@kamiahq !
getting inordinately tipsy and indulging in vulgar conversations over club speakers wasn’t one of the blonde’s most brilliant pastimes, yet it still directed sore limbs until inked fingers curled around the neck of a half empty corona bottle. moments pass until his physical stability is disrupted by the inevitable effect of alcohol abusing ones blood stream. he’s pushed his way through the crowd, halfway towards the bathroom until blown irises instinctively squint at the familiar fall of black strands by the bar. it was hard to miss such a hyperactive posture, leaning in and out of her seat, undoubtedly holding a one sided conversation with whomever was sitting beside her. crude thoughts dabble at the back of his head despite the amiable mood he was in minutes prior ( or whatever counted as friendly when the man was inebriated ). it had already been months since he was sprawled on the floor, convulsing like someone dropped a toaster in a bathtub. jules isn’t vain enough to think that every event that lead up to the ordeal had been kamia’s fault. he’d been the one to smoke far before she began offering at lower prices. he’d been the one to trust someone other than himself. he remembered the dusk & dawns filled with nonsensical talk as they sat on the curb, static soundtrack booming from his open apartment door. he would’ve spent more time watching his mirror image, comparing all the ways they were different, wondering if kamia had been tricked with bad herbs or if she'd laced him on purpose. the idea had came up. they were in the business industry after all. its golden rule was to commit anything to get to the top. either way, it didn’t matter. he recalled her footsteps clambering over toppled furniture, flight or fight response choosing the former at such a grim sight. the slam of his door and the screeching of tires speeding away. how much truth he’d seen when they were both this close to becoming something more than the mere acquaintance. if it wasn’t for the innocent passing by of his band mates -- checking up on the performance they had the day next -- jules would’ve been another statistic. another star gone in their twenties from the use of narcotics. finding his current mental state, the blonde conjured up an image of kamia’s own facade unraveling unto a wasted, brainless doll; quickly knitting his night into an ambitious plot device. “mind if i get you a drink baby?” he spoke slow as he bent down behind her, voice corrosive like acid despite the sultry inquiry undoubtedly used by men who wanted a night underneath silk sheets.