mean girls

ix. vandalized posters

Lauren wakes up to the sound of piano keys being abused by someone's poor attempt at playing them - that someone is doubtlessly her little brother, Chris, whose newfound obsession is the piano, even though history has proven that he doesn't have a single musical bone in his entire body.

She whimpers as she feels the familiar sensation of an icicle piercing through her temple and the rotten taste in her mouth. She hasn't been hungover in a long fucking while and she had almost forgotten how not worth it, it is.

However, this time might just have been worth it, and she smirks as she remembers Camila's stormy face as she spent the entirety of the night glaring death at Lauren rather than enjoying her own party. That memory alone is nearly enough to cure Lauren's hangover. Nearly.

She hides under the duvet from the relentless sunlight falling through her window for about half an hour, feeling miserable until she decides to roll her weary body out of bed. Experience has taught her that there's no better cure for a raging hangover than a warm shower, a good omelette and a couple of painkillers.

She stumbles ungracefully to her feet and has to take a moment to find her balance. Once she does, she walks up to her full body mirror, scratching at her hair lazily. She stops and stares, getting a proper look at herself. It's not the fact that she looks like someone who died last night that alarms her - she's used to that look -, but the unfamiliar blue top she's wearing.

She blinks and looks down at the top. She knows she wasn't wearing this when she went out last night and she definitely doesn't own it. It's too little, stretching tight over her chest. She flops back down on her bed, pushing her hair out of her face, and frowning as she tries to recall memories from last night.

Ever so slowly, they return to her. A steady stream of drinks. Camila's pissed off face. Dancing, grinding, touching. Playfully making out with Shaun. Camila's pissed off face. Dancing on top of a table to Beyoncé. Dinah cheering her on. Camila's pissed off face. Sucking on a joint. Camila's pissed off face. Blowing the smoke in said pissed off face. Lauren pushing into Camila's face. Camila pushing back, teeth knocking and lips clashing-

Lauren sits up so fast that her world spins and her vision goes black for a few seconds. She falls back onto the bed, eyes wide with horror as her mind is assaulted by flashes of images from last night:

Lips locking, caressing tongues, pitch black soft hair, skin, hands, moans.

As realization dawns on her like an ice-cold bath, the pissed off face of Camila imprinted in Lauren's mind is quickly wiped away by Camila's flushed face, dark eyes and swollen lips.

Lauren's first instinct is to deny, deny, deny, muttering a mantra of 'no' under her breath, but it does nothing to chase away the steady stream of images that floods her mind. It becomes harder to cling to denial when her memory rapidly clears up and what occurred last night is crystal clear.

She'd slept with Camila Cabello.

When the image and sound of Camila arching into her as she reaches climax enters Lauren's mind, she grabs her pillow, buries her face deep into it and screams.

When Monday morning rolls around, Lauren keeps her gaze to the ground, trying her hardest to be invisible - which is basically useless after the debacle she sparked by crashing Camila's party.

She can feel countless eyes following her every move and the murmurs she leaves in her wake. Under normal circumstances, she'd barely notice them or at least brush them off easily. But the thing is, today she isn't under normal circumstances, so every whisper makes her heart jump into her throat.