2018

Day sixty ninth's reminder: love does not exist. Fuck love.

I draw a red X mark on today's date on the calendar hanging next to my bookshelf. I step away from it and toss the marker away.

With a loud clank, it hits the wooden surface of my desk and rolls back until it stops at the neat pile of my textbooks stacked on the other end.

A sigh stumbles out of my lips as I move to my dressing table. I plop down on its plush stool.

I survey my reflection.

My deep violet silk tank top fits me well and shows a good amount of skin to make me look sexy. It even matches my silver-lilac metallic hair color.

I style my hair with the curling iron. Sooner than usual, I'm done with the task. I grin at the result.

Perks of having short hair.

The curls bounce, barely reaching my shoulders.

I'm glad Mom convinced me to agree with the post-breakup makeover.

My smile falters as Drew's brown eyes resurface in my mind.

He would have hated my outfit. My new hairstyle. And even the color of it.

I fidget with my fingers resting on my lap, my gaze fixes on my painted nails.

I can't count the number of times Drew forced me to change my clothes before we went out. Either on date nights or hanging out with his friends. Each objection led to an argument. Every argument resulted in him threatening to leave me. That I was being absurd. I always had to apologize for being inconsiderate. If I really loved him, I would have done as he told me to do so.

He never let me go to parties and didn't like when I hung out with my friends.

I feel so stupid for staying in that awful relationship for such a long time.

The gathering tears burn my eyes. I close them and inhale deeply to calm myself down. After long moments, I shake my head and reopen them.

No, he is not worth it.

I will not waste my tears on him.

Nor will I waste my makeup that's literally worth more than his entire bank balance.

It's better that it ended. I was way out of his league, anyway.

I draw another coat of eyeliner, highlighting my sea-green eyes, all the while chanting encouraging statements. Until my confidence boosts up.

Fake it till you make it.

That's my grand 'move on' plan.

I check the time. Abby should be here anytime now.

Fashionably late, as she would call it, but not too late. Who wants to miss all the fun parts of a frat party.

I stand and adjust my tight black skirt over my fishnet tights.

I hurry to my shoe closet. Ten minutes later, I settle with a pair of black boots I can't remember when I bought them.

Back to my bedroom, I slip on my dark purple coat. It rests an inch above my skirt.

I scan myself in the mirror.

I hope the frat house is warm enough. Because my choice of clothing is definitely not the best for midwinter weather.

I squint at my reflection and gasp.

How can I forget to put my accessories on!

Tonight, I want to be the prettiest at that party.

And hopefully, end up with a guy who has the slightest idea of how to please a girl.

A girl needs her relief too.

Or, as I would call it, a post-breakup move on sex.

I highly doubt this is what my therapist meant when she urged me to put myself out there with baby steps and not to be closed off. But I guess it was open to interpretation.

I wear my favorite wristwatch, along with multiple ear cuffs and a pair of ear climbers.

I step away and survey myself.

Now, my look is complete. Stylish, hot, and sexy. Unstoppable.

I grin.

I pick my phone and pose in front of my full-length mirror and snap a few pictures.

Quickly I send them to Mom. Underneath them, I type, 'going out with friends tonight.'

I'm sure she'll be ecstatic after seeing those pictures. Especially after my one long month of zombie phase.

The doorbell rings and I hurry out of my bedroom and answer the door.

Abby squeals, "Hey, girl." She throws her arms around my neck in a tight hug. "I'm so glad you agreed to come." She takes a step back.

I grin at her. "I'm happy I agreed to join you."

Her jet-black hair is in a high ponytail. A short black dress with see-throughs hugs her body tightly. A thick coat rests on her shoulders. Her boots reach her knees.

My best friend looks sexy.

"Ready to go?" she asks and locks her arm with mine.

"Hell yeah." I laugh.

We head out of my flat. As we descend the steps of my building, my phone buzzes in my purse.

I fish it out. A text from my Mom. Have fun baby. With lots of hearts, and flying kisses emojis.

I smile and slip my phone back into my bag.

Tonight, I'm going to have fun. Get drunk and be wild, with no regrets.

Abby and I climb into the cab she came with. It's the best choice. I doubt either of us will be in a state fit for driving.

Thirty minutes later, the car pulls up across an already crowded frat house.

We cross the street. In the front yard, a few guys wave at us with wide smiles. To be more specific, they wave at Abby. No one knows me much. Thanks to Drew for always being an overprotective, too controlling of a boyfriend.

No. Tonight, I won't think about him. Even though it's the first time I'm going out without him. Tonight will be about me. The fun I'm about to have.

I nod, encouraging myself to stick to those words.

Abby and I enter the house. The blaring music greets us as it vibrates off every surface.

"Drink?" I shout over the noise.

Abby grins and nods. Our hands locked together, we push through the sweaty drunk students dancing and make our way to the other side.

The bright white light of the narrow kitchen is a stark contrast to the dim lighting of the living area. I blink multiple times and squint until my eyes adjust.

Dozens of bottles and red cups are on the island in the middle. Not an inch of free space is left on any of the counters around the place.

"So..." Abby starts as she scans the available options. "They've got beer," she says and holds up a dark bottle.

I scrunch up my face and she giggles. She picks a glass. I peer over her shoulder and read the brand.

"Whiskey?" We both ask at the same time. Who drinks whiskey at a party! I was only expecting super cheap liquor, guess someone was feeling generous or was an idiot. Although the second alternative is more likely.

I shrug and shuffle through the other bottles until I spot something strong that matches my taste too.

I smile as I pick the cherry vodka.

Abby turns to me and quirks an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

"I wanna be wild tonight. Get drunk. Dance and get laid." I whisper the last part with a wink and pour the drink into one of the nearby clean red cups.

She mirrors my action and we fill our cups till halfway through.

"Cheers, ma' bitch." She holds up her plastic cup.

I laugh and bump the bottom of my drink with hers. "Cheers, bitch. To staying wild and living."

We gulp our drinks. The vodka burns as it travels down my throat. I scrunch up my face but take another sip anyway.

Abby slips out of her coat, and I do the same too. She puts them in a safe corner. Let's hope no one accidentally wears our stuff. I have no interest in freezing to death.

Together we walk back to the living area with its blasting music. We bob our heads and pull off a few stupid dance moves, all the while giggling like idiots.

A few of her friends spot and wave us over. She greets and hugs all of them one by one. I stand aside, swaying with the tune, sensing the alcohol kicking in, slowly but surely.

Abby briefly introduces me to them and they greet me with exaggerated excitement, which I assume their liquor consumption is at fault.

One of them, I think his name was Mason, smirks at me. His gaze roams my body, pausing on my chest for a long second before giving away a suggestive glint.

I size him up the best I can in the flashing lights, without appearing too obvious.

Dark hair, small eyes, and a long nose. His neck is a bit too short. Biceps each with too puffed up muscles, along with a tight-fitting black shirt that showcases his toned chest. Almost my height.

He has one too many features that are a big no for me. But it's a college frat party. I can't be that picky. I sigh.

As discreetly as possible, I glance down at my now empty cup and bring it to the same level as his crotch. Over the red and white brim, I peer.

Oh my God.

Hell no!

It's almost flat!

He's wearing well-fitting jeans, showing the muscles of his thighs perfectly. Still, that part is flat.

No way! That is enough to cross him out. Sorry ma' man, but you won't be getting lucky tonight with me.

He moves towards me.

Looks like my man-hunting is nowhere near its end. In fact, it has just begun.

I fake a smile at him that screams uninterested to get him off of my back. Can't let him ruin my chances now.

The number of college dudes who know a thing or two about a woman's anatomy and things that might be pleasurable for girls is very limited. Leaving the majority under the category of quite troublesome for a night of fun.

Not that I have personal experience, but words go around. And I trust my fellow gals.

Since there's a high chance I'll be doing everything, the least I can ask for is a big member down there to make it a bit easier.

And I'm not drunk enough to overlook this golden filter.

Mason the dickless dumb does not get the clue and keeps on trying to talk to me.

He leans to me and I resist the urge to pull off a classic Cher of Clueless shove and "As if" move on him.

This time when he opens his mouth to spark up another conversation, I beat him to it. "I need a refill," I announce.

I turn to give Abby the abort signal, but that little bitch is nowhere in sight. Now that I'm looking, neither is that blond guy.

What happened to our girl code! I gotta have a serious talk with her tomorrow... after my hangover.

But clearly, she had better luck in finding her portion of fun.

I sigh and trudge away. The walls sway with my steps, the people dancing, swim before my eyes.

I abandon my cup on an already overflowing table in the corner of the living area. As I turn to make my way to the dance floor, I spot Abby, chatting with a guy while the blond dude is supporting most of her weight.

The shadows cover the person she is talking to in a very drunk manner. Suddenly she stops, spotting me, and starts waving like a madwoman.

I giggle and approach them.

She throws an arm around my shoulder with a lopsided grin, eyes red and unfocused. Fully wasted.

I smile at her and turn to the new guy.

It takes my entire willpower not to widen my eyes or gasp. Or ogle him.

But damn.

He's hot.

Like melting gold. 1,948 degrees hot.

I'm surprised I haven't evaporated from just standing in his presence.

That amount of hotness in public places should be illegal.

Dark eyes. Defined and sharp jawline. Stray strands of dark curly hair are around his face. The rest is bunched up in a swooning man bun.

Oh my God.

Is this destiny pushing me towards my ideal man for post-breakup sex as an apology for being stuck in a toxic relationship for almost five years?

If so, I might consider forgiving destiny; If this guy is as good in bed as he looks. Regardless of destiny being a bitch.

Wait.

Was it destiny who was a bitch? Or was it karma?

I shake my head and instantly regret it as everything circles around my vision for a moment. But when I look up to continue enjoying my sight, I catch him smiling at me. A knowing smile.

Shit. He caught me. I stared at him for too long.

Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I hold my ground and offer a coy smile.

He smirks.

Target locked.

Game's on.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

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