Nisha Volant finds herself in a tricky situation after having killed a man who had forced himself on her. In the midst of running down the street from the man's friend, she finds dark alley and hides, hoping to escape what could be the bringer of he...
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"Nisha! C'mon, we'll be late if you take any longer to get ready!" My roommate Cara exclaims, causing me to sigh, examining myself in the mirror.
It's Saturday. Which means I was pressured to "have fun" with my friends... again. I check my dark eyeliner, making sure the wings are even before hastily applying my favourite aloe lip oil and checking my hair once again. I give myself a reassuring nod, praying to whatever is out there that I make it through tonight without anything going wrong.
I've seen movies, and I'm not about to make any mistakes in public. Especially not an obvious one. No drinks for me, thanks.
"Nisha!" She calls again, this time sounding less patient than before. I bite my bottom lip out of habit, endless scenarios living in my mind rent-free. That's when my social anxiety kicks in and I begin to have a hard time breathing. "Ni-"
"Just a second! I need a moment." I call back, cutting her off before she can say my name again. "And I told you, call me Ni," I mutter, mildly irritated by the fact that none of my friends seem to care that I prefer Ni over Nisha. I study my face, the freckles that dot my cheeks are beginning to fade as winter draws near, and my eyebrows are thicker than Cara's perfect, slender ones. Her eyebrows are perfectly shaped, having been freshly waxed last night... but mine... mine are already thin, and end in sharp points. I never wax my eyebrows. I pluck them every now and then, maybe a tiny shave, but rarely.
I inhale deeply, the scent of vanilla and esprsso beans wafting in the air. No matter how many times I wash my hair with strawberry-scented shampoo and use my watermelon body wash, I never fail to smell like vanilla and coffee beans.
I turn toward the bathroom door, gripping the handle as if my life depends on it before opening the wood door. Cara stands before me, eyes glued to her purple Samsung.
"Ready?" She asks, turning her phone off with a click before stuffing it into the tiny pocket of her skinnies.
"Readier than I'll ever be."
I hate weekends...
...*...
Crowded places have always left me feeling exhausted, and this club filled with people is no exception. People dance together, hips grinding, bodies expressing attraction, and words being whispered into the ears of their dance partners. I sit calmly on a red sofa, right next to Cara and her boyfriend who are currently chewing on each other's faces. I bite my lip uncomfortably, feeling as if I'm looking in on things that should probably be private.
I gaze into the clear liquid in my glass, my reflection peering back at me. I sigh, finding it extremely hard to breathe for various reasons-the main reason being that it's humid and very hot in here. The scent of sweat fills my nostrils and I feel entirely out of sorts here. None of this feels right to me.
Cara's completely comfortable here, and that's good for her. I'm happy that doing this makes her more confident and comfortable... I however... think it's time to return home. I've had enough of all of this.
