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Having rich friends was a fortunate thing when one was dirt poor, and so Carly was grateful for the continued and slightly weird presence that was Lanie Thwaite; Lanie who knew where the best parties were happening or who would arrange them somewhere if there weren't any to be heard of. Lanie who was never stingy with her alcohol and who could always be trusted to have something a little more special on her and pass it off to friends. Thank God for Lanie.
The party was being thrown in an old church somewhere out near the East End - Carly had gotten there on the back of some older guy's motorbike and she didn't know how she'd get home yet. That could be dealt with later, when she was far more drunk. It felt like ages since Carly had properly been out, either too exhausted from work, or dwelling on that 'probably a demonic being' thing, or dwelling on boys she'd stupidly allowed to break her heart. But Carly didn't want to be that girl. She wanted to be the infamous Carly Malec again and what better way than pressed against some unshaved biker and with a head slightly swirling with gin?
"Jesus!" Exclaimed fairy winged Lanie as the bike skidded to a halt on the rocky path, people pouring into the church building behind them. "Thought you guys musta got lost!"
"Had to stop and fill up," Carly said as she pulled of her helmet and climbed off the bike. She mussed her helmet hair while her riding partner watched her with unmasked hunger, her tanned thighs barely covered by her cut off jeans. (At the petrol station they'd made out for a while and he'd tried to coax/drag her into the toilets, but Carly wasn't having it; sure she was easy, but a gross rest stop toilet? No way. Carly was way too sober for that.)
Carly let Lanie grab her by the wrist and drag her inside to where the music felt as though it would make her eardrums blister. She smiled when Lanie put a pill on her tongue and then kissed her. Lanie tasted like pineapple schnapps and the pill was acrid before she swallowed it. (It was good to never have to worry about bad pills killing her. Not that she'd ever really thought much about it before, despite the history of party friends who'd ended up in hospital. No one she'd really been close to had ever died though, so ODs and bad pill mixes were a thing that happened to Other People.)
The hours slowed and sped as Carly danced and laughed and touched and kissed. Her body was hot and sweaty and it made her happy. She had to be at work tomorrow afternoon but she didn't care, because work was just a thing to pay her bills but this was life how she wanted to live it.
(She had sex with the biker behind a tree. He kept panting Carly, Carly, Carly, against her collarbone but Carly couldn't remember his name, and it definitely seemed way too awkward to ask now.)
Sometime in the early hours Lanie took off with an overly gothed up girl, her black lipstick mostly smeared off (some on Lanie) and Carly stayed to dance longer and then to throw up in the garden. That was where she was when she saw the couple having their little argument. The girl was complaining - loudly and repeatedly - about his wandering hands inside and the guy was coming back with a list of her own indiscretions. It was getting heated and angry, a pointless argument fueled by too much alcohol.
From where Carly sat on the grass she couldn't really make an exit without being noticed, so instead she just watched them getting more and more riled up, feeling superior to them both while slightly kneeling in her own vomit.
The girl started shoving and the guy finally snapped, "if you don't fucking quit that, Stace, I'm gonna hit you!'
"You hit her," Carly found herself saying, standing up, "then Imma hit you."
Both of them turned to look at her with bleary surprise and now that Carly could see the girl's face she was pretty sure they'd kissed earlier in the night. Guess the boyfriend hadn't been wrong about the cheating then.
"Dude, who even asked you?" The question - in a tone of surprised annoyance - came from the girl
Carly made a face, suddenly deeply offended that her kind gesture hadn't been taken that way. "Oh, like, sorry I was tryna defend your face or some shit."
The guy was getting into it now and snapped, "No one asked for your input, Mother Theresa."
"Yeah, well, your girlfriend liked my input earlier when my tongue was in her mouth." It was, Carly knew, a pretty bad comeback, but it had been right there.
He spun angrily on his girlfriend, shoving his finger in her face. "I knew it!" he shouted. "I knew it, you fucking dyke slut!"
"Dyke? I've never even seen this bitch before!"
Carly wondered if her wings were going to appear anytime soon, because she wasn't all that angry just annoyed. But maybe she could change that.
"Yeah," Carly butted in. "We're uber dykes. You should have seen us earlier." She pushed herself forward and got into his face, just as his girlfriend had been not long ago. "You should have heard the things she was saying." She shoved him. "Should have heard her moaning when I went down on her." Shove. "Said her boyfriend could never make her come so hard." Shove.
"Bitch, you need to-"
"We laughed about your little dick." Shove. "Then she-"
That was when he hit her. Carly felt a burst of pain and saw its accompanying burst of bright light. And then she was on the ground, blinking and confused and throbbing and she could hear the girlfriend swearing loudly at the both of them, stalking off into the trees. The boyfriend was calling after her - half-swearing half-pleading - and then he was gone and Carly was sitting alone on the grass, the music of the party since pounding away, just like her head was now pounding as well.
No welling fury, no super strength, no wings. This demon thing was a piece of shit.
Carly's face hurt.
She touched her cheek and grimaced and pouted.
She didn't feel stronger than she should have felt. Stronger than a human should be able to take a punch from a random dude who didn't even really mean it, but it had floored her anyway.
I don't think you're a demon, Carly told herself, carefully touching her face again. I think you're something else. ... and... I think you're sitting in vomit.
The party was being thrown in an old church somewhere out near the East End - Carly had gotten there on the back of some older guy's motorbike and she didn't know how she'd get home yet. That could be dealt with later, when she was far more drunk. It felt like ages since Carly had properly been out, either too exhausted from work, or dwelling on that 'probably a demonic being' thing, or dwelling on boys she'd stupidly allowed to break her heart. But Carly didn't want to be that girl. She wanted to be the infamous Carly Malec again and what better way than pressed against some unshaved biker and with a head slightly swirling with gin?
"Jesus!" Exclaimed fairy winged Lanie as the bike skidded to a halt on the rocky path, people pouring into the church building behind them. "Thought you guys musta got lost!"
"Had to stop and fill up," Carly said as she pulled of her helmet and climbed off the bike. She mussed her helmet hair while her riding partner watched her with unmasked hunger, her tanned thighs barely covered by her cut off jeans. (At the petrol station they'd made out for a while and he'd tried to coax/drag her into the toilets, but Carly wasn't having it; sure she was easy, but a gross rest stop toilet? No way. Carly was way too sober for that.)
Carly let Lanie grab her by the wrist and drag her inside to where the music felt as though it would make her eardrums blister. She smiled when Lanie put a pill on her tongue and then kissed her. Lanie tasted like pineapple schnapps and the pill was acrid before she swallowed it. (It was good to never have to worry about bad pills killing her. Not that she'd ever really thought much about it before, despite the history of party friends who'd ended up in hospital. No one she'd really been close to had ever died though, so ODs and bad pill mixes were a thing that happened to Other People.)
The hours slowed and sped as Carly danced and laughed and touched and kissed. Her body was hot and sweaty and it made her happy. She had to be at work tomorrow afternoon but she didn't care, because work was just a thing to pay her bills but this was life how she wanted to live it.
(She had sex with the biker behind a tree. He kept panting Carly, Carly, Carly, against her collarbone but Carly couldn't remember his name, and it definitely seemed way too awkward to ask now.)
Sometime in the early hours Lanie took off with an overly gothed up girl, her black lipstick mostly smeared off (some on Lanie) and Carly stayed to dance longer and then to throw up in the garden. That was where she was when she saw the couple having their little argument. The girl was complaining - loudly and repeatedly - about his wandering hands inside and the guy was coming back with a list of her own indiscretions. It was getting heated and angry, a pointless argument fueled by too much alcohol.
From where Carly sat on the grass she couldn't really make an exit without being noticed, so instead she just watched them getting more and more riled up, feeling superior to them both while slightly kneeling in her own vomit.
The girl started shoving and the guy finally snapped, "if you don't fucking quit that, Stace, I'm gonna hit you!'
"You hit her," Carly found herself saying, standing up, "then Imma hit you."
Both of them turned to look at her with bleary surprise and now that Carly could see the girl's face she was pretty sure they'd kissed earlier in the night. Guess the boyfriend hadn't been wrong about the cheating then.
"Dude, who even asked you?" The question - in a tone of surprised annoyance - came from the girl
Carly made a face, suddenly deeply offended that her kind gesture hadn't been taken that way. "Oh, like, sorry I was tryna defend your face or some shit."
The guy was getting into it now and snapped, "No one asked for your input, Mother Theresa."
"Yeah, well, your girlfriend liked my input earlier when my tongue was in her mouth." It was, Carly knew, a pretty bad comeback, but it had been right there.
He spun angrily on his girlfriend, shoving his finger in her face. "I knew it!" he shouted. "I knew it, you fucking dyke slut!"
"Dyke? I've never even seen this bitch before!"
Carly wondered if her wings were going to appear anytime soon, because she wasn't all that angry just annoyed. But maybe she could change that.
"Yeah," Carly butted in. "We're uber dykes. You should have seen us earlier." She pushed herself forward and got into his face, just as his girlfriend had been not long ago. "You should have heard the things she was saying." She shoved him. "Should have heard her moaning when I went down on her." Shove. "Said her boyfriend could never make her come so hard." Shove.
"Bitch, you need to-"
"We laughed about your little dick." Shove. "Then she-"
That was when he hit her. Carly felt a burst of pain and saw its accompanying burst of bright light. And then she was on the ground, blinking and confused and throbbing and she could hear the girlfriend swearing loudly at the both of them, stalking off into the trees. The boyfriend was calling after her - half-swearing half-pleading - and then he was gone and Carly was sitting alone on the grass, the music of the party since pounding away, just like her head was now pounding as well.
No welling fury, no super strength, no wings. This demon thing was a piece of shit.
Carly's face hurt.
She touched her cheek and grimaced and pouted.
She didn't feel stronger than she should have felt. Stronger than a human should be able to take a punch from a random dude who didn't even really mean it, but it had floored her anyway.
I don't think you're a demon, Carly told herself, carefully touching her face again. I think you're something else. ... and... I think you're sitting in vomit.
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