vienna miller // one // fin

"You're not like," a pause, lowered voice, bright-pink nail polish at fourteen years old, "a virgin or anything, right?"

A giggle, faux shock, "God no! Who do you think I am?"

Well she wasn't by the end of the night.

Four years later, lusting after the girls as a wallflower blooming with wide, wide, wide eyes (boys are overrated but still kinda cute, whatever)  -  one of the jackasses with a V at his mouth, she wants to rip his tongue out.

Almost gets the chance when he waltzes past, spies her hiding behind a red solo cup, "Got a crush, lesbo?" There it is again, same two fingers he should shove up his ass.

High-heel to the crotch, spitting "That's V for Vienna, bitch!" at his curled-over frame. A shriek, cup in the air - shit, beer tastes foul. "Aaaaanotherrrr!" 

Surrounded by a clatter of screeching girls from the tweenage days, they pour straight vodka into her drink and she grimaces, lemon juice on her taste-buds. In the distance a splash and she shrieks again (why can't she just speak like a normal person, fuck,  whatever, vodka's a loud bitch), throwing herself through the room and out the back door. The dumb bitch posse follow until they reach the edge of the pool but it's too late, she's underwater with a splash and a scream and resurfaces to a cheer, more splashes and screams, (her makeup is ruined, fuck, whatever) stares at a girl's soaked see-through cami for a second too long before grabbing the next male figure in the pool and planting her face on his. The drenched designer skirt and watch are tomorrow's problems -- whatever, vodka's a messy bitch.

She was born and bred for this, fake laughter and fake friends and fake fake fake fake. Diamond children let loose on the streets to run wild, try not to kill yourself but if you kill each-other, eh, whatever. Some kid will jump in and forget that they can't swim (pathetic) and end up drowning in a pool every once in a while because everyone's too fucking blinded to see them lying at the bottom and even if someone did, everyone needs to shut the fuck up and stop shrieking to be able to hear someone scream, yikes.

But if you're a screamer and can't handle a dead body or two you're a fucking pussy and a step-downer and should fuck off to District Ten or something (ew, right? Inbreds and shit.) Luckily Vienna can swim, duh, and so can everyone else, whatever, she doesn't really care. This boy sucks at kissing, fuck. Where the girls at?

"Where the girls at?!"

Fuck.

She wakes up alone in a four-poster bed ("Where's my coat?"), weight of the world in her stomach. The dumb bitches have left, slinking back home one after the other, finally. She likes the quiet.

Squinting at the morning like it had just called her ugly, "Fuck off" she groans, slamming the curtains shut again. Satin sheets and last night's clothes, she smells of chlorine and laundry powder and tequila. Sleep mask on and she crashes again, waking up to the sound of construction workers drilling a hole into her brain.

Nope, never mind, that's just the hangover.

"Do you know what time it is?!" she shrieks over the sound of a chainsaw, cursing her neighbours black and blue for renovating again for the fifth time this year because someone painted the living room the wrong shade of teal - the horror!

(It's 2'oclock in the afternoon.)

Doe-eyed, bleary-eyed, last night's makeup, she stumbles to her bathroom and sheds her clothes, the pool, the boys, her dreams from last night. Her voice mingles with the warm air and she sings the fragmented tunes of last night, echoing off of the tiles and back into her ears again. Girls and boys and her head fucking hurts. Steam gathers and rises, she sits under the water curled up within herself and her secrets and lets it run scalding, to lukewarm, to ice-cold against her back.

A tear, perhaps, or just a droplet from above.

She thinks she deserves to hurt.


Later:

"You're not like, a lesbian or anything, right?"

A frightened laugh. Shock. Panic.

"God no! Who the fuck do you think I am?"