Glorious

'Nnnyyuugghh?'
An incomprehensible groan is all I can manage as I am rudely awoken by the melodic saxophones of Sly Mr Fox.
Christ, 6:39 AM. Where am I? A double bed in a magnolia dream of a bedroom, all sweeping cream drapes and chocolate leather photo frames. Beside me, a blonde, whose bob is stuck to her face by a crusty trail of dribble.
'H,' I gently implore, 'Wake up!'
The overwhelming tiredness spares me no mercy- pain! Agonising pain! I didn't even drink- we just stayed up until the small hours eating pizza and watching Roswell box sets! Such is life, I guess- the worst headaches follow the most pathetic nights in.
The mirror is just as unforgiving as the fatigue- mad hair, deep dull eye bags, the remnants of last nights eyeliner swept across my cheek.
30 minutes, two glasses of fruit juice, 1 pair of GHD's and a few minor miracles later, and I'm looking as good as can be expected. We're bundled into the car, huddled in parkas and squashed together by assorted picnic tables.
Why, why did I agree to this? Mainly because I'm poor- the fund I've hoarded from my three failed attempts at employment is dwindling, and honestly, flogging cheap tat at an indoor market is the best option.
Upon arrival, I praise the Lord for whoever invented lifts, even if it is a bit of a squeeze with all our boxes of junk and display tables. Christ, I shouldn't be up yet.
The next few hours are a blur of trying to make our tat look buyable, checking out the competition and getting an eyeful of the cute checkout guy in M+S ("Did you see him?" "Cute in a messed-up hair sort of way, kind of like K's ex?" "That's the ticket- hot daaayyymn!")
My shift on our embarrassingly poor stall ends at 11- I am thrown at the mercy of the local public transport system.
In go the earphones: Mariana's Trench on full volume, baby.
Out come the contents of my pockets: Phone, MP3, purse, loose change outside of purse, handful of bangles, tickets upon tickets upon ticket, a stray jellybean or two.
And scattered around is my impromptu bus picnic lunch- spinach and pesto pasta, hot chili crisps, fruit salad, and of course chocolate.
Of course, I completely miss my second bus- apparently, running behind the bus, waving your arms and yelling 'WAIT! WAIT!' only works in the movies. All the best things only work in the movies.
2 hours later, I'm finally with The Squeeze (yes, he lives that far away). I dive down onto the bed, bury myself underneath the covers.
'Are you OK?'
'Yeh, yeh. I just... fancy a nap.' I giggle.
'Of course you do.'
Of course I don't. It doesn't take long until we're together, more together than we've ever been before, the kind of together that makes napping the last thing on my mind.
We travel- his house, my house, cross-bloody-county. He sees my family, I see his- we make polite conversation, but I think both of us are thinking about that glorious afternoon. What does it mean, we ask ourselves. It means nothing really- nothing has changed, nothing will change. I love him, he loves me, and it's just something that happens. It's fun, but so are alot of things. What we have isn't defined my one glorious afternoon.
After dropping in for a cup of tea (I'm technically staying with H this weekend, whilst her parents are having a long-weekend in Spain), just so my mother knows I'm still breathing, he walks me back to H's. We kiss, he holds me, tels me he doesn't want to leave. We both know he will, in search of chips.
At H's door, I am greeted by my whole band of friends, in skimpy pyjamas. Together, they chorus:
'BLATANTLY got some!'
And I did.
They scream in delight.

We dance until the wee hours- there's vodka and girl talk and a close encounter of the male kind (luckily, the boys didn't manage to inflitrate in the house- they may have been disappointed to find us without make-up, swigging back vodka and discussing foreplay, and not the naked pillow fight they were envisioning).
Girly sleepovers realy are the best- you get to order in food whenever, dance without worrying about high heels and looking sexy, sleep in an actual bed in actual pyjamas with no make-up to worry about. And of course, there's brilliant conversation and random escapades.

The day is long, relentless- memorable. I make it until 4:30 AM until I finally keel over. Everyone has left by the time I come around- me and H tidy up quietly,comfy T-shirt dresses and revitalising moisturiser the orders of the day. When I finally leave that night to quickly update my politics notes for school on Monday, I'm knackered- but this glorious long weekend will stay with me for quite some time.

Clocks

9pm - Another Friday night on the town, another crappy club packed with one hundred intoxicated horny teenagers, another shit DJ who thinks he's a God. Every week, a different pub gets stormed, the locals terrorised and the bar drained. Tonight, suffice to say, is no exception.
The night is young- it's all meet and greets, air kisses, and the impatient girls trying to get a dance going. I'm happy to get the drinks in, sit back, and watch things take their natural course. Five minutes ago, I was in someone's bedroom, polishing off fish and chips with my girlfriends, applying purple eyeliner, smoothing out my plaid minidress and stepping into my Hampstead charity shop heels. Now, I'm being dragged to the dance floor by a girl in a cream dress- 'AWESOME to see you!' she drawls, already reasonably wankered.
Oh well- time to get started, then...


0am- 'Do you know these guys?'
'No. Do you'
'No bloody idea...'
The four guys who were grinding me from all angles finally wander off, leaving me in the arms of my current squeeze. I can pick out almost every face in the crowd- the friends of friends, the casual acquaintances, the old school friends, the old flames...
I see H in the arms of her ex, her face the picture of confusion, wondering whether or not this is the best idea. W, crying into the chest of a boy she doesn't know, hurt once again by her ex. I, leading a stranger outside for a drunken fumble she'll regret in the morning. K, gathering her belongings again, looking wistfully at the boy she attached herself to, as he slides his hands down the back of someone else's knickers. L, fresh from a break up, throwing herself at any and every boy in close proximity.
I see them all, their love lives spanning out into a web of pain and puzzlement. Each web merges into each other, as old flames are passed from mouth to mouth in search of something with meaning. I look at them all, and wonder how their lives got so complicated.
I see S, staring down at me, hands on my ass, and small tipsy smile on his face. I look at him, and wonder how my life got so simple.

1am- Finally, I get him to myself. We go back to my place. He watches me go about my nighttime routine- take my tablets, take off my dress, put my kitsch robot necklace back on the stand, make a cup of tea, drink it. He brushes the hair out of ym face; calls me beautiful. I put down my mug, carefully; slowly. Within five minutes he's in my bed, on his back, kissing me like my lips are strangers to him.

2am- We lie on our sides, hands clasped, completely naked. I see the satisfaction in his eyes. We don't speak; we don't move. We simply breathe, and try to figure out whether or not we're still awake.

3am- 'Do you believe in ghosts?'
We're still naked, his arms around me.
'Guess so. You?'
'Yeh, I guess.'
'Is it strange how sometimes you remind me of me?'
'Not really. We're not similar enough for it to be considered narcissism.'

The next day- I got no sleep. We get on a bus, go somewhere-anywhere-nowhere. We talk food and fantasies and bank robbers with nothing to lose. I can feel sleep is near, so I nuzzle against that cinnamon, tangerine, ash and soap scented neck.
I'm still wondering how life got this simple, right up until the moment my eyes close.

Midnight (Part II)

An hour or so later, we sit alone, whispering the New Year into existence.
'Any resolutions?' he asks, he hand still stroking circles across my spine.
'Yeh,' I hesitate, wondering if I should be disclosing this much to a boy I've never spoken to before, 'To take things slower, with boys.'
'I can help you with that.'
'You can, but you won't.'
His thumb strokes my lip, silencing me. I'm lifted off him. He presses my back against the cool wall, our legs intertwining. I gaze up at him, his soft features illuminated by a string of blue fairy lights above us. His hands skim my arms, shoulders, neck, chin. My face is tilted to meet his, those warm lips tracing my features until, just when I can't take anymore, he kisses me again. The gentle tug of his lips against mine, so impassioned, so charged, so... unexpected. I can feel myself shuddering, but he holds me against his chest, so I'm secure and disarrayed all at once.
My heart begins to slow once more- I look up into his dark eyes, wondering why I hadn't noticed them before.
He shakes his head.
'What?' I ask.
'How did this happen to us?'
'I don't know.' And I don't.

Midnight (Part I)

Another party, another night of debauchery, another shoulder to sleep on. The room is brimming with people; the counter is covered with empties and elbows, and I find myself instinctively curling against the body next to mine.

In my dizzy, sleep-deprived state, it takes me a while to notice that the people and the lights and the music have dissolved- there is only this ash, soap and tangerine scented shoulder left. 'Where'd everyone go?' I almost yawn, but I stop as soft fingertips press against my feverish cheek. There was something about that moment- the tenderness, the atmosphere- that made me certain that we were going to kiss.
I take his hand, trace the lines of his palm- love, life- and coil my fingers around this. His thumb skates across my knuckle. Minutes, hours, moons and Suns pass between us in the dark, until my body fantastically contorts around his, so were are face to face, lip to lip.
His arms encircle me, my back bowing against his touch. We're so close now, so close to...
And then he kisses me, and then I stop thinking.

Fever

Midnight has never felt so frantic. I write as a girl who is hapless, jobless- but not so loveless. But, then again, this isn't love. Bloody Hell, I'm going mad.
The four walls that taunt me all the way through these family-oriented holidays scream of claustrophobia. Of course, I love the scores of obscure family members who traipse in and out of our house at this time of year, but I'm left here in the evenings feeling slightly infuriated, dissatisfied and once again, alone. I need a party- a day out- anything more than another day listening to my mother, or consoling H with her troubled love life. I find myself recalling last week's party from the vantage point of decades of nostalgia. I need to get out.
I need to see him. No, I don't. Shut up, self. He is fun; he is distraction; he is one of many. But... it's been so long. He makes me blush. I haven't said a word to him, but... I miss him?
What the Hell is this? Lust? Onset of cabin fever? Desperation? An actual feeling? Somewhere along the line, I became quietly guarded and cynical, carefully disguised by layers of flighty optimism. But, I want to let my guard down. Maybe. Just talk to him. And kiss him. And-and...
No, not on a Holy Day.

Saturday was strange as well. 2 guys tired to kiss me, 3 guys held me when I was sleeping, there was talk of a date, I got a massage in public view, and grinded with pretty much everyone on the invite list. But none of this seemed to matter. No hands on my hips or lips on my cheek or arms around my neck seemed to interest me. But I didn't feel cold or withdrawn- it was a welcome sensation, not craving another person like that. My boredom with the opposite sex may have had nothing to do with him.
It probably didn't- I'm pretty sure this is just cabin fever. Being cooped up like this is just magnifying every little emotion I have. This is nothing- I've never even spoken to him. Just- looked.
But, I remember that time I tired to ignore him, tried to detach myself. I hope- if he has even noticed me- that he doesn't feel as confused as I do right now. But, then again, yes I do.
Jesus Christ- Merry Christmas.

Failure

Here I am again, curled up in bed, boxsets and coffee on standby.
I am once again loveless, jobless and hapless. My boss has ended my trial period; a one-night-stand I thought I could fall for fucked someone else in my absence; and, as a result of putting myself out there for a guy who is a renowned player, I am now a laughing stock and inspiration for pity.
Really, I just want to tell certain people to stay away and quit invading my privacy, but I'm much too polite for any of these aggressions to be voiced.
But you know what? Yes, I am loveless, jobless and hapless, but I feel more awake than I have done for a long time. My weekends are my own again, and I can revisit past crushes with a new perspective. And it'll teach me not to turn up to go clubbing until 5am when I have work in four hours, and that I should maybe stop falling for one night stands.
I guess I'm broadly perceived as a bit of a failure- there are bigger, better, badder, faster, cooler, prettier girls than me almost everywhere I go. I'm known for being crippled by clumsiness, a caffeine addiction, and constant desire for affection and eyeliner. I never get the guy and my name provokes laughter from complete strangers. But I am what I am- and it's far from perfect but fuck it. I'll live.

Encounters

Judge me if you must, but I am the type of girl who likes to keep a boy in every port.
I like to have one, maybe two on the 'school run' to perk up my mornings and make the prospect of two hours of Advanced Mathematics on a Monday afternoon all the more bearable. A couple in the local shopping district- particularly if they give me discounts. One on each bus route, in case I get stuck long-haul on my lonesome. I like to find one within the first hour of entering a club, so at least I have a chance of being kissed. I also keep a few on the party circuit, so I always have someone to flirt with and/or cosy up to if I get cold at 3 am.
It's not how it sounds, though- with the exception of the clubbing boys, the chances of me ever getting with my marks are slim-to-none. They're just fun to look at- a little thrill to keep me going through the mundanity of college. And I never tell the boys that they're target practice, more than potential dates- the secrecy makes the thrill all the more intense.
And the ones that notice me back? Well, nothing compares to look on their faces when I walk into a room; seeing the redness that tinges their cheeks as I give them the once-over. The way their eyes follow me around the room- the sensation I get when I know their eyes on my back. These little moments of stolen intimacy- the furtive glances, the comments laced with suggestion- are the little secrets we carry with us.
I sometimes wonder what they're thinking- what they're doing at that exact moment in time, who their friends are, how they escape from the world.
Boys, boys, boys- out of all of the little escapes-the films, the music, the art, the writing, the addictive little computer games- boys are easily my favorite.
My friends spend most of their time on the phone, wailing hysterically about their careless, heartless, useless loves. Sitting on the other end of these same old telephone conversations is oh-so much easier when I'm anticipating seeing a certain boy . I do have my favorites- one in particualr who looks at me like he's ever seen anyone quite like me before. He gives me butterflies every single time. I know that getting attached to one boy is bad for business (as it were)- it'll be a while before I'm flouncing back on the sofa, crying about how this boy is making the same old mistakes.
As it stands, such chance encoutners are no-strings-attached fun without the slutty reputation.