You're Invited....(open)

"My party is starting soon."
No response.
You think I'd get tired of talking to my father, who hasn't replied in weeks, but a part of me knows that if I stop talking to him--throw away this last facade of normality--I'll lose all sense of who I was before my mother died.
"I'll be downstairs if you need me."
He takes a long draught of the white liquor he's turned to. I shut the door and walk down the hall. Screw him.
The dance-room of my house has been decorated in white and blue's and silver's and gold's. It looks beautiful, like the inside of a jewelry box. I imagine I am a diamond glittering in the center and I'm simply waiting to be lifted out of the box and be clasped around some rich women's neck.
A whisper in my brain tells me that I can have that escape--but no. My party is in fifteen minutes.
Later.
Later.
Yes. Later.
First the guests, then the music and good and swirling hair and dresses and laughter that coated everything in a dream. I will be a soap bubble, bouncing from guest to guest and landing for only a second.
Then, when the night was over, I'd pop.
But yes. After. Later.
First, the party.

OOC: Okay, first try. Tell me if it sucks. Enjoy the party!