Chapter 3

(mood: sad sorry after party~UPSAHL)

"the pleasure of one day can be the ruin of the next"

Sarah

I wake up from a throbbing in my head, it's a pulsing pain, which I hope to suffocate with counter-pressure of my hand against my skull, but it just goes on pulsing and gets worse. I'm damn tired and sleepy, but bad ulterior motives from last night and the damn heading stop me from sleeping in again. I'm not sure about where I am, but I'm cold and my back hurts because of the cold concrete tiles I'm lying on. A mobilephone vibrates, but it's not mine, because-as far as I know- my ringtone is not that song . It needs to be his. O damn it.

I sat myself up and suddenly I know what has happened. I regret it. Don't care what I just thought yesterday, what the hell? The stranger next to me is still asleep and I try not to stare at his naked breast, which raises and lowers evenly. He just wears pants and I bite my lip thinking about what happened last night. I feel so damn dirty, so exposed and I feel like throwing up. I look away from the guy I stared at before and my eyes fall on the pool, which is some meters removed from us. Something black swims in it and I need a few seconds to realize it's my dress from last night. But when my dress swims in the pool, what the hell do I wear? I look down onto myself and mention I'm just wearing a shirt. His shirt. And a black slip. Where the hell is my bra? I need to find it. I need to go! I need to go home, I need to...home...oh, damn it, my parents, what do they think where I am?

„Fuck.", I mutter, shocked of myself and shut my mouth with my left hand. However I imagined my first sex-certainly not like that. I'm so disgusted of myself and everything around me. I'm hungry, but I'd only eat something to throw it up again. Maybe I would feel clean then. Bacause at the moment I feel dirty. Man, I feel like a damn dirty slut! Okay, Sarah cool down. Your not a slut, your just recklessly, damn recklessly, so damn recklessly. I say in silence to myself, it doesn't help. The heading is too bad and so loud that I can't even hear my thoughts. I nevertheless try to get a clear thought.

I'm gonna get away. I catch my damn dress out oft he swimming-pool, then I'll look form y bra and then I'm. Gonna. Get. Away. The fact that it will be very unpleasent to to wear my wet dress while walking I don't know which way to our penthouse-flat, I don't know how long through the inner city, let me suppose the thing with the clear thought does not work out. In fact I also have no plan, how to take the walk with my high heels. I take a disdisive at the shoes lying on the ground next to me. But everything's better as staying here. Lying here and waiting until the stranger wakes up and drives a girl he never knew until last night is a waste of time and also awkward. If he wouldn't kick me out oft he house, instead of driving me home, because I don't think he'd feel responsible for a weird girl, fucked up of her own actions. But what do I know about responsibility? I just woke up next to anyone, halfnaked. I'm about to despair. But I manage to stand up and to stumble to the pool, where I look at my wet dress, floating on the water surface, mocking me, because I can't catch it. A short period of time I stand inconclusively about my future at the pool edge, until I see a net for dirt and leaves or something like that leaning at the house wall, take my chance and grab the net to get out of this unpleasent situation. It feels like the life of American teenagers in those films: always going with-or without-premonition to party, just to loose their virginity to a rich, attractive stranger, in order to never see him again. I always thought such things would only be possible in over-dramatic series, but as it seems I was totally wrong. I carefully guide the net over the water and catch after the dress, but it keeps mucking me and just swims away from me. The only chance to get it now is to balance on the narrow edge oft he other side oft he pool, with danger to fall down the small slope behind the estate. For a moment I'm undecided, but my brain-cracked idea seems better to me, than walking along the highway just wearing a slip and a shirt. The edge is wet and slippery, because the water seems to spill sometimes. On all the Fours I crawl along it, what anyway isn't easy, but the weird net-thing, which I carry with me in my right hand doesn't facilitate the process either. When I arrive at about a diagonal in front of the dress, I stand up as slowly and carefully as I can and fish with the net for the black evening-dress. It will be shameful to walk through the streets of New York with it, including wearing high heels ore just walking barefoot. How could this happen to me? In my ears it sounds like one of Champagne's crazy stories of nights on partys, to which she goes when she tells her parents she learns with friends. But Champagne doesn't learn. She doesn't need to. Fifteen minutes are enough for her to suck in any knowledge oft he last three math-lessons. That's the way she came through her whole school life until now: a lot of partys, shopping, here and there fifteen minutes learning and then the whole cycle from the beginning.

„Morning.", I'm in shock and I nearly fall down the slope, but I can balance myself and I direct my gaze from the water surface to the walnut-brown-haired guy, who sits on the other side of the pool and rests his elbows on the ground and looks at me with a smugly grin and a raised eyebrow. I'm sure I'm blushed and I feel like I just fell oft he sky and even more ashamed than before or ever in my life.

„What are you doing?", he asks with pointing with his hand at the whole picture in front of him. I need a couple seconds, to catch myself up until I can speak again.

„I...", but I don't get to end my sentence, because the universe or the edge oft he pool is a damn asshole and suddenly I slip and together with the net-thing I fall into the cold pool-water. It gets me, like a cold knife, how I –all of a sudden- land in the pool and I feel the shirt sucking in the water and it feels like I'd go down every second, even though the shirt isn't heavy. The water doesn't feel like a pleasent cooling anymore, but more like just damn cold. All of my tiredness is gone, just the heading gets worse. Fastly I dive up again, catch my breath and swim to the pool-edge where I -in my sleepy drunkenness -had been lying a few minutes ago, not giving a thought to any problems. I put my clumsy hands on the tiles and someone gives me his hand for help. I take the hand thankfully until I realize again whose help I just accepted.