entry #83- the shoop shoop song

                                    

                                          
⚠️ mentions of drugs, drug use and eating disorders ⚠️
later that night 
Here I am, at the after hours club, walking my way back from the dancefloor to the VIP lounge, with Starr and a blonde chick he's just picked up from the dancing pit. I spent most of the time with him, because he was the one to invite me here in the very first place, he was the one to hitch a ride on my bike to this club, he was the one to physically smuggle me in there, and he was the one to swear he would've had me under his custody all night long. As a matter of fact, I'm dividing myself between Chrissie and Chris's table, Starr and his blonde's, and the dancefloor, because my one bestie of two and horny boy Mike were the two people who convinced me to give partying a chance tonight. Bessie too, but I haven't spent much time with her because she's dangerously close to my enemy number one, Gerry Cuntrell, and I want to avoid him at all costs. I was about to give up on everything and head back to the Marriott, when I saw Sean's Kawasaki pulled outside of the club. The idea of being in the same place as him was making me feel sick in the stomach, sore in the ass and constricted in the hypothalamus again... but then Mike, Bessie and Chrissie worked some magic on me, and casually reminded me that my life goes on independently from Sean's presence or absence at any night club. Well, my life does go on with or without him ... but it's always hard to look at him and keep my hands in my pockets, instead of putting them all over him. It's always hard to handle him with coldness and stoicism, when I'd just fucking like to make up with him. But I'll keep doing my thing 'til it feels right, because he doesn't deserve all of my goodness, and I'm much better than his fucking crap.
I know my worth. Sean doesn't. And there's a price to pay for disrespecting me like I don't have a heart and a brain. He's paying it, he's paying it big money, and for how hard it is for me to do the cold hearted with him ... I know it's much necessary. 
Everyone is at this fucking night club, from Ozzy himself to all of his band members, wives and girlfriends. Caballero and his depressional as fuck band are here, too. The whole Alice in Chains is present... decorated with flirts, friends and wannabe girlfriends. Being here feels like being at home with all the right people, exception made for a couple unwanted guests: for me, it's Inez, Cuntrell and Kinney. If they stayed at the Marriott, I would've been bouncing, but they're here at the club, and I'm low-key hurting. Inez tried to get back to me three times already, grabbing my wrist when I was dancing my thoughts away with another bass player called Mike who's never been inside of me and who's never gonna be inside of me. I just ignored him, and everytime he tried to push and pull me to him, the hornier Mike pushed and pulled me harder. Until Inez finally gave up on me, smile on his lips, and went to talk to a very stunning ginger haired chick sitting on her own by the side of the dancefloor. Cuntrell fractioned his attention span among a very hurt Maryann, a very disillusioned but horny Bessie, and I. I was dancing with Mike's blonde catch, not so long ago, and he poked my exposed hip as to tell me that it's too meaty. He grabbed my attention, I turned to him, and he called me 'fattie'. Then he turned back, and he stuck his tongue into Bessie's mouth. Ew. Kinney has been spending most of his time at the bar, drinking, addressing silly faces my way approximately every five minutes... and getting all the good gabbing by a very pretty chick with a dark, spaghetti straight pixie cut. I don't know if they were flirting or they were just being friendly like Starr and I, but now I'm looking at them... and I can see that the pixie cut chick is scribbling down her number on a napkin. Sean is looking at me like I've caught him stealing, only that he's smiling wider, like he doesn't give a single fuck about what's happening around him. The pixie cut chick is looking at me like she wants to kill me, 'cause the guy she likes is for some reason looking at another girl through literal barricades of people, and it pisses her off not to have his unconditional attention.