They're Just Words
Two

It was the same routine every Friday.
I’d run home and do my homework that was due on Monday as early as possible because I knew I’d have a hangover all day Saturday and then I’d relax on Sunday.
After my homework was finished and all my studying was done, I’d make dinner for my brother and my mom.
Then, my mom would usually be too tired to do anything else after a long day at work, so she’d shower and kiss my brother and I on the head before she fell asleep.
Then I’d run to my room and try to get ready faster than my brother, but that never happened since girls always take longer.
Just like any other Friday, that’s what I did.
I applied a massive amount of eyeliner, mascara, and eye shadow to make my eyes pop, covered up any marks on my skin, and put on some chapstick.
My life depended on chapstick.
When I was finished with my makeup, I teased my hair a little, put it in a half-ponytail, and threw on a little black dress, tights, and short, leather boots.
I always wore boots when I went out because I needed a place to keep my chapstick and keys to the house.
My brother never brought keys with him because he was too afraid they’d fall out of his pockets and it “hurt” too much to keep them in his own shoes.
Neither of us brought our cell phones; I know, stupid, but we didn’t realize how dangerous that was at the time.
My brother knocked on my door just as I was putting on my earrings and said, “Let’s go. We’re late.”
He wore the usual: tattered jeans, a t-shirt, a sh*t load of cologne, and sneakers that seemed too big for anybody.
We quietly walked down the hallway in our tiny apartment and successfully snuck out without a sound.
Once on the streets, we walked about twelve blocks away from home to the back entrance of a club.
The line stretched all the way out into the middle of an abandoned alley, but my brother assured me we didn’t have to worry about anything.
He walked right up to the big, intimidating bodyguard, ignoring the frustrated groans from other people, and whispered something in his ear.
“Give it,” he demanded, holding out his hand.
My brother smirked and pulled a small, plastic bag full of white powder out of his pocket and handed it to the bodyguard.
He wacked my brother on the back and unlocked the red, velvet rope that led inside the dark building booming with weird, electro music.
“You’re all set, Montgomery.”
My brother smiled appreciatively and took my hand, leading me inside the club despite the fact that I was underage.
“You know the plan!” my brother yelled into my ear once we were inside.
“Meet here at one and if you’re not here yet go home and let you inside when I hear you knock!” I responded over the loud music.
He made me repeat the routine to him every single time even though I knew it by heart.
“Good girl,” he praised before walking off to the bar.
I smiled deviously to myself and walked out onto the dance floor.
‘Good girl’ my a*s.
I grabbed the first boy I saw by his collar and started making out with him.
Just like any other Friday.

What do you guys thinking of Cara? Keep in mind the last story's moral: first impressions DO NOT last a lifetime(;

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