle.

"I'm ready to go dance again," Taylor says cheerily.

My brows scrunch together and I give her a look as if she had grown another limb. "But we just came from dancing! Aren't you tir-"

"Yolo!" She cuts me off, rising from her spot and making her way to the dance floor. I can't believe she's still going, but I guess if you were the new life of the party and center of attention, you wouldn't want to just fade into the background.

Deciding I just want to chill for a bit, I pull out my phone from the secret pocket in my dress, scrolling through social media. I instantly become engrossed in the meme pages, reading the jokes and sending them to Mary Kate, my best friend from Florida. It's a daily custom we do with each other, and sometimes she sent me so much that my phone used to flood with notifications of memes. But now, it feels like forever since I've recieved one.

A couple minutes later, an annoying buzz sounds in my ears, fading the sound of the music in the background a miniscule amount. At first I think it's my phone, but when I turn the volume down it still is present.

Without any warning, a wave of nausea hits me like a train, so hard that one of my hands fly up to push at my temple. I'm lucky I am already sitting down on the couch or I might've stumbled and fell.

That dancing must've wiped me out more than I thought. It makes sense too, I haven't really excersized at all for a while. I'm more of a stay at home and eat chips kind of gal. Wiping my forward and taking slow, deliberate deep breaths, I take another drink of my punch in hopes of washing the weird feeling away.

Despite my wishes, the dull throb of a headache comes to play. I put a hand over my agonizing forehead, squeezing my eyes shut. Maybe the music is just too loud? Yes, it most definitely is. Did they turn it up?

"You alright?" A bashful voice asks. It's a bit difficult to interpret what they're saying due to the discontorted music, however my ears manage.

I reluctantly open my eyes and look up at a freshened up Carolynn, whose face screams concern. I can't make out any other details in her lineaments, for the tilting room won't allow it.

"I'm fine, just tired out," I respond half heartedly, waving her off with the hand free of my temple. Even though she shows a bit of hesitation, she doesn't go against my wishes, walking off and leaving me in peace.

Now that I've opened my eyes for long enough, the tilting room speeds into a fast spin. My headache flares angrily at the confusing sight, causing my teeth to grit in a wince. And did it suddenly get hot in here?

I guess I must've overdone it with the dancing, but I can't tell anyone I don't feel good. How embarrassing would it be throwing up right here right now from literal dancing?

No no, you're fine. Just don't make a scene in front of everyone. The music is giving you a headache and you'll feel better after you cool down and have a little piece and quiet, that's it.

Deciding I can't hold off on the couch much longer without drawing too much attention, I begin to rise.

It's as if my feet forget how to hold me. Unsteady foot placement forces my body forward, causing me to roughly land onto my hands and knees. In the process, the punch still clutched in my hand spills on the carpet in front of me, staining its cleansiness.