A steady stream of alcohol poured into my mouth as my mouthy friend, Olivia, ranted about the injustice of the events that happened only hours ago. Smoky, muggy air suffocated my lungs and I wondered if getting shit faced was a proper method to burn off steam, it didn't matter since Olivia, Didi, and Libby dragged me to the seedy bar filled with creeps a few blocks down Didi's neighborhood. At first, I moped about my current financial state, then, progressed into drinking shots of vodka and crying simultaneously. So far, I'm having fun...I think.

Slamming her fist onto the table, Olivia slurred angrily, "Dat stupid, facking witch! How dare she be mean to you, stupid bitch! I should go to where she works and act mean to her too!"

Raising an eyebrow, Didi remarked, being the only sober one in the entire bar, "How? Sasha is a model."

"So?" Olivia glowered, staring crazily into her shot glass as if staring into an empty cup would help her think of ways to harass a famous supermodel. Straightening her back, Olivia perked up and turned to Libby, cackling drunkenly, "Hey, Libby, what if I borrowed your camera and posed as a photographer for a magazine? Ha ha ha, yeah, I'd take her into Central Park and make her freeze in a tiny bikini as random strangers watched. Then, I'd tell her that she looks fat and take pictures of her fat butt as she cries more than she made Corri cry!"

Recoiling in horror of Olivia's wrath, Didi muttered under her breath, "You're a monster."

"Stop!" I cried out in a whiny tone, tears forming in my already watering eyes, my words forming into one unintelligible sentence, "Is all my fault, I spilled on her designer dress, I deserved it, I can't do anything right!"

"You stop, you modest bastard. You're perfect. Forget that stupid, gross place, you don't deserve that kind of treatment. " Mascara ran in dramatic rivulets down her cheeks as Olivia spat into her glass. Holding out the dirty glass towards the bartender, Olivia barked, "More!"

Didi, the sensible one out of the bunch, interjected, fortunately for the bartender, "Guys, I think you've drunk too much. It's time to go home, sweeties." When Olivia and I resumed melting into puddles of tears, Didi sighed until she saw Libby, who joined in our pitiful efforts, and then, Didi buried her disgusted head in her hands. "Not you too, Libby."

Libby's voice wavered and tears spilled out of her eyes as she protested Didi's exasperation, "B-bb-but! It's so sad! Corri has no job and her landlord is her sister and she has no boyfriend! It's like a Lifetime movie."

At that remark, Olivia and I glared at her silently as we sipped our respective glasses in the disapproving manner. When Libby realized the grave mistake of comparing a friend's life to a Lifetime movie, she immediately apologized, bum rushing me with a bear hug. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that! It's just that I love you so much!"

Bursting back into tears, I sobbed, "Aw, I love you too!"

"Me, too! I love all y'all bitches." Olivia laughed as she sprayed the two of us with her alcohol saturated breath.

And I did love them bitches. Without Libby's silly thoughtfulness, Didi's sisterly sensibility, and Olivia's brash bravery, I would be lost in the labyrinth that is New York. Olivia supports me without question and a warm embrace to reassure me that I am not alone. Didi keeps me grounded with a firm grip on reality but she isn't harsh about it. Libby finds ways to brighten my day even if it seems insignificant to her. But most of all, they love me, banal, clumsy, awkward me. They love all of me and I love all of them, every single precious fiber in their being. Even when we fight, it's hard to stay mad because neither of us wants to be angry towards each other. We were like the Sisterhood of Traveling Pants except not as stupidly hormonal or pants-obsessed.

Didi just grimaced, "Oy vey. Time to close down the circus before some real freaks come in for a show."

Olivia just attempted to seduce the bartender with her mascara-stained face, completely drunk out of her mind.

Libby just hiccuped and collapsed into my arms in a drunken stupor.

I just giggled hysterically at the mess we've become with a few shots of vodka, no longer sobbing like a cranky baby without it's pacifier.

Safe to say, we were those girls, but the funny thing is, as insecure as I am about myself, I could not be prouder of the emotionally volatile, silly, drunk girls that I call my friends.

Rule one: never drink.

Rule two: never drink enough to the point when you watch Titanic on your friend's television and cry at the moment Jack dies even though you stuffed a waffle inside the dvd player in place of an actual dvd.

Rule three: never drink and then order pizza right at the moment you're ready to puke.

Rule four: never drink and sing the lyrics to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" with a mouth full of pizza. Trust me, it's not as fun as you think.

Rule five: never drink and then call your potential employer, sarcastically ordering a KFC Double Down from them even though they are a clothing store that caters to customers afraid of very scent of grease and fat, with a side order of a job interview courtesy of that "cute dude" Dominic.

And rule six: never ever drink. Oh shit.

Blergh. My head feels like a pile of shit that was puked on and considering my puke stained shirt, I wouldn't be that far off. My mind is no better, muddled and hazy without a single coherent thought. As I exhaled, my voice groaned at the pure feat of gaining consciousness as if I was Atlas, lifting up the world on my tiny shoulders. This is not my home. My brain quipped, You don't say? Shut up, brain. At least I'm starting to think. Raising my leaden body from the plushy surface that had formerly been plastered to my face, I recognize it as Didi's couch and surmised that Didi had dragged my sobbing, drunken form to her apartment to save me from the embarrassment I would have encountered with Myra. The enticing aroma of freshly made waffles confirmed my suspicions and I made my way to Didi's bathroom and braced myself for the horror show I'd encounter in her bathroom mirror.

Let's just say I nearly screamed. Apparently, I had a raccoon as a makeup artist because my eyes had taken on the "Raccoon Eye" effect, my lids covered in smeared smoky black makeup and my cat-eye eyeliner completely smudged all over, going as far as running down my cheeks. Thankfully, I had not applied lipstick the night before and only used a lip balm though it had been awhile since my lips were cracked and scaly like a dried out iguana. And my hair. It's as if every single strand of hair had become sentient and inebriated, deciding to party on my head. Some strands rose up in persistent cowlicks and other strands entangled themselves with others, forming misshapen dreadlocks, but most strands jutted outwards as though it were trying to escape their follicles. With resignation in my voice, I sighed and began to brush out the stubborn kinks in my hair, my arms yanking at the tangled auburn mess with the force of a Spartan warrior. It took a few minutes, along with staunch patience and the repression of the urge to cry out in pain, before my hair had reverted to it's normally decent form and I averted my attention to the raccoon makeup that covered my eyes. Knowingly, my fingers reached for Didi's makeup remover and cotton pads which remained in its familiar place. The cotton pads soaked up the clear liquid eagerly and I began the laborious process of removing eye makeup from the previous night. One would think it would take a few simple swipes and like a miracle, the evil black ink and powder that had taken over your eyelids would melt off like candle wax. I could just laugh. Ten minutes skirted by and the last of my makeup rubbed off leaving my pale skin raw and pink. Maybe I might have done too much damage control.

"Good morning, Corri." Setting down a plate of steaming waffles and thick, salty bacon, Didi smiled as her dark skin glowed in the morning light, further illuminating her angelic features.

"Doesn't feel that great."

Her afro shook as Didi chuckled, "I wouldn't expect it to, considering your emotional and physical state yesterday. You weren't sauced, you were wasted like money in Wall Street."

My hand cupped my cheek as I slumped against her dining table, feebly cutting into the syrup soaked waffles. Raising my head in curiosity, I asked, "Where's Louis?"

Since their five year anniversary, Louis and Didi decided in typical lovey dovey style to live in cohabitation within a cozy loft. Only Louis and Didi could make a perfect couple, one without distrust and resentment but with understanding and comfort. They're so happy and worry free, not to mention impossibly beautiful, that sometimes, they make me sick... with jealousy of course.

For example, in this very moment Didi sighed dreamily as she stirred her cup of Earl Grey with relaxed joy, responding, "He went out to buy us some chocolate chip donuts and a cup of white hot chocolate for you."

The sound that came from my mouth certainly did not sound human. "Why do you guys have to be so flawless? Is there something in the water in this neighborhood that makes you into a considerate, kind human being? Obviously, I need a cup of it asap."

Bursting out into laughter at my surly remark, Didi shook her head, "I'm hardly perfect, Corri. I nag more than my own mother, intentionally never leave the right amount of tip, and I laugh at old ladies who wear too much makeup behind their backs. And Louis is not the best roommate. I mean he curses at twelve-year-olds on X-Box live, farts constantly in my face for a laugh, and he leaves the seat up every time just to troll!"

Rolling my eyes, I raised up my hands in mock horror, "Oh God, I take it back, all of it. You two are obviously a terrible human beings."

"Yeah, yeah. Eat your waffles before I force feed you with a funnel."

"Don't have to tell me twice." Soon enough, my plate was decorated with sticky crumbs and tiny, crispy bits of bacon and I licked my lips in satisfaction.

The front door opened as Louis bellowed in his best impression of Ricky Ricardo, "Lucy, I'm home!"

Wincing, I grumbled, "Why don't you say it louder, will you? I don't think she heard you."

Lowering the warm treats, Louis saddled over to my side and my eyes narrowed into a paranoid stare. Smirking, Louis bent down until his lips were inches away from my ear and hollered, "Morning, Corri! You look bright and chipper this morning!"

As retaliation, I turned to Louis and smiled sweetly, "Hey, Louis, was that you I saw at karaoke last week on the night you were supposed to meet Didi's parents?"

Before I could say anything more, Louis covered my mouth with his warm hand, muffling the exclamations of disgust and expletives that rolled out of my mouth. Louis's lips formed a nervous grin as he forced a rough laugh out of his mouth, his eyes darting back and forth as if that would help him form an excuse.

"Ha ha ha, Corrine, you're hilarious! I was sick last week remember when I didn't come into work that day and Daryl had to cover?"

My muffled voice protested against his claims as Didi grew dangerously quiet. For a moment, Louis and I both believed that Didi would storm out in indignant anger as she usually did but then, I caught the sight of her skinny fingers twisting a rolled up newspaper, winding it up tightly. I could only wince. Like lightening to a tree, Didi came at Louis hard and fast, using the newspaper roll to swat at his head. Louis cried out, running as fast as he could around the tiny, compact space, as Didi literally stormed through anything standing in her way. Thoughts of Friday the Thirteen ran through my head as I watched the spectacle of the couple that formerly made me sick with jealousy.

After she finished beating Louis, Didi stalked off, mumbling, "Teach you to lie, punk. And to think, you were so innocent. What's next you're name really isn't Louis and you're hiding bodies underneath the floorboards?"

With a final guttural growl, Didi slammed the bedroom door causing us to flinch. Louis and I stared at each other in shock though we knew that Didi couldn't stay angry for long. Passing him a warm donut, I bit into mine and apologized, "Sorry, I didn't think she'd flip out like that. I'll talk to her when she cools down."

Waving his donut in an airy manner, Louis exhaled heavily, "It's alright, I was the asshole in this situation. Besides, Didi would probably cut the first person she sees, so I'll volunteer. And considering what went down yesterday, I don't want to put you through more shit."

"Thanks."

"No problem, bro." Rising from his chair, Louis commented before he left, "By the way, you have a missed call on your phone. I didn't want to touch your stuff so I left it alone."

Hmm, it's probably Myra in a tizzy from my absence but even she knows that I frequently get drunk with my friends. My feet dragged sluggishly across the smooth floor and I collapsed onto my knees in front of my gigantic purse. Digging through the pockets, I realized that my phone had migrated to the glass coffee table right next to me. Pressing on the voice mail option on my phone, I settled it against my ear, patiently awaiting the message.

After a monotone beep, a confident, feminine voice spoke, "Hi, this is Grace Wright, manager of the Strata Manhattan store. I got your message and confirmed that Dominic did offer you a job interview, so if you want I have this Friday open at nine in the morning. Just call if you want the interview or if you have a problem with the date. All you need to bring is your resume and a copy of the Strata application which you can find online. Thank you."

Well, fuck.

Name.

Well, that's an easy one. Corrine Adelaide Flynn. Next.

Age. Date of Birth.

As if you give an ish as long as I'm a size two, it'll be fine. Whatever, I'm 24. Ha ha ha, I'm so old...not really. And I was born on...08/12/1989.

Where did you learn of this job opportunity?

From your mom. From an acquaintance.

Position applied for:

Assistant stylist.

What date are you available to work?

Whenever you want. I'm broke as hell, what am I going to do? Throw bread at the birds in Central Park like all the other losers?

As soon as I finished my sarcastic comment, I crossed it out, running multiple thin black lines over the writing until it disappeared under one thick black bar. Realizing what a mess it was, I crumpled it in resignation and got up out of my stiff plastic egg-shaped Ikea chair. Stretching out my long arms, I thought about the past day, my state of mind still frazzled and disbelieving of my good fortune. I know, Dominic didn't give me the job directly but the smallest mention of his name snagged me an interview, and that, my friend, certainly helped. Tomorrow, it's tomorrow, my mind chanted religiously. Got my application (well, I'll finish it tonight), got my resume, now all I need is some courage. Courage to put myself out there again. Gosh, I sound like I've just been dumped, which isn't so far off since my last relationship just sunk into the abyss several weeks ago but still, I could sound less desperate.

At least, I'll have something better to do than knitting or scrap booking, two hobbies I do to busy myself during my free time when I'm unemployed. To this day, I have not completed a single project, only making one mitten and finishing half of a book. Now that I think about it, it may be due to the fact that I never completed my first project I ever set my mind to complete, collecting a thousand pennies, face side up for luck, and buying ten Italian cherry ices, which would have made Mr. Salano, the surly ice cream man back in my old neighborhood, seriously pissed off. A hobby my brother, Dan, and I enjoyed thoroughly. We would have shared the cherry flavored treats with our neighborhood friends, eating after an arduous day of playing cops and robbers. It was shame we never finished the collection though, I still had the nine hundred and fifty lucky pennies that we stowed away in Ziploc boxes, hundred pennies per box; sadly, everyone we knew finally grew up, some snobby and privileged, others rebellious and self destructive, and others moved away, forgetting what they left behind. Eventually, Dan turned his back on play once he entered middle school, focusing on violin, lacrosse, and study. Of course, Myra thought it was stupid project but only because she was never involved with it. And so, I'll never finish that project and I'll never finish knitting that other mitten or finish the Flynn family history book. I can't, not by myself.

My mind begged for a release from the stressful thoughts it concocted and I complied by flicking off my bedroom light, eclipsing the room in darkness. Plopping down onto my bed, I stared up towards my ceiling, losing my train of thought in the myriad of glow-in-the-dark stars that I dutifully pasted on during one restless day. The soft glow from the stars contrasted the pitch black ceiling it clung onto for dear life. My eyes roved in a circular manner, following the swirling pattern of the stars which I had purposefully done to give it a hypnotic effect. Eventually, my eyelids grew heavy with lethargy and I allowed them to shut, my body slowly curling up into the fetal position as my mind began to lose consciousness. Sweet, heavenly sleep, the remedy for any stress-inducing situation. Just at the moment before my mind finally gave up staving off sleep, my eyes blink open at the sudden introduction of bright, nearly blinding light that flooded the room as my sister, Myra, barged in.

"Wake up." Myra spoke up, her voice every bit as entitled and demanding as a rich teenage girl. She was still upset that I had been fired from my last job and my previously inebriated state when I arrived at one in the afternoon, and she was still skeptical of Dominic despite knowing him on a friendly basis.

"Leammealone." My voice croaked in response, which happened to be an unfortunate decision as it prompted her to flicker the lights on and off. Groaning, I sat up as my arms propped my back against the headboard of my bed. Contemplating on sassing my sister, I glared at her and her large, half-moon shaped eyes that were narrowed into an intense glare that refused to waver.

"It's mom."

At the bare mention of her name, I felt my muscles tightening into knots, my abdomen contracting in a painful cramp. Her limber fingers tapped the wall softly irritated me to no end and I finally gave in to my sister's demand to speak to my mother. Sitting up, I made a gesture to Myra to give me the phone which she clutched so tightly onto.

Raking back my thick hair, I spoke with hesitation laced around my greeting, "Hello?"

"Corrine? Is that you?" My mother's sharp voice grated against my ears, causing me to wince.

Picking out ear wax from my open ear, I responded in the same dull tone that ever child uses when addressing with his or her parents. "Yeah, it's me."

"Corrine, you are a highly functioning adult, I expect you to speak like one too. I suppose you're not sitting properly either."

She's a freaking hawk. Suppressing a groan of frustration, I replied, subconsciously straightening my back, "So, mother, what's the special occasion? You usually don't deign your lovely presence to us, common folk."

Before I could continue, a neon pink bone-shaped dog toy collided into the side of my head courtesy of Myra and her softball pitcher arm. The expression on her face was much worse, threatening death or worse, being her maid of honor if I could not get along with my mother. Though it didn't stop me from chucking back the slimy dog toy, childishly sticking my tongue out afterwards. Myra, finally, left after receiving the toy back in her face. My mother was completely absorbed in her life, yammering on about the Joneses and the millionth grandchild their daughter manages to churn out.

"Corrine? Corrine?" Annoyed at the lack of response from my end, my mother snapped, "Corrine Flynn, are you listening to me? Or was playing around with your sister more exciting?"

Christ on Earth, a hawk, I tell you. "Yes?"

A huff of annoyance crackled over the phone connection and my mother murmured tenderly, "Come home." I could feel the hardened features of my face ease up at her gentle tone until my mother continued, "What do you even want to accomplish in New York? Being fifty and living on minimum wage?"

Knowing the truth, my voice asked, devoid of any emotion except disappointment, "Is that why you called?"

"Your place is not in New York. Come home. Your father and I miss you and we are fully prepared to make your return to school as easy as possible. We'll forget everything you said and did, we forgive you for everything. You belong with in Massachusetts, your home."

Knowing I had nothing to say, I countered in an icy tone, "I will never belong with you."

The next sound I heard was the monotonous tone of the dial tone as my finger clicked the end call button. Staring at my finger glued to the button, refusing to remove itself, I brushed back my hair from my forehead and peered up towards the stars again, this time, feeling no solace.

Memories of my childhood came to mind, being chastised for wanting to sleepover at a friend's instead of studying and going mad with boredom in my vast bedroom just staring at the thick SAT book that only stared back. The sound of a pencil scraping against the rough, grey paper as it wrote over the same writing as before filled my ears like white noise from a broken television. Shaking my head, I tried to empty my mind from this white noise when my mind moved on to happier memories of secretly doodling in the margins of my book and my grandmother bringing up soft, warm sugar cookies to spur me on. Her kind words comforted the heavy loneliness I felt at the time and I wanted to lose myself in her soft, warm embrace. My thoughts were interrupted by the realization that my cheeks were wet with salty tears and I wiped them off with the sleeve of my scratchy wool sweater.

Myra sensed my presence the instant I entered the dim living room yet she kept her eyes on the flickering lights of the television screen. "How did it go?"

I couldn't respond especially since my throat thickened with emotion. The tiny click of the phone being set back into its stand answered her question and her shoulders bristled impatiently. The tone of her voice was so acerbic it could have literally cut through steel. It was the same disappointment I felt with my parents, the feeling that they could never understand and frustration at the thought of their stubbornness.

"I see."

Squirming underneath her cold silence, I played with a lock of my hair, anxious for the usual backlash, until I realized that my own sister was giving me the silent treatment. The dark solid wood flooring felt like ice beneath my naked feet and the small, nervous breath that I exhaled could be seen as a faint puff of air. Returning to my room, shuddering from the frigid atmosphere around me, I had only just noticed that the a/c hadn't even been touched.

EJK: Sorry for taking so long, I felt like school got in the way along with an absence in the passion I had with this story. I'm starting to regain it back and I'm already writing out the third chapter, so hang in there. Stuck in a mirror and PeppermintWings: I know I got lazy and unmotivated but I'm going to fight that off and try to resume my chapter a week challenge, so hopefully, I'll update more often. LycheeBOBA: love your username and have melted into a pile of flattered goo, you and I both need SOPA to censor us since I curse on a daily basis. Xaver 13: thanks for giving me so many happy feels and Sasha will never melt even though parts of her are plastic and nothing will get rid of her, she's like Chucky but with more implants and makeup. A Simple Username: thank you, I tried to make the fight between Sasha and Dominic to some degree dramatic and I'm glad you liked it. Dangerous Music: hearing "raining in" reminds me of rap videos where the rappers make "it rain" which I suppose isn't a bad thing :D and it feels great getting reviews kind of like a rainy day in the summer, so thanks, and gurl, you know Sasha has pricey ass stuff along with a pricey ass to boot.

Anyways, forgive my inactivity, I'm addicted to Tumblr and my dash is blowing up with Hunger Games gifs so I'm pretty distracted. JK. If you want to see my tumblr, it's: mature- ignorance. tumblr .com (minus the spaces). It's mostly reblogs of K-pop, adorable animals, fashion, and occasionally posts of my art.

P.S.: I'll probably fix up any errors today considering it's past twelve, so if you see any errors give me a heads up.