I'LL BE YOUR PUSSYCAT
LICKIN' AT YOUR MILK RIGHT NOW DOWN DOWN DOWN
The mine was the best place to just...well...party. What the fuck else was she going to do? Running her fingers through her bed head messy brown locks, the female smirked as she sucked on her cigarette as the music played loudly. The police must have known by now she was back in town. It had been a full week. Before she knew it, she would get arrested and they would let her go. They only took her in to use her as an example to the younger generations but they obviously didn't get it because half the time, she was sitting in the jail cell for the night right next to them, "Don't be a dick and hurry the fuck up," her usual small-town-girl accent had been tainted by the one from New York and New Englanders. It was contagious. What could she do? Finishing the cigarette to the butt of the filter, she stubbed it out on the wall of the mine. They were only deep enough where if anything were to go wrong, they could make a run for it out instead of in. Christmas lights were strung up lazily around the place and old lanterns with lit and lining the walls. She wore nothing grand; a cropped, worn out, long sleeve black top with Kurt Cobain's suicide note on it that hung off her like she was a living coat hanger, high waist acid washed jeans that were torn up but clung to her thin frame leaving a sliver of flesh between the two thin fabrics. Some messy looking Doc Martens were on her feet and an array of cheap, mostly homemade and flea market brand jewelery were hanging off her thin wrists. She'd always been a twig but after running away, she basically lost any tits and ass she used to have. She was a walking skeleton and though she blamed the modeling world she occasionally indulged in (mostly for the great and fabulous after parties), she knew it was all on her. She never had the money for food and who could think of food when coke and angel dust was so much better?
Watching the male before her pull out a good three plastic bags filled with purple crystals, she took the tiny bits of tissue paper and ripped them up, wrapping the crystals with them. Then with ease, she downed one, two, three, and then four, pacing herself with each one and an ecstatic grin on her face, "Sick," was all the male opposite to her stated in praise, only swallowing two. The rest? Time to make some quick cash. She was bound to get the munchies later after smoking with Rocket so she'd need the dough. Getting food from her parents was like mooching and she didn't like mooching. It was why she was living in a shitty bed and breakfast place, renting out a room until further notice. Grabbing the bags with the left overs all wrapped up, she slid her overturned crate, the keg being the only thing between her and the rest of the world, "Pay up, bitches!" she called out and slowly but surely, everyone was paying for the goods. Why not? A party was a party and she wasn't going to waste anything.
She was so busy collecting money, she didn't notice the party picking up. The music was blasting, people were dancing, drinking, binging, whatever they wanted and she had no problem with it. Pick up trucks and other vehicles were parked in a half circle around the entrance of the mine and people were more than likely dancing on the cars. Tonight was turning out better than she expected and so, with that being said, it was the cherry on top as she slipped into her trip, the colors around her blurring together in a fantastic tidal wave of ecstasy. She started feeling the music in her limbs and after stashing the cash by tucking it between her hip and thong under her pants, she was up and dancing like everyone else. The music was upbeat before hitting a deep baritone bass that made everyone mold into one another. They soon became a group of bodies sweating and mashing together, no longer individuals looking to escape the boredom or pain they felt on the way there. Wasn't that the point of these shindigs? To get all dolled up, skanky, slutty, fiendy, and dickish to go to a place, get smashed and baked, go on an amazing adventurous trip, and in turn forget all your problems and worries for at least one night or if you were Sunshine, all of three hours. That was exactly how long her trips were starting to last and that was if she took hit after hit after hit. If not-one hour tops and then it would start to fade, she would get cranky, and need some more to get happy.
It wasn't until she felt a pair of hands on her hips that she snapped out of her trance where she was one with the music. She let a lazy grin spread across her face as hazel teal eyes glanced over at the person as if she didn't recognize them. Maybe she did. Maybe she didn't. Who cared? Definitely not her, "Hey gorgeous. Can I help you?" her words didn't slur-she wasn't a baby bitch. She knew how to hold her liquor. She was a functioning addict. Plain and simple.