Reptilia

No idea where this came from; I was just listening to this song of the same title and it gave me this feel to write this, idk.

The Victorian leather of the couch started hurting my a*s, despite the fact the material was worn thin to the wooden bone structure of the furniture piece. The darkness of the room began making me feel uneasy. All I could see were dark figures making out, and f*****g on the floor, while I sat alone with the couch. 

The house smelled musty and old, the wallpaper falling off of the walls with each rattle the loud music gave throughout the house. The same song had been playing on repeat for the past three hours, the tune branding itself into my skull, burning and penetrating me leaving a permanent mark. 

For whatever reason why, all of a sudden I started thinking. I thought about things I hadn't in a while, things that were out of the ordinary for the location I was. I thought about the song, the people f*****g, and most of all why I was here in the first place. I shook my head suddenly, a quick chill rushing through my body.

I had a small red Solo cup of ginger ale, the water to put out the crashing and burning zeppelin my stomach was becoming. I felt nauseous, the noise burning me even more. The overwhelming scent of the house making me want to rip my nose straight off from my face. I felt so tired I couldn't sleep, my legs jittery and my limbs sore. My lips ached for another kiss from another cute boy. My tongue felt dry, the ginger ale not satisfying my thirst. The back of my throat told me vodka, but my head told me water. 

But yet this wasn't how it should be. I should want to sleep; I need to sleep. (But you don't have to.) I should feel fine. (Fine is an understatement.) My lips should keep themselves closed. (They don't talk when you're kissing.) Alcohol is wrong. (So is not sleeping, but you're awake.)

I couldn't get up, but I only sat there my head in a daze. I leaned back on the couch, my eyes barely closed, the song drowning into white noise. I felt the cup slip from my fingers onto the couch, another stain to add to the history of the leather. I felt the uneasy sensation slowly taking over with every beat of my heart, pushing the uneasiness through my veins throughout my body. 

I felt a light tap on my shoulder. My eyes fluttered open, the song beginning it's round again with the opening guitar chords. A boy stood there, probably around seventeen or so. He kissed me at the beginning of the party and his face smirked at me. 

"Wanna come hang with me upstairs?" his voice said over the music, but I was unable to hear, I could only see his lips mouthing words I didn't understand.

And then it came to me quite suddenly; I can't think. I'm uneasy because I've been thinking the wrong way. (You're not supposed to think.) I smiled, pretending to understand him. I let him pull me from my seat, and guide me to my fate. 

Because if you think too much with these kinds of things it slows you down. You can't ride a bicycle if you pedal too slow; you can't. You need to go. Fast. Otherwise, you fall and you don't go much of anywhere.

(Exactly.)