Strobe lights were never my thing, neither was getting incredibly wasted, which Calvin both loved. It was a house party, I felt slightly bad for the parents that were not knowing that they would have dozens of wasted teenagers vomiting in questionable spaces around the house. It was such a beauty of a house, whoever had thrown this party must have been rich. The eloquent dining room had a six person table, black lacquered, with a modern edge. Though this did not matter as all I could mostly see on the table was alcoholic beverages. My obsessive compulsive side wanted to give someone a stern talking to about the watermarks the drinks were going to leave on this wood finish, i resisted. I guess I was a party pooper for not getting drunk, but being drunk left me very vulnerable.
I remember a few years back Calvin had out some vodka in all my twist off coke bottles, not enough for me to taste a noticeable difference. He knew that I would not get purposely wasted for any amount of money, well beside grand amounts in which he could not afford. I was incredibly drunk before I knew it, and that hangover made me want to shoot his incredibly ginger face off. I made sure not to drink Cola products tonight, water would manage.
I could get lost in it all, what made the human race want to lose there consciousness and have a sense of uncontrollability, one of the many questions I had staring into the crowd of dry humping fiends. I made sure that I would not allow Calvin to make a fool of himself, for my sakes at the least. I watched the crowds, as the multicolored lights flicked on and off, red, blues, yellows. Incredibly base and techno jazz combination beats played loudly, shaking the whole floor. My eyes were sleepy, but the sight of it all kept me somewhat entertain.
I saw Calvin walking over, or well more or less staggaring over towards my general direction till he met me face to face.
“What do you have something you want to say Calvin?” I questioned after he stood there for a good five minutes, I thought I should ask at the least most. His deep ivy eyes stared, I was in love, fuck it, I was in love. He stood, looking at me, I couldn’t resist. I quickly grabbed him, our lips touched. It must have been the biggest five seconds of my life, but also one of the best. He was also a incredibly great kisser despite his drunkenness. I pushed him far away, I couldn’t let this escalate. I was now hoping that he would have been wasted enough to forget that this moment never had happened. Though I was not sure if I wanted him to remember it or not. I was just not sure what to think anymore.
I quickly ran, out of the great entrance way ladened with a elegant crystal chandelier, out of the great archway housing expensive plants and hybrid flowers. I just feel, the soft green patcehs of grass cushioned my fall, as I stood there in shock. The stars shown brightly as I looked out upon the grey moon. Faint clouds, almost see through passed through the moon, giving off a slightly scary vibe. But none of this bothered me, not one bit, for I knew that all I would think about for the next few days was that kiss. Maybe it was the great perhaps, the what could have happened but never did, but I knew not to take a chance as big as this. For if I lost my best friend I am not sure what state of well being I would be in. I also was disturbed that I had forgotten all about my mum in the process of these few days. I was worried that I was losing sight if what was actually important. My navy calf leggings began to get moist mixing with the soft dew on the ground.
“Now what are you doing miss sad face!” Bailey screamed across the lawn, skipping past the brick pathway into my direction. Her turquoise Jersey Grecian Bandeau going out dress bounced happily along with her as her perfect blonde hair bounced in all directions.
“Oh, just thinking ya know.” Which was not entirely untrue, but I was thinking about ways to not go back in as I stared onto the marvelous brownstone mansion, its black shutters provided a stark contrast against the twelve pane georgian windows.
“Come on you’re are gonna have some fun!” She tugged at my wrists, trying to pick me off the emerald grass. I gave in, for a couple reasons, (A) I would feel bad if I sat in the grass ignoring Bailey, and (B), she was going to force me one way or another. She could stop two perverts from attacking me, she can make me go into a party easily.
“Fine, I will go, but I will not get plastered mkay.” I said in a serious tone, though she probably wouldn’t take it completely seriously since she was miserably drunk as well.
“Oh Lexi, you’sa funny bunny!” She screamed loudly beside the ornate vanilla shaded fountain near the greatly decorated pair of oak doors. She swung quickly to the left, nearly tripping on her pumps as she stopped to take them off, handing the yellow pair to me, I sat them by the steps.
Walking in, I was already dreading the decision I had made. The foyer already was trashed as I saw a must of been antique blue and white vase broken on the floor beside the dark brown sideboard full of pots and pictures. As I turned the corner I settled in for a long night of loud music and people making fools of themselves. I never fully understood what was the fun of getting incredibly drunk and losing yourself. You didn’t look attractive at any way at all getting incredibly sick and throwing up in trash cans, not to mention the horrible breath that smells like death itself. Then you stagger everywhere, saying messages that you would never say to someone’s face when being yourself. Of course if you did get in a rather childish fight you would most likely not remember. I wonder how many people got pregnant and don’t remember because they were wasted. I had various deep questions like this sitting on the pinstriped green and white couch that night. Maybe I had these thoughts from seeing several disturbing images that will no doubt not leave my memory any time soon. I do not care for dry humping sessions with your possible candidate for a second cousin.
I slowly saw more and more teenagers slowly fall to a deep sleep on any form of close comforting area they could find, which was like watching fly’s drop dead, which was disturbing that I just had that connection. It was like copying a episode of Skins and inserting it into this house. I walked around the house, the least I could do is explore.
The kitchen was stunning, I did not feel worthy to be in such a room as I walked around the greatly fashioned interior. The vaulted ceilings seemed to bounce the ever growing headache of the dance music in the foreground as the write ceramic backsplash brightened up the dark grey walls. The old dark oak floors had few scratches but still shown signs of life as few exotic carpets ran around the white breakfast table,a deep earthy brown toned shaped lamp escaped from the ceiling illuminating the brightness of the clean white. On the right hand side were various cupboards with glass exteriors to look into the interior with as spotlights gave off a warming glow. I wished this was my house, but then again I was always a wishful thinker. I never took this as a good thing, wishing never came true, I was a realist.
I walked over to the dark shaded wood and metal display cabinet as black framed pictures adorned the inside. I saw a picture of a little black haired girl, dressed up in a usual school uniform. She was holding a trophy of some sort, plastered with fake gold paint over it. It reminded me of the art competition we had in secondary school I had won. I got this gloriously fake trophy as a award, but my parents satisfaction with me that day was far more worth anything as close as a trophy. Our art class had a oh so important art competition between each other, the basis was to paint a picture of how we felt about the winter season. I loved the challenge, as well as the whole room, it gave off a unique feel. The whole school had a oddly strict feel to it, with its cheap tiled flooring and sterilized white walls, the art room, well it was another story. It had light birch flooring, walls crazy colours. One was lime green, one was orange, the wall facing the board was white though, I guess each room needs one calming colour in it. There were five tables in the room that required stools to sit on, the fact that there were stools in a school made me excited for the class itself. Each table had years upon years of graffiti written onto the soft wood, I thought it added character, if not new phrases of inappropriate things I had not heard before.
I spent weeks on this picture, I wanted to win so badly to show my parents how good of a child I could be. I wanted to impress them, I had always wanted to impress them, maybe hoping that they would love me more. Its not that they did not love me because they certainly did, it’s just, they seemed so unsatisfied with my accomplishments, I wanted them to be proud of their own daughter. I had this entire conversation planned out when I was painting about what they would say.
“Oh this painting is amazing, I wonder what amazing and talented student did this.” A parent would ask staring at my painting.
“This was our daughters!” My parents would brag smiling ear to ear.
“Wow you must be so lucky to have a child such as this!” They would respond
“Yes, yes we do! She is the most amazing child ever, we are so proud to have her!”
Thus this conversation never happened, well not as I had planned.When I won though, at the open house, they were so thrilled with me. They took me out to my favorite place to eat, and talked about how good I was for what seemed like hours, that was a lovely day.
This connection got me back on track of what I was here for, what I had left my town for, to find my mother, to rekindle this lost feeling. I grabbed my black and fake silver phone out of my jumper and stole the wifi from this ancient house. As I was looking up what the last spending habits of my mother I heard a huge scream, a scream of morbid fear. I immediately jumped, dropping my phone as the back plastic piece broke out, memory card and battery scattering the floor. Though this wasn’t a major concern for me to worry about, at that moment the scream is what beckoned me, as I violently ran toward its direction. The noise was unlike a scream of fear, it was a scream of intense worry, of pain. It was loud, violent, as my ears reacted negatively toward how loud it was. I passed the dining room, through the familiar foyer, past the french doors that led into the study into the living room. It was morbid, I didn’t want to look. It was like when you kill a bug, you don’t want to look, but you have to so you can be sure its dead.
Red, its a violent colour. It is a colour of infatuation, of love, of hate. It has such strong emotions connected to it, it is full of strong emotions. Energy, strength, aggression, passion, or even danger. I looked over to the grey rug, but it was no longer grey, it was red, red with blood.
