Tonight…
Tonight she will go round to a friend's house at approximately half past seven. She has nothing more than her bag for going out, money, cigarettes, ID, her phone; she will be on a sugar rush from the chocolate she's gorged on all day. She will wear her tiny little mini skirt; her top matches this with its iridescent silver sparkles. She will wear her long brown hair in sultry curls. Her heels will tap to the beat of the music as she does her friends make up. They all look damn hot, not that they mention it to anyone. Her walk sets the pace as they cruise the high street, her head is held high as her mascara laced eyelashes flirt with every male passing them on the street. Oh how she loves being a medical student.
Tonight they will pout and flirt with the bouncers as he scans over their ID. Her photo looks god-awful, her hair is scraped back in a greasy mess, and her skin is cloudy with the aftermath of a previous night out. She excuses her sight with a brush like smile. They strut through the doors to the club, eyeing the bar eagerly, the vodka they had before going out has no effect now. They order drinks and stand in a sober cluster at the bar, they scan the room.
Tonight she will dance with various guys, some hot, some not, she will tease them with her dancing, trail her hands where they shouldn't go. They will buy her drinks; she mixes them, vodka, Bacardi and gin, whatever they give her. She drinks it, flirts some more, kisses them and goes back to her mates. They giggle, more and more as the drink flows, occasionally they regroup in the loos, as she slaps more lipstick on, making sure her top is working to the best of its abilities. She'll click in her heels as they go back to the dance floor, enjoying the latest beats that fill the intrepid atmosphere.
Tonight she will while away the night with yet more drink, dancing, hugging, anything that keeps the party alive. They aren't celebrating anything in particular; it's a pre-exam time booze out. Hopefully they'll be able to go out in a few weeks to celebrating passing the finals, but for now they make do. They don't realise the time until last orders are called. She is legless. Her idea to do tequila shots probably wasn't wise but then again medical students do tend to have the reputation of work hard party even harder, don't they? She bundles her things together and attempts to follow mates out of the club, they are all as legless as she is; yet they seem to stick together. Like glue. She feels lost.
Tonight she will end up combing the streets on her own; she's been well and truly ditched. Her heel snaps as she stumbles onto the pavement, her top really isn't warm enough as the early morning chill fills the air, she pulls her top round her further as she continues down the busy street. Throwing out time usually provides the most amusement for her, but right now she is the monkey at the circus, crumbling in a drunken heap every few metres along the high street. She thinks, rather hopes the road she's chosen leads to her friend's house, to the place she can finally collapse and sleep till gone midday.
Tonight she falls on the ground as the world begins to spin aimlessly, she'll lay there for the five minutes that it takes her to come back to the land of the awake, after a while she'll stand up, hold her head with the hand that still contains her bag and now her heels. She makes it no more than five steps along the road before she stops. Her dinner is revisiting her as she vomits, again and again. Her top is ruined but right now it's the least of her worries. The gravel chaffs at her feet as she creeps up the drive, she can feel the lump starting to form on her head as she knocks at the door. She finds it open, they aren't home yet, they should be but aren't. She crosses the threshold and passes out of the floor; her coat keeping her warm, the door still lies slightly ajar.
Tonight her friends will come home hours later and make a racket all the way up the street, she isn't aware of them as they too reach the gravel driveway, tip toeing on the flat smooth slabs that rest beside it. They're laughter is cut short as they see their friend lying unconscious on the floor. It's a sobering sight. One rushes to her head, her mouth is nauseatingly full of vomit; her neck is limp as they put their medical training into practice. It takes barely fifteen minutes for the ambulance to arrive, though she's stopped her pitiful excuse for breathing they keep going. Her delicate form is lifted onto the stretcher and whisked away. They nominate someone to accompany her, the soberest. Climbing into the ambulance she barely sits down as the vehicle kicks into motion. Her hand drapes carelessly over the side as the carry her into the emergency department. She joins the crowd of drunks in need of help.
Tonight they take her to resus making brave attempts to bring her back to life. Her airway is secured; her body is pumped with fluids. Her heart is restarted. They keep going, scanning her for any signs of injury. The labs prove that, her liver is severely intoxicated. What would you expect? Her kidneys feel like failing too. Her lungs are forced to work. Her head is the worst, they show up a bleed on the brain that crushes her grey matter, the place that makes her, her. They decide she needs to go to theatre immediately. Yet they stop, her heart gives way once again. This time they work harder, shocking her in cycles. One, shock, two, shock, three, shock. Four, SHOCK. Nothing, they can't keep going, much though they want to. A doctor wasted. A life wasted, another figure in the statistics. They call it.
Time of death, five seventeen
Tonight she made her last trip anywhere she enjoyed herself. They go to tell her friend who is sat waiting, it's probably not that bad, she's probably just needed her stomach pumped she'll be fine. It will be an amusing story to tell others at parties. They'll still make their finals. It will be put down to experience. No. They try to explain it as gently as they can. But she's a medical student; she knows the pitiful looks doctors give when they deliver bad news. She sheds a tear to begin with, and then the dam breaks, a river fills itself on her lap. She sits with the nurse who tries to prise the information they need, parents' need to be called; arrangements need to be made. "Connie never did anything like this," she explains, trying to find an excuse for the waste of life "she was always so…." "Responsible," the nurse finishes the sentence. She's seen it all before, drink does silly things to people. Accidents happen.
Tonight her spent body will sit on the cold leather trolley as they wait for someone to claim her. Her friends gather and wait, they each say goodbye. The purple bruise covering her eye taints the angelic appearance her face has taken on. Then again alcohol isn't angelic is it? Alcohol isn't pretty. Alcohol killed this angel stone fucking dead.
Tonight her parents will get to see their smart, witty, clever, daughter. Except she isn't there to meet them with a smile, with a hug for daddy, a kiss for mummy. She's asleep. Just asleep, nothing wrong with sleeping, except when you do it for an eternity. They cry over her fallen body, cursing at her stupidity. Cursing at God. Cruel things happen to angels sometimes, don't they? It's a sobering thought that they were mistaken in her innocence. Killed by alcohol clouds, the innocent idiom.
Tonight she paid the ultimate price for a night out, didn't really make it worthwhile. Did it?