A blow job, a flaming glass of beer, and Remington assholes

Veronica and Heather had arrived at the party - looking deadly, just like a Heather should.. Their hosts are a couple of ready-to-lay frat boys, likely to sell out long before grad day.

Veronica looked around with her disgusted look... Noting that the place smelled like puke and weed even though the party had barly gotten started.

The tiny halls were claustrophobic and the people hanging out were drunk and high.

Veronica slowly peeled off her coat, holding it tight her arms like her slushy... She wished she had her slushy... But heather had made her throw it out before they entered.

Heather, on the other hand, was looking quite comfortable. She had walked in with a big smw plastered accross her face. Quite different from when they had been in the car. She pulled off her jacket to reveal quite the cleavage showing mini dress... Of course, it was red.

Her hair was without a scrunchie, it was fluffy and side parted, obviously.

But her red scrunchie meant the world to her, it signified the power over westerburg high.

But here? A 16 year old hot and popular girl in a college full of sexist adults worse than jocks?

Why bother?

Suddenly an ugly college frat boy appeared out of nowhere... No less delighted.

"Ladies! Throw your jackets on the floor!"

He made no effort to hide how is gaze had dropped from Heather's eyes too her breasts...

Assuming they were ever on her eyes to begin with in the first place.

Another ugly ass boy popped up behind the first.

"Ah, Veronica, this is Brad."

The first guy said to the doofus behind him.

Veronica stood still, her squinted eyes staring down the loser who was to be her 'partner' till at least 4 in the morning.

Brad moved forward, before rubbing his hands together fast.

Practically drooling as his eyes moved from her heeled feet (already turning red from loss of circulation) to her short dress... To her breasts...(thank God they were fully covered, unlike heathers...) And finnally to her face..

"Excellent!"

He squeeled like some scientist or something.

Veronica just rolled her eyes and glared at the floor... It was disgusting... She could count four stains..... God knows what they were...

The first frat boy had spread his arms wide, as if welcoming them to this amazing place...

"Did you girls brought your party slippers, huh?"

He smiled stupidly, probably already thinking about forcing heather onto his dick...

"Let's party!"

Heather said cheekily, not even looking at Veronica. Heather was a different person here. There was no defending Veronica. There was no shutting down losers. Here, she was an object. And she had to deal with it.

The guy smiled and leaned into the loser named Brad.

Whispering in his ear without taking his eyes from Heather's sneering face.

"She likes to party."

Even as Veronica sat ferociously writing in her diary at home. Sitting at her oak desk with her monocle in eye. Bathroom loosly swinging on her shoulder.

"Dear diary, I want to kill. And you have to believe it isn't for selfish reasons. More than just a spoke in my memstural cycle. You have to believe me."

Veronica stood leaning against the wall of one of the many claustrophobic hallways.

A massive smeared jug of beer tucked beneath her arm.

Brad stood just behind her. Smily creepily, already having trouble with the foreplay stage.

"Hey it's so great to be able to talk to a girl and not have to ask 'What's your major?' I hate that"

He then kinda gave a sort of forced laughter that made Veronica scoff quietly. She wanted to be anywhere but here...

Veronica then flashed a smile so brief it would be an allegation.. She was drinking beer from a smeary glass, looking at the ceiling, looking in her glass again... And it occurs to her that if ever aliens did land on the Earth, they probably would blow it up - just to be on the safe side...

Veronica was satisfied to hear that the asshole was struggling. Still, she couldn't help but think about where heather was... And if she was ok...

Heather had ran off with the older looking frat boy... And left Veronica.

"So.. when you go to college, what will you major in?"

Veronica said nothing and sipped her drink.

She wanted to push him, she wanted to scream in her best Heather's voice to stop preying on young girls, she wanted to dump her most likely drugged beer down his perverted throat, but she didn't. She stood screaming inside and sipping her drink while rolling her eyes and avoiding brades lustful stare.

Mean while.. in a room unknown to Veronica, heather and the frat boy named David were making out on his bed.

He had a hand on her permed hair, and another hand... Creeping... Lower.

He kept pulling her closer, and each time he did this, she wigged back just a smidge. She wasn't enjoying this, and that ought to have been clear as she tried to break away.

The pain of being perfect was there, but the pain of being sexualized was worse.

"Come one David, can't we get back to the party?"

She said as she finnally broke away.

Her eye brows were furrowed and she was nervous, the mythic bitch was showing cracks.

"We will... It's just that.. you're so hot tonight.. I just can't control mysel."

Heather knew what this meant. She bit back her tears and seemed to pull them back in. She gulped unfortunately as he pushed her head down. Heather Chandler was only 16, she had given blowjobs to 16 year old boys, but she was 16. She didn't want to give this 21 year old guy something she didn't want to give... But she did.

The zipper was unzipped with a cleam, satisfying sound, but what happened in that room next was anything but satisfying.

In her room Veronica continued her written rampage...

"Oh Christ! I can't explain it, but I'm allowed an understanding that my parents and these Remington University assholes have chosen to ignore... I understand that I must stop Heather!"

Back at the party Veronica is sort of hiding. She's in the room where the coats have been dumped. She stares into a match flame, as she lowers her hand to it. It hurts.

In suprise-she drops the match in the glass, and the alcohol ignites. Surprised, she throws the blue flame out the window into the night. It arcs down into the alley below, and, quite conveniently, lands in a trash can.

She stares at it for a moment as the fire burns steadily before she retired to sitting quietly. Seen but not heard.

After tweny minutes, the zipper was zipped, and Heather Chandler was left to herself in the bathroom

Her mascara was dribbling lightly down her fresh cheeks, yet she didn't cry as she raised a wobbly glass of water to her lips.

She took a sip... Ready to swallow it like she swallowed... Well... Him...

But she couldn't. In anger she spat the water at the mirror... The reflection of her ruined perfection.