This room was blurred with a mirage of smoke, I could see a door only a couple of footsteps away from me, seemed more distant, though. I never knew where I was, maybe that was part of the masterplan, his masterplan. Did I just say him, plural, oh dear. On the floor lay my tights, symmetrically ripped at the knee, sign of a classy night. Oh Isa, what have you done? This is why I shouldn't be allowed near alcohol, or maybe why I should at least eat something before going out, something that equates to more than a golden delicious and strawberry smoothie oot' O'Briens. My head felt vice-laden, and my feet had huge cuts on them, marked collectively at both heels. I wonder if Jen and Jessica got home fine last night, they were probably scouring around the streets of Glasgow looking for me right now, poor souls. My long green dress was creased, I was too tired to be incensed at my lack of appearance right now. Something was daring me to approach the massive red door, but did I really want to see who was behind it, who was behind this? I could hear a laugh coming from somewhere else in the house, it was not a pleasant laugh, more like a cackle, the strained syllables coming from his throat were making me ill.
I stood up on shaky legs, it really did feel like strings were keeping me up. I had a glance through the door and seen a boy, a very tall boy, his face was peppered with spots, and his teeth pretty yellow. He was standing in his boxers, with his flimsy arms flailing from side to side. I took my phone out, and gripped it tightly, this was my defense mechanism. I figured if I held it tight enough and walked at a rapid speed towards the bathroom without making much eye contact, it would perhaps paper over everything that might have happened last night. Well, that was not going to happen, but it would be lovely to minimize the awkwardness. Worth a try, right? I underestimated how light the door was, and embarrassingly slammed it tight, this was not going very well. I had been in these situations before, but the last time I was sixteen and still a pretty innocent wee lassie who played the role of daddies little princess pretty well. Now, well now I was twenty-one, the youthful exuberance I once used at will was wearing thin, almost as thin as the mascara, which was dripping down the side of my cheek. The floor in this toilet was stained with little pockets of dirt, it smacked of boys living together, really - I knew the sort. Life in this flat would probably revolve around impromptu jokes about girls like myself, who had more to love, shall we say. They would probably also spend Friday nights drinking double their bodyweight and watching the likes of UFC and other things to make them appeal and appear masculine to their fellow male companion. That's what my brother is like around his friends, and judging by the empty bottles of Stella Artois lying on the table, and by the fact I somehow ended up here - that's what these boys must be like as well. At least it wasn't Tennents they were drinking, because then they really would be 'trying too hard'.
I was trying to fix myself as best I could, starting with the hair, which had evolved into one massive bobble. Argh! I started work at mid day, and my phone had run dry of battery. There was no possible way of telling the time, and I was not about to ask the boy in the hall way what the time was, not after what potentially happened last night. Instead, I would stand with my finger pressing down on the tiny green button, hoping that it might just light up and turn itself on. I could hear the clunging of footsteps emanating from outside the bathroom, probably the boy from last night. He was dying for a pee, I could sense the desperation in his stride, but here I was, in his bathroom - staring blankly into his mirror - not sure whether to cry or laugh at what had happened. I could do with the warm sensation of hitting my mattress, I was craving that feeling, the feeling of security and home comfort - instead I was faced with the very real task of having to leave this enclosed space soon - I might as well have been placed in a straight jacket with no room to move or breathe.
The light was on, it was bright, and it featured two small lines, it was all I needed to see, it was 10.45am. I had three text messages and half a dozen missed calls - all from the girls, they were worried - my mum was worried. If I'm not home by 5am or do not at least send my mum the usual rambling text attempting to explain I have stayed at a friends, then stuff kicks off - normally in the form of police vans searching for a girl looking like she has just spent the night in Barlinnie. I could hear the sounds of laughter again, but it was coming from two separate entities, both with strained male vocal chords. With that came a flashback - a horrible, horrible flashback. It was time to leave, as I let out one last sigh, I gripped myself and exited the bathroom. Two boys were huddling over like schoolboys giggling, it was painfully apparent what had happened last night, but there was nothing I could do to change it. I could not have got out of this testosterone zone any quicker...