My left side leaning lazily against the white porcelain sink, I had a chunk of her long auburn hair in one hand and a half-smoked cigarette in the other. I observed, absentmindedly, as the ashes fell like snow flakes in slow motion into the drain. She was bend over, almost doubled over her stomach in front of me while she braced herself with both hands on each side against the bathtub. He stood, his back to me, gripping a red solo cup, half-full with Haig in one hand, his penis in the other as he attempted to aim in the toilet bowl. My thoughts were like dull blades trying to focus but otherwise pointless and disengaged. My ears were buzzing and begged for the music and loud banging on the door in the background to stop. "GO A-WAY"! I screamed as I turned around and went towards the closed but otherwise unlocked door with it's scratched surface and protruding banged up frame. Securing the door and returning slowly to my post I was looking at the square mint-colored tiles reminiscent of the 50s and my grandma's bathroom where I watched her bathe, roll her hair into a neat chignon and put on cobalt blue kohl which brought out her eyes and, which even though she reapplied everyday, never seemed to take off at the end of it. Meanwhile a thick lock of hair had fallen to the side of her oval face and was now dangling with a little bit of vomit and she began crying even louder than before.I went over and somewhat indifferently patted her back in an effort to calm her down. I tapped his shoulder, borrowing a sip of his drink and a piece of toilet paper which I used to sloppily clean the barfed-on lock of hair. My ears were still buzzing and I felt my head spinning but I could hear "Uptown Funk" was playing, something which prompted the girl previously slumped over a stranger's bathtub to jump up, tear-free and spin around grabbing his forearm, launching them both out the door and into the party. Left facing the bathtub, I grabbed the shower-head and started washing away the stomach contents of my friend. Satisfied with a crime well-concealed, I now stood facing the mirror over the sink, which was filthy with cigarette ashes and I remembered that in spite of his usual OCD-level cleanliness he hadn't washed his hands before dashing off. I was rubbing mascara stains off of my cried-on cardigan, when the host came in through the door left ajar, her heels clicking on the tile floor, her tulle and lace skirt dragging. "Go ahead" I said, noticing that the ball of wet tissue paper I was holding was rapidly falling apart and shedding white-ish fibers, giving her a nod through the mirror letting her know that if she wanted to pee she'd have to do it with me here. She didn't seem to mind and sat on the toilet, unclasping her high-heels and tossing them aside. I heard the fake camera chime from an i-phone go off, multiple times a second, the sound of another selfie behind me. I stared blankly at my phone on the mirror shelf. "Fuck" she said. Unzipping my leopard print purse and reaching inside, I handed her a tampon without turning to face her. I moved so she could wash her hands and she flew out the door, which was now left completely open. Outside was the long hallway, people tittering to and fro and beyond that more people, drinks and loud music. The mood outside had shifted I felt, all sense of feeling drowning in the fluids of inebriation. In another mirror, facing the bathroom door, out in the hallway, this one body-length, I starred at my self in dismay. My oily complexion had my face shining like an August moon, my hair, tucked behind my ears on both sides of my middle part, had lost all volume whatsoever. My curve-hugging outfit seemed less of a good idea than it was when I first put it on exactly 7 hours ago. I looked down at my shoes and the flattened cigarette butt peeking from underneath my right sole, apparently stuck after I had disregarded and stepped on it. On the brand new white Miele washing machine in the corner was a silver tray with ornate carvings that looked antique and on it an array of red solo cups, some empty, some half-full with murky brown liquid which I determined by the smell, was whiskey-coke, and some with bits of tobacco floating like castaway sailors. The smell of alcohol and smoke and vomit made me feel queasy for a moment but eyeing a small, green, glass bottle with a red and green label I grabbed it, unscrewed the cap and took a mouthful of lukewarm lager. I lit another cigarette. I waited for the next guest in my domain. The door open, the music pouring in, the smoke creating a halo around my head, beer in hand, living the dream.
