"I really think you should come with us." Elle chirps from her position on my bed. She picks up her phone once again, her eyes darting between me and the device. It doesn't take a genius to realise she's informing the other two about how it's going in here. I roll my eyes at her, getting up from my lotus position and going into the vrikshasana. I shift all my weight onto my left leg before raising my hands over my head. "At least think about it."

I already thought about my friends offer to drag me along to yet another wild night out in the name of loosening up and my answer's the same as the last time Shadé barged in here to announce that she got us VIP passes to some club outside of campus. They somehow thought coming in here one at a great time to convince me would work but I've had no problem saying no to the last two, my answer to Elle wouldn't be different.

I let out a deep breath as I try to concentrate on meditating. But I can't-not when she's here watching my every move like she's scared I'm going to break a bone.

I'm scared I'm going to break a bone.

"Are you sure this is how to meditate?" Her blue eyes are watching me wearily as I wobble in my position "Have you even done this before?"

"No." I answer through gritted teeth as I try to maintain my balance. Let me just say, it's a little bit harder than I thought it would be. Everyone on YouTube make it look easier than it actually is. "But it's supposed to be relaxing."

"You don't look relaxed Lorraine." Elle's eyebrows creases with worry as she winces "you look like you're suffering. I think you should stop."

"No. I'm fine." I reply stubbornly. "I deserve this."

"You sound like you're punishing yourself." I can see Elle rolling her eyes dramatically from the corner of my eyes "wait, are you punishing yourself?"

"No. Why would I do that?"

"What have you done?" Elle insists, clearly not buying into my bullshit. She drops her phone on my bed, her full attention on me. Knowing there's no way I'd get out of this without telling her how much I've screwed up, I drop my hands causing them to burn by my sides.

I drag my distraught body to my bed, pulling up my workout leggings as I do so before dumping myself next to Elle with a relieved sigh "whoever said meditating helps you relax needs to be stoned to death."

"It is relaxing, you just don't know how to do it."

"Can't meditate. Add that to the list of reasons why I'm an epic failure." I mumble bitterly, rolling onto my back so that I'm facing the ceiling. I can't bring myself to look at Elle as I tell her that I messed up my interview with Charlie Murtaugh and I have nothing to give to my crazy ass Editor who would definitely take away my internship. I really thought I'd survive that internship for at least two months. But one week? That's disappointing, even for me.

"Woah bitch, hold the fuck up." Elle mutters next to me "where is all this negativity coming from?"

My belly twists into painful knots at the remembrance of the message that's boring a hole in the bottom of my bag where I've resorted to leaving my phone in shame.

Melissa Huntley
Meeting @ my office, 3pm tomorrow.

The message is pretty simple.

No friendly hellos.

No kidding about.

It's just an order of what Huntley wants which wouldn't have sounded so bad if I have what she wants-a first draft. How in the world will I have a draft if I have no idea how to start the article. Most especially when I don't have the interview.

"This whole article is making me feel like a failure." I announce truthfully, forcing myself to swallow the heaviness I'm feeling at the back of my throat. I realise there's a high chance that I wouldn't be able to stop the tears I've been holding back all day. I've been in my room, sitting behind my laptop trying hard to start on something but I'm so unmotivated that I ended up watching a new show on Netflix and learning about meditation on YouTube instead "I don't think I can do this."

And I can't stop thinking about that awful encounter with Charlie Murtaugh.

"Why? You said the interview went well."

"Well, I lied. The interview went to shit."

"What did he do?"

I smile a little, loving the fact that she automatically thinks whatever happened wasn't my fault. Not that it was-Charlie Murtaugh might have helped me one time but he's such a dick and he's messing up my life without even knowing it. What kind of prick says you're not good enough the first time they meet you.

"I didn't even get an interview." I say on a sigh. Thinking about it makes me so angry that I want to punch something-that something is Charlie's pretty face. I turn on my side so that I'm facing Elle who's looking at me with confusion.

"What do you mean you didn't get an interview. You went to the interview-"

"Maybe journalism isn't my thing." I continue quietly feeling sick for thinking it. I've always wanted to be a journalist, even against all of my better judgement. Even though I've tried to talk myself out of it multiple times, I put up with high school bullshit. I persevered. So why am I feeling like this just because some idiot told me he doesn't want me on his article? An article I don't want to write anyways. "If I can't carry out the responsibility of getting an interview for a bloody article, which I totally have no idea how to start on, then maybe this is wrong for me. Maybe Melissa Huntley is wrong about giving me the bloody internship because I don't deserve it."

"Everything you said, just like, sucks."

"I know."

"Journalism isn't your thing?" Elle repeats unbelievably her eyes watching me with mock pity as she mutters a wow to herself. "She didn't get the interview the y'all? What a big deal, what an epic failure she is. Yeah, you should totally degrade yourself for that, why don't you put your head on a fucking pike while you're at it-

"Shut up, Elle." I chuckle, hitting her arm lightly. "Don't make a joke out of this."

"Lorraine, you didn't kill somebody. This isn't a big deal." She insists, sitting up on my bed "you shouldn't beat yourself up for it."

"So you don't think I'm a bad journalist?"

"What the fuck, Lorraine." Elle laughs, shaking her head "Of course I don't."

"Aw, really?" A small smile graces my face at her words "and you're not saying this just because you're my friend and my ego needs a massive boost?"

"Yes Lor, I mean it. It's only been what, One week since you started your internship?" She continues "you're legally allowed to trip up a bit."

"I think Melissa Huntley will beg to differ on that one." I murmur rolling off my bed to get my phone from where I hid it in my tote bag. I fish out the phone and turn it on before showing it to Elle "she wants a first draft tomorrow."

"Fuck Melissa Huntley." Elle replies crawling off the bed as well and I laugh, picturing Melissa's mortified face at Elle's words. "and fuck all that insecurities bullshit. You're the dopest journalist I know. If this Melissa Huntley woman can't see that then maybe you should quit." Elle shrugs casually when I gasp "She sounds like a bitch anyways."

"You know I can't quit. I need this internship. It adds up to my final grade."

"I know that. And if it makes you feel better, I'm failing one of classes already and we've only been sophomores for three weeks." Elle smiles widely like it's something to be proud about. "Stuff like that happen all the time. It's not the end of the world Lorraine. That's why you just gotta take time out to let loose and replenish your mind."

Knowing where this conversation is leaning towards, I shake my head and plop down on the chair next to my study table. I scowl at my laptop, still open on word. The blank page staring at me with pure mockery. I close it shut. I'm not going to allow a non-living thing make fun of me, ever. "I'm still not going clubbing."

"Why not? It seems like you need this night out more than us."

Which is totally true but as much as I want to wallow in my own miserable life, I do need to get a draft down before my meeting with Melissa tomorrow. I don't want to imagine what it would be like walking in there empty handed. It's going to be like living a nightmare. The last thing I want is living that nightmare with a hangover from partying too hard today.

"I need to start writing something. Anything." I groan loudly. I hate the fact that my motivation level is way below zero at the moment and there's nothing I can do about it.

Elle raises her eyes at me "Have you magically figured out how to start?"

"No-"

"Exactly." She says a little too sassily "haven't you heard that getting drunk comes with a shit load of inspo?"

"Elle, I'm not sure that's true." I side eye her.

"But there's no harm in trying." She comes over to me, her light blue eyes shining brightly. Elle being the most stylish one amongst us, she enjoys a good night out. And who wouldn't? If I looked like her, with shiny blonde hair, constellation blue eyes and a body to die for, I'll jump at any opportunity to flaunt my pilate body.

"Yeah but-"

"No buts, Lorraine. Wear something sexy, we leave by midnight." She turns to leave and yells a "she said yes guys" as soon as she's out the door. I roll my eyes, the thought of going out and letting loose for one night does sounds amazing and on the upside I don't have a class until ten o'clock tomorrow. Who knows, maybe I'd get a shit load of inspo.

***

"Holy shit." Sammie drawls wide eyed as we enter the exclusive and glitzy nightclub "remind me how you got us VIP passes to this place again?"

We are currently being led to the VIP section of the popular LA nightclub by a male waiter. The Northpole isn't just any nightclub with cheap booze and the inevitable guy who tries to pick a fight with everyone. It's one of the most elite spots in the city and even I know that. And I don't know anywhere. What I also don't know is how my roommate managed to get VIP tickets.

Shadé throws us a coy smile, her caramel skin glowing under the club's flashing lights. She's wearing a tight, lemon corset dress that's hugging her body in all the right places. "I've got my plugs." She winks.

"It's that new guy you've been seeing isn't it?" Sammie asks as we walk up the polished stairs that lead up to the VIP section of the club. I turn around to look at the dance floor. For a club that only lets in the best, it sure is packed. I spot Elle at the far end of the bar, chatting flirtatiously with the bartender. She made a beeline for the bar as soon as we slipped among the crowd to get us drinks. But now, I think she's going to be too preoccupied to carry out the task.

"Who says it's a guy?"

Sammie and I gasp in unison as Shadé wiggles her perfectly concealed eyebrows.

"Really? I thought you were into guys." I say as the waiter shows us our own VIP booth. The booth is dimly lit but I can see the champagne, Hennessy and Ciroc bottle peeking out from the ice bucket. Guess we wouldn't be needing Elle after all. "So what are you bi?"

"I'm simply exploring my sexuality. So leave your labels in the motherf**king box, to the motherf**king left. Thank you." Shade blows me a kiss, making me chuckle at how crazy my friends are. I mean, I'm not surprised. Shadé is the spontaneous one of the group. If you're looking for someone to go get a tattoo with in between midterms, Shadé is your girl.

After thanking the waiter who brought us shot glasses Sammie, whoops loudly, pouring her and Shadé shots of ciroc. Although only standing at mere height of 5'2 Sammie is the definition of an Iranian beauty with gorgeous olive tan skin and eyes to die for. She can get a little hands on with alcohol. You know we've had a shit night out if Sammie's still sober on the Uber ride home. "Life is a waste of time and time is a waste of life so let's get wasted tonight and have the time of our life!"

I raise my eyebrows at her in confusion. Sammie being Sammie had a little something to drink while we were getting ready. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure they all pre-gamed before leaving our apartment so it's safe to say that I'm the only one who's not drunk right now. Which means I've automatically become the designated driver for the night-more like designated to pay for our Uber back home.

"Cheers to that sister."

"Just a few drinks okay? You lot have got an 8am class tomorrow." No one want to nurse a hangover with a lecturer blabbering off in the background.

"Come on Lor, don't be such a party pooper." Samantha hands me a shot glass before filling it with alcohol "can we have bad Lorraine? Just for one night?"

"No, no, no." I shake my head violently. The story behind bad Lorraine is one of the most hilarious memories I have with my friends. The first UCLA block party I went to. It's safe fo say that the night ended with me being carried into the back of the cab by four strangers. Bad Lorraine is a person my friends tease me about when they're sober but want me to be when they're drunk.

"Come on bad Lorraine!" Shade insists loudly. She jabs her elbows into me softly, her eyebrows wiggling "We haven't gotten bad Lorraine since last year! You know you wanna."

I give it a little thought in my head. Bad Lorraine night was hands down one of the best night of my life. I feel like I truly let loose without thinking too much into things. But I don't think I ever want to be as drunk as I was that night ever again. The hangover I woke up the next morning wasn't cute.

I sigh in defeat, a small creeping on my face"okay." They both exclaim happily, Shadé clapping her hands like a little kid "but only one shot. You know I'm a lightweight."

Four shots of whiskey later and I'm feeling less like myself and more like an uncoiling rope as I bop my head to the beat of Lil Uzi Vert blaring from the terrifyingly loud speakers. I'm fully aware that I'm a lightweight and that I shouldn't be drinking too much but as soon as you're drunk, there's no going back. Elle who has finally returned after a long half an hour, without any drinks, is now throwing herself in the air next to a grinning Samantha. The smell of weed clung to her white latex bandeau dress and her pupils are dilated as fuck.

Samantha's gold net dress has risen all the way to the middle of her ass as she throws herself into various embarrassing dance moves. From the way I'm giggling at the little things, I know I'm also slowly loosing the plot so I've resorted to drinking a clean soda instead of the strong stuff. It's taking all of my willpower to sit still and not join my friends on the dance floor.

No matter how drunk I am, that voice will always be in my head. The one that makes me think everything is worse than it is.

God, I wish I didn't have to overanalyse life. Everything would be so much easier. But I'm not built that way. Very unfortunate.

"Hey look!" Elle shouts over the loud music, catching my attention. Her eyes are shot red and she looks like she's struggling to keep them open "it's Charlie."

My heart does a triple black flip at the mention of his name. My eyes scoured the club looking for a brown haired boy with pretty eyes. We have a pretty good view of the whole club from our booth. From the DJ's stand to the exotic dancers and the other VIP on the opposite side of the room. I finally see him. He's playing pool with a whole bunch of other guys-his teammates I presume. They're all undeniably good looking which totally sheds light on why there's an array of girls flocking them-but he stands out.

I can see his mischievous eyes over the fog of shisha and whatever the hell they're smoking over there. I can't help but scowl slightly. Charlie is an asshole.

"You should totally go talk to him." Samantha says as she takes a seat next to me before pouring herself another drink and Elle nods in approval. Yeah, that's definitely the vodka talking "score another interview."

"Or his number." Elle pipes in "He has totally been eye f**king you."

I'm glad they can't see my face heat up in the poorly lighted club. "He eye f**ks every girl. Big deal."

"No. This is a different type of eye f**k. This is a I want to fulfil all your darkest fantasy kind of eye f**k not a I want to scratch an itch eye f**k." Shade explains making me roll my eyes.

"Yeah, that's not happening." I assure them.

"You were the one sulking over the stupid interview and now that there's an opportunity to get one you're just gonna chicken out?" Shadé's words are slurred "grow the f**k up Lorraine."

I would have gotten upset at her words if we weren't both drunk. Her more than me but drunk nonetheless. "I'm not chickening out. He doesn't think I'm good enough for the interview and maybe he's right." I can't help but remember his words. No-name intern. That burned more than him not remembering my name. I look away from their booth "He wants a Melissa. I'm no Melissa."

"Chicken." Shadé goes as far as doing the chicken dance to prove her point "moo moo-"

"You know chickens don't moo, they oink." Elle corrects.

"No they do not. Chickens f**king moo."

"They cackle actually." I blink finding it absurd that this is the conversation that my friends have decided to have. "But what do I know."

"What? I can't hear you over the noise of you being a chicken."

In all honesty, I'll never be entirely sure why I've decided to make my next move. It might be the alcohol buzzing in my system or straight up desperation to have something tomorrow but I roll my eyes, muttering a fine to my friends before pushing my self off the black, Italian leather seat that make up our booth.

"Good luck," Sammie hands me a shot "you're a rockstar."

I take it from her because lord knows I'll need it. I wrinkle my face as I feel white liquid burn the back of my throat all the way down to the bottom of my belly.

Here goes nothing.