8. June #3
Another song, then another, until we’re out of breath and blending in with every single other person shaking their bodies in an attempt to free their minds.
A few girls join us, and we take turns spinning circles around each other.
It's strange and wonderful how easy it is to make friends when you're drunk.
People you would never imagine you'd get along with, yet are shaking your hips in tune together.
And let’s not mention how it’s much more common in the bathroom.
Girls are psycho, me included, but throw us in a confined space with too much booze running through our veins and a full bladder, and we’ll be sharing stories and braiding one another’s hair in minutes, ganging up on some guy Chad who wronged Elizabeth over in the third stall.
Given my typical closed-off nature, it's nice to let myself fall victim to the typical ways of women.
Especially with how temporary it is. There are no long-term promises in the bathroom of some dance club.
No obligations to stay in contact. Just you and a stranger, a good time, and the ability to walk away and not think twice about looking back.
I’m grateful for Cora, but she’s all I need and more than I’m prepared to commit to.
I’m not even sure how it happened, us lasting longer than one drunken night, but if I’m going to stick around for anyone, it’s going to be her.
“I’m going to get us some water,” I tell her over the music. I might be wasted, but I’m not a complete idiot. From the sheen covering our skin and the panting breaths, we could use a little hydration.
She nods and continues dancing, her energy bubbling out of her. Cora and a short brunette take each other’s hands and bounce up and down to the hip-hop blasting through the speakers.
I wiggle through the crowd, glancing behind me to see if there are any identifying people to remember to find my way back to her. The one downfall of splitting up in a place like this is figuring out how to get back to your person.
The intoxicated version of me shrugs it off and reminds me that I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
I make a beeline for the bathroom before heading to the bar for water. The line isn’t too long, but it’s still out the door.
Men pop in and out of theirs, and for a split second, I consider going in there instead to relieve myself.
I decide to eavesdrop on the conversation in front of me instead.
“He’s so hot.” The taller of the two girls grips the short blonde’s arm, nearly dragging her down as she stumbles against the wall, her words slurring.
“Yeah, but so are you.”
“Um, you both are,” I blurt out, because how dare they think any less of themselves because of some man.
“Oh my god, shut up, that is so sweet.” The tall one reels me in, quite literally, pulling me by the arm over to her. “What’s your name? I’m Faith, and this is Sav. Short for Savannah, obvs.”
The line moves and we take a few steps closer to the door.
“I’m June.”
“June,” Sav gasps. “Are you a Gemini?” She latches onto me to hold me at an arm’s length. “Wait, don’t tell me.”
Faith brings her thumb and finger to her chin, her eyes narrowing to examine me. “I’m not getting twin vibes. Not completely. I bet Pisces.”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m a Cancer.”
Sav widens her stare. “You know the FBI ranked Cancers as the most dangerous of all the zodiac.”
“Is that true?” I let out a laugh and step out of the way of a girl coming from the bathroom. With her exit, we’re able to go inside and escape the loud area.
“Yep,” she lowers her voice to accommodate the quiet but still muffled space. “You’re probably a Slytherin, too. I’m a Hufflepuff if you can’t tell. Capricorn to a T.”
Faith nods obediently, going along with everything Sav is saying. These two are best buds and it shows.
“Here.” Sav opens her clutch and digs around for a moment, pulling out a partially transparent stone. She shoves it into my hand. “I’d sage that the first chance you get, but keep it on you.”
I eye the glistening blue thing and admire its soft and milky appearance. "What is it?"
“Moonstone, silly. Your birthstone. It’ll bring you balance, clarity, and help amplify your Cancer traits.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Even my dangerous ones?”
A stall opens and Faith latches onto Sav and tugs her toward it, the two of them disappearing inside, full of giggles.
A girl with a bright red dress confidently strolls out of the next one and makes her way to the sink.
I shove the shiny thing in my pocket and go in to relieve myself. I hurry in an attempt to recoup some of the time lost from standing in line. Cora is either totally fine, dancing her heart out, or is worried, wondering what is taking me so long. I'm going to assume the former.
The second I stand from the toilet, my head spins, reminding me how much alcohol I’ve consumed tonight.
I accept the fuzz with welcomed arms, ready to intensify it with another round.
If I know my friend, she’s probably done for the night—shimmying to the beat of her new form of intoxicant.
For me though, I need something a bit stronger.
I exit my stall, giving another female the opportunity to tinkle.
Washing my hands, I glance behind me at where my bathroom friends had gone in together and consider whether I should tell them bye.
I decide against it, knowing this territory doesn’t have set rules and the chances of them already forgetting who I am being high.
The music assaults me when I exit the bathroom, a loud thumping in my ears. I go straight to the bar, moving easily around the tipsy people going to and from.
A handsome bartender approaches. “What can I get you?” He continues to shake the drink in the tumbler between his hands.
“Two bottles of water and a double of well vodka.”
He glances at the stamp on my hand and nods. “Anything else?”
“No. Thank you.” A little common courtesy goes a long way in a situation like this. Too many drunk inconsiderate assholes disrespect servers all the time. Being one myself, I do my best not to be on the giving end of that rudeness.
The guy strolls out of sight, and I take the opportunity to scan the crowd and try to find Cora.
“Here you go.” He plants the waters on the counter and a glass of golden liquor.
“What’s this?” I ask him, knowing I’m not that drunk. Vodka is definitely a clear liquid.
He flips his head in the other direction. "Some dude covered your tab. Said to tell you you're too pretty to be drinking well."
“Who was it?” I strain to look down the counter at the faces littering the area.
“Didn’t catch his name.” He walks away without another word, helping a customer a few seats down from me.
I sigh, not having a clue who would have bought this for me. I pick up the glass, bringing the thing to my lips and taking a sniff.
What I sort of expected to be bourbon, is actually tequila, throwing out the idea that it could have been Dominic, Coen, or Magnus, considering that’s their signature drink.
Is this just a completely random patron who decided to be nice?
What are the chances of that happening? Especially when the few people I call my friends tell me I’m not exactly approachable with the constant resting bitch face.
I guess they didn’t approach me, though, they used the bartender to play middleman.
But why not wave, say hi, or at least give me some opportunity to say thank you.
I take a sip, swirling the booze around in my mouth and letting the warmth flow through me. It’s not a fierce burn like the cheap stuff Cora and I shoot, instead it’s smooth and steady, a note of citrus in it. It’s good, that’s for sure. But way out of my price range.