False lashes stuck to your cheek, a half-eaten doner kebab lying next to you, and a nasty
thump in your head reminiscent of the beat from the club music last night. How did you get
here?
It started at the pre-drinks with your besties. The empty bottles of Echo Falls are still littered on the kitchen table as damning evidence of your now regretful choices. Laughing and joking whilst chugging rosé and doing shots of Apple Sourz so you don’t have to spend as much in the club.
You touch up each other’s makeup and hype up each other’s outfits, snapping pictures for Instagram and updating your Snapchat as you go along. You debate getting an Uber but decide you’ll get one on the way home instead, to save money.
As you queue up for the club, cold because you’re too stubborn to bring a coat and pay for
the cloakroom, you continue to snap selfies and gossip with your girls. One member of the
group inevitably needed the loo so you all head straight there once you get inside, holding
hands as you navigate through the crowds, so you don’t lose each other.
Dancing and drinking the night away. Never letting anyone move around on their own.
When you move, you move as a group. A pack of lionesses protecting each other from the
unknowns of the wildness that is the club on a Saturday night. Covering your bottles with
your fingers and watching out for each other so you can clock anyone looking at your mates for just a second too long.
Three hours later you all fall out of the club drunker, and more tired, with a ringing in your
ears from the sheer volume of the music, and an insatiable craving for greasy food. As you
stumble across the road to the Kebab shop, you continue singing and laughing with your
friends. You book an uber, armed with a kebab in one hand and cheesy chips in another
(you couldn’t decide between them!)
Safely home, you all text the group chat to make sure no one got lost between the hallway
and their flat. You get into bed, not even bothering to change, and before you know it,
you’re dead to the world.
Now it’s Sunday, and you’re left with a banging headache, an overdraft of £30, and a phone full of pictures and videos from last night. You swear never again… until next weekend that is.