“Ella, you’re insane. I am not going to dye my hair right now.” Lacey shook her head at her friend intently, her eyes fixated on the box of turquoise hair dye she held in her hands.
“Come on, Lacey.” The other girl whined, the drunkenness noticeable in her slurred voice, “You’ve always said you wanted to dye your hair some crazy color, well now is the time.”
Though on the outside she stared at her best friend with dismay, Lacey couldn’t help but admit she had always found girls with intensely colored hair extremely beautiful. She liked the way it drew attention to them in a way that no one could quite stop themselves from staring. Of course, some, mostly older people, may look at them with a look of disgust written on their face, but to her it seemed as if the younger generation was slowly getting used to the idea of pink/orange or blue hair not being some sign of a punk rebellion, but more so a choice of style. It had been the same with Doc Martens and ripped jeans after all. Who these days was repulsed by either one of those? No one, because instead of being a fixed label to a group of rowdy rebels it was universal now. She guessed her fixation with noticeable hair originated from the fact that her own hair with its mousy brown shade was anything but an eyecatcher. Being recognized for your hair always seemed like an enticing idea to her, so much so that she had even put it on her bucket list. Hell, if they hadn’t been in a grubby old bathroom of some low-budget club, she probably would have had already agreed to the idea, but though the alcohol made it out to be a bit less shabby than it actually was – the unsureness of where and when Ella had gotten the dye threw her off.
It was a mystery to her really how Ella had suddenly come up with the idea. After their ‘reunion of the best friendship to exist on this planet’, as they had named in in a celebratory manner whilst downing several more drinks, the two had hit the dance floor – moving with every single tune until suddenly Ella was had been gone and instead, a guy named Paul seemed to move flawlessly with her. High on the alcohol and the emotions that raged inside her: from the hatred she felt for Matty for leaving her to herself, to the extreme love she felt for Ella for coming back to her; she simply had accepted Paul to be her new dance partner and had grinded against him effortlessly, not caring one bit if Matty saw. In fact, she had secretly hoped for him to be looking their way, he could have used some of his own medicine.
After a while, Paul had asked her if she wanted to grab another drink and her answer had been yes. Back in her mind, she knew she couldn’t handle that much alcohol, but the moment told her that yes, she could and that yes, she was going to drink even more. The both of them had made their way over to the bar and if there had been any doubt that Lacey hadn’t been completely hammered, what she had done next made it quite obvious that she was. Instead of having rounded the bar in order to get to the male bartender, she had simply hopped on a stool on the female’s side of the bar, right next to a giant guy with messy brown-blonde hair.
“Lace?” A familiar voice had asked, but Lacey had been too busy trying to get the bartender’s attention to go look who had been talking to her.
Paul, who himself had a bit too much in him, had slurred, “Yo, Lacey. I think that guy is talking to you.”
Following the direction to which his finger had pointed, Lacey’s eyes had landed on a concerned looking George with a rather mad looking Matty right by his side.
Instead of being drawn to him as she normally was whenever she laid eyes on him, her drunken brain only had had one reaction to the sight of the black-clad man and that was to escape.
“Oh shit.” She had muttered before she had awkwardly climbed from her stool, bumping into Paul quite a few times as she did so.
Grabbing her arm, her designated dance partner has questioned, “I thought we were going to drink something?” A ton of incredible confusion underlining his sloppy words, while he had held her in place.
YOU ARE READING
Lacey // (The 1975 / Matty Healy fanfiction)
Fanfiction"Tell me something about you, Lace." "I don't like when you call me that." He raised his eyebrows, smirking at her attitude, "Why?" "Because it doesn't suit me," She shrugged, "I'm not seductive or even interesting in that matter. I'm just plain and...
