A/N Irma is not a kraang bot in this fic. I do not own tmnt. (I reposted this because it went weird last time)

Irma's POV

I try to back, if possible, even further into the apartment wall as yet another person fuelled on giddiness and alcohol bashes unapologetically by me. I'm pretty sure my body is going to be covered in black and blue by the time this house party is over, if teenagers who fail to acknowledge my existence keep barging into me. I ask myself for the millionth time why I am here, on my own, surrounded with people who have never spoken to me, raving to the most offensive range of generic pop. When I could be curled up in bed watching 'Black Butler' on Netflix or doing extra research for my biology project.

then of course the answer presents its self across the room in the form of something tall, dark and hansom; boys.

Yes for some strange reason I thought that tonight would be the night were that special someone would present themselves to sweep me off my feet. So naturally like every other time I'd had this feeling I'd spent the night completely alone.

Suddenly someone slams into me spilling their drink all down my front.

"Hey! Watch it!" I yelled after him but already the boy had disappeared into the swan of bodies, laughing with his friend.

I groan as I look down at my new 'Attack on Titan' t-shirt that now reeked and was soaked through to my bra.

"Great" I mumble " Could this night get any worse!"

"Hey Irma!" I hear a slurred yet somehow still cocky voice call to me. I look up to see the unfortunately familiar, swaying form of Casey Jones coming towards me.

"Way to go jinx yourself Irma" I curse as he comes up in front of me. Out of all the people in the universe and guys in this party the only one to actually notice me just had to be him didn't it. Why he came over here, I have no idea. He cant stand me and trust me the feeling is mutual.

I'm about to ask him when he suddenly rams his lips onto mine. For a moment my mind goes blank as all I can focus on are the feel of his lips on mine that are laced with the taste of alcohol.

But as he starts to kiss harder, pushing me against the wall a million questions start to rush through my head.

'Why is he doing this?', 'Is he drunk?', 'How many drinks has he had?' and the most confusing 'Why am I enjoying this?!'