She wants to curl up on her bed and go to sleep. Perhaps she will, perhaps she'll ignore Cath and Annie and just pretend she is a little ball, with a heat pad on her stomach and loads of painkillers in her system. Except Cath was not known for her sympathy when it came to other people's aches and pains (screaming ‘fuck off, I’ve got my period’ hadn’t helped), and Cath had decided that they were supposed to go out, so out they would go.
Getting dressed is about as fun as expected when Cath and Annie are sitting on her bed, mocking her relentlessly. Normally she would be amused by them, but she doesn't want this.
"Jeans, Rose?" Cath says when she's put on her most comfortable pair. She glares. "What, I'm just saying. You'll never get laid."
"Period, remember," Rose says, looking at herself in the mirror. The jeans really aren't flattering, but then again, she's so not on the pull.
"Getting laid works a treat against the cramps," Annie says from her place on Rose's bed, with her legs up against the wall. Her skirt is lying around her stomach, and the top of her pantyhose is visible. Rose thinks that if guys saw that, Annie wouldn't get laid either. Or possibly she would. Sometimes the workings of other people are a mystery to her.
"I don't want to get laid," she says. "I really, really don't want to go out, get drunk, get laid, dance or talk to people."
"Tough shit," Cath says. She's adding more mascara to her already drastically long and black eyelashes.
"Whatever, assholes," Rose says, and decides against make-up as well. It doesn't feel so much as a statement as an indulgence.
The club is loud, of course, but the music is good, and the sticky sweet drink Annie buys her actually makes her feel better. Not good enough to dance, though, so she stands by a table, drinking too fast and watching people.
"Hi," someone almost shouts in her ear, and she turns around. A rather nice looking guy is standing next to the table she's lurking around, so she smiles at him.
"Hi," she says.
"Are you here alone?" he asks, and Rose has to restrain herself, because laughing at people is never good if you want to make new friends. Or whatever.
"My friends are on the dance floor, over there," she says and points, and then he buys her a drink.
They chat for a while, and it's fairly clear that he wants her to come with him to the toilets, which she's not in the mood for. Besides, it's difficult to have good sex in the bathrooms of a club.
"Can I at least have your number?" he asks when it becomes clear to him she's not going anywhere.
"Sure," she says, and prepares to give him her number, but then she remembers something she saw on the way. She has to bite her lip to keep from smiling while she types the text. He's not really looking at her, or at least not at her hands, so it's no problem, and then she puts in the number, 90999, and presses send. Fortunately the music drowns out the confirmation of a sent text, and she gives him his phone back.
After all, he did buy her a drink, he has only himself to blame, really.
She drinks several more drinks, and then Cath and Annie persuade her to come dancing, like they all knew they would. She's happy now, and the dance floor is the perfect place to be, jumping around filled with energy. If she hadn't been so happy, and pain free, she would have cursed Cath for always being right when it comes to going out.
She gets approached by more guys than she had expected, and they seem to be interested in her, despite her less than fancy dress. She mentions this to Cath, and gets a stuck out tongue in reply. She takes all of their phones, even the ones who don’t seem very interested in getting her number. She even claims to give them Cath’s number several times, and Annie’s at least twice. She wonders if people notice, and they probably do, at least some of them, because one guy she’s sure she’d never spoken to gives her his phone and tells her to put in her number, with what Rose thinks is a significant look. Ok, she’s drunk quite a bit, so it might be the fact that she’s unsteady on her feet, but still.
They dance and drink, and Rose tumbles into bed much later than she had decided without any real memory of how she got there. She falls asleep without even taking her jeans off.
The headache is actually less than she expected when she wakes up. Not that she doesn't feel slightly sick every time she moves, but it could definitely have been worse.
She’s not exactly sure what happened last night, except there was dancing, and she came home in one piece. She always did, one of them always stayed sober enough to get the others into cabs and making sure they’d gotten home alright.
She remembers guys, but she can’t remember if she was flirting, or fighting. Probably the former, actually, because she seems to remember cell phones. She doesn’t regularly give out her number to loads of people, and a glance at her phone tells her she hasn’t got any texts, but still. A large number of phones. Shit, embarrassingly many, really.
She picks up her phone and sends off a text to Annie.
‘Erm, did I really give my number to that many guys?’
She gets the answer half a minute later, and she can just imagine the look on Annie’s face, amused and at the same time a bit impressed.
‘rather than putting your name in guys phones, you just texted 90999 to donate $10 to Haiti and then gave it back to them’