Ale, remember rule number one. It’s vital to your existence.
Ren is in a cut-off t-shirt showing all his tattoos and his toned arms. He’s seen as the Korean heartthrob all over the world, and I understand the image. Xavier is in beige pants and a baggy t-shirt with a cool street style graphic on the front. He also has tattoos, but they’re more spread out. His favorite one is on his leg. It’s his favorite cartoon character, Homer Simpson. He told me about it a while ago.
Finally, the hunk of a man that everyone calls Amir Zikraan walks out in a leather jacket and black ripped jeans. The chain from his jacket to his pants shows his rugged appearance and it enhances his bright gray eyes.
Why do they all have to be so attractive? It’s not fair to the world and most teenage girls’ hearts.
“Look at you guys all ready to go out.” I smile at them.
“Yes, ma’am, you don’t look so bad yourself,” Xavier says to me.
“Thank you. I wanted to go for an edgy look today.”
I’m wearing a matching set of leather pants and a leather long sleeve crop top in my signature obsidian color. My feet are graced with black combat boots, finishing off the outfit. Wanting to enhance my eye color, I decided on a black smokey eye, which I paired with a nude lip. I straightened my hair and pulled it up into a sleek ponytail. I look like Catwoman, and I’m living for it.
“Let’s go. There’s a car outside waiting for us.” I wave them over.
We make it to the club, and I can hear the music blasting from outside. I had asked one of the interns who I knew was from Spain, and she told me this was the best place to go. On the side of a medieval-esque building, the word “Paciencia” shines down on us in bright, glowing red letters.
Seeing the huge line to enter the club, I walk up to the bouncer, and he let us in immediately. I give him a smile as I walk past the rope that he unlatches for us.
I can feel the whole club vibrating from the bass, and I see the lights flashing. Making my way through the little passageway, we get into the club. It’s a vast space overflowing with people. Once you walk in, the bar is to the right and the tables are on each side of the dance floor, where everyone moves their bodies skillfully. Before we were allowed inside, they took our phones and put them under our names, meaning I can do anything I want without being filmed.
Jackpot.
Thankfully, I had a reservation for a table, which I can see is empty from across the room. Pulling Xavier with me, we make our way through sweaty bodies to the table we reserved. “Lose Control” by Meduza, Becky Hill, and Goodboys starts playing in the background.
Waving the waiter over, I ask for ten Tequila shots for the table. They get here when another song starts playing, and I hand a shot to each of the boys.
Holding up our shots in the air, we all take them back in one swift motion. I can feel the burn, which is exactly what I needed. Looking at Xavier, he’s shaking his head in disgust and sticking his tongue out of his mouth. I laugh when he looks at me disapprovingly. I shrug. That’s what you get for being a sucker.
The music echoes off the walls and fades into a song I recognize.
“Without You.” By Avicii and Sandro Cavazza starts playing, that’s when I know it’s time to dance. I throw another shot back and hold my hand out for Xavier, dragging him to the dance floor. We start singing obnoxiously and scream the words in each other’s faces. Once the drop comes, I swiftly move my body with the beat and lose myself to the alcohol burning in my veins.
Two hours and about six shots later, I’m incredibly fucked up. I love it. Everyone seems to be having fun, and Xavier is stone cold sober.
Looking in the direction of my table, I see another figure talking to Amir. His arms are spread out on the couch. From here, I can’t see his face, only his hands, and instantly I think I just found my one-night stand. Making my way to the table casually, I fill up my cup with water. I don’t want to sober up, but I also don’t want to black out. Once, when I was seventeen, I went out with my cousins to a club and ended up not remembering anything the next morning. Apparently, I had thrown up all over myself and cracked a kid’s skull open by accident. He was my cousin’s friend and, let me tell you, he wasn’t very happy about that the next morning. I never got to apologize, but I hope all is forgiven from his end. I had pasta that night for dinner, and the spaghetti ended up in my hair. I’m not letting that happen ever again.
Xavier is behind me, telling me to drink more water after we leave the dance floor. I take the water and slam it back while I look up at the mysterious man at the table. My face drops. I was interested a few minutes ago, but now, not so much.
Definitely not fucking him tonight or ever.
Mr. Donatello is here.
“Who invited him?” I yell out over the music.
“I did. I was bored and wanted to talk to someone, so I sent him my location. He showed up ten minutes later,” Amir says casually.
“What a buzzkill.” I put my hand up dramatically in my drunken haze. Mr. Donatello seems amused. I hate when he’s amused.
“Don’t look at me like that, old man. I didn’t come here to hang out with a senior citizen.”
“I am far from a senior citizen,Ragazza.” I give him an “are you serious” look.
“Prove it then.” I glance at the shot in front of me and lift it up for him to take. He shakes his head and declines the tequila I almost handed to him.
“See? I told you, he’s a total buzzkill,” I say in an exasperated tone. All of them laugh at me while I pout. “It’s not that I don’t want to drink it, I can’t,” He responds.