02 Oct The E on Boredome
It all started with the one thing that always ends up fucking everything in massive propotions—boredom. It was a Friday night and she had just come home from a late night at the office. She was tired, but more than anything else, she was bored. All her friends were either with their boyfriends, at their families or in the clubs, whereas she was stuck in her studio apartment with a wardrobe filled with couture clothes with nowhere to wear it to and no one to impress it with.
Thank God for mobile phones.
A couple of click, and bam! A VIP pass to the hippest party in town.
It wasn’t that she could afford it really, but being a model entitles one to get into the most exclusive high-end parties without so much as spending a single centavo. Men, after all, even at the height of feminism and the modern day epidemic called homosexuality—subtly disguised today as metrosexuality—are still suckers for a beautiful woman, and that’s exactly what she is.
To be honest, she wasn’t really into parties, if anything, she detested them. All that pretense called socializing? She didn’t get it. Why cant people just cut the bullshit and just be who they are? Oh and her friends are the worst, she was after all, associated with the richest, filthiest bastards in town. The kind who makes their money out of ripping other people, and in a way, she was like that too. Of course unlike them, she didn’t sell drugs or plunder taxes or whatever, but like them, she steals, if only by leading them on to the false notion of being “rewarded” in one of the many plush hotel rooms in the area.
False hope, yeah, she wouldn’t be caught dead in bed with one these suckers. Like any other model out there, she’s had her share of indecent proposals—a condo unit here, a trip there, jewelries, executive positions, you name it—but unlike most women, she had never succumbed to the lure of it. It wasn’t that she saw herself above the rest of ‘em, she just didn’t think it was a fair trade. Fortunately, being with the wealthiest crowd allowed her to see just how frivolous money really is. So while her fellow cats enjoyed life in One McKinley, Serendra, Greenbelt residences and other equally ridiculously expensive lodgings, she still goes home to her six thousand a month unit downtown with the rest of the middle class, (which her crowd fondly refers to as urban poor) never once doubting her decision not to be one of those high-class mistresses of the rich and powerful.
But even though she didn’t entertain the leashes the men on the pedestal offered her, she did indulge herself with the crumbs of their loot: like free passes and dinners. Never alone of course, because that would’ve been a date, and then what would people think of her? She might as well go all the way if she was going to go so low as to go out with these thugs anyway.
So she had herself booked for the party, problem was, she had no escort to take her there, which means she’d have to hail a cab. It wasn’t that she didn’t have the money, (although recently she had been pretty short on that aspect), but the fact was that she had always had tough luck with taxis, always ending up with the greedy rude ones eager to rip her off for looking like a foreigner—it didn’t matter that she could speak tagalong better than the regular bloke seeing as she majored in both English and Filipino literature. Her best friend, or so she would like to refer to him as, seemed to be in no hurry to pick her up either, something she sourly associates to the fact that, he is a man, and is therefore useless to any woman who he thinks he has no chances of sleeping with. Having have no choice on the matter, she dons on a velvet black pants and an equally dark beaded top she got from one of those thrift shops—she could make anything look like couture anyway. Put on a four inch wedge, (stilettos would’ve been too uncomfortable to party on) and you’ve got one hot female ready to conquer the runway. Of course, it helped that she was good with the make-up too, (always the face that gets them).
On the way, she was greeted with the usual pervs that just couldn’t keep their comments to themselves. When she finally got into a cab, she was once again, met with her typical breed of exploiting drivers. Heaving a sigh of frustration she snapped, “Manong mag metro ka, kung ayaw mo, bahala ka alam ko ang presyo hanggang A-Venue.” After what seemed to be an eternity of argument, (which in reality was only ten minutes) she decided to get off at her destination, slam the door, give the fucking driver the bird and storm off to the nearest restaurant near-by. Now if this was in any other place, her actions might have led her to a lot of trouble, but this was Makati fellahs, and she was a dame, no one would dare cross her without risking arrest.
She decided to hit Club Bureau first, where she was met with the familiar bitchy face of the fat female bouncer who seem to have made it her life’s mission to make every clubber there red-faced in anger as she rudely demands them to show her the contents of their bag. “I don’t get it,” she said irritated, “if I had dope or coc with me, did you really think Id fucking hide it in my bag?” To which the said walking flab responded to by screaming, “Basta buksan mo na lang!” By then she realized she really should’ve just kept her mouth shut, because really, what did she hope to accomplish by stating the obvious?
Bureau was packed as expected, and unfortunately, all the local patrons were there too—which means it was full of kids who were not even old enough to be able to afford her choice of drinks. Realizing it was bound to be another high school party, she proceeded to go to the event she had herself reserved in. While she was waiting for the attendee to verify her guest-list invitation, she noticed how many models were present. “I’m not going to stand out after all,” she thought to herself in disdain. The woman on the counter then told her, to her annoyance, that the guest-list was closed and that if she wants to get in, she’d have to buy tickets. At this point she wanted to hurl, nothing was going smoothly, from the cab ride to the damn entrance. So she sms’d her so called best friend to inform him of the shit-uation . “They won’t let me in, come out and see me before I bounce outta here,” she told him. “Tell him you’re under, (name omitted to avoid a lawsuit),” he responded. Deeply frustrated, she approached the woman at the counter and showed her the message. Upon realizing that she was with some really important people, they then proceeded to secure her pass, (and they did this not without stuttering fearful apologies on the way.) It amused her really, watching them as they tried to appease her with their “I’m sorrys” and “I didn’t realize you were with them,” tirade, especially since she didn’t even know the guy whose name seem to evoke so much anxiety from them. For all she knew he could be the owner, but then she didn’t really care who he was so long as he got her in.
Inside the club, (name omitted to avoid lawsuit) she had trouble looking for her friends. It was packed and the music was so loud it hurt her ears. Bouncers in red were everywhere and she, having have given up any signs of spotting her friends on her own, asked one of them to escort her to the VIP area where she was told to go.
And then she saw him, her Chinese best friend in yellow, (really redundant if you ask her) with one of his many girlfriends, (fucking idiot just couldn’t be content with her company.) She greeted him with a hard pinch on the waist which he responded to with a jerk and a yelp, “What?!” Rolling her eyes, she proceeded to continue the harassment until he started backing away. “You idiot,” she hissed. “I told you to pick me up! You know I always get shit from cabs.” To her annoyance, China-man didn’t seem to get what the fuss was all about, “I told you to get here,” he dumbly replied. Giving up on the grounds that “Stupid is, stupid does,” she slumped on the couch and moped. “It’s too fucking crowded here,” she complained. “I thought the point of being VIP was that you get to avoid breathing somebody else’s stink,” she continued, glaring at her yellow-skinned- in- yellow friend. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” one of the girls sitting next to her said. A few minutes later and she was approached by her peer, each one of them inviting her to dance. It was to no avail though, she wasn’t in the mood to party at such a small space. “Great, I’m just as bored here as I was in my apartment,” she bitched. One of her girlfriends took pity on her and whispered, “You wanna have some real fun baby? Im’a get (name omitted) to get you some E.”
Now being a model, you’d think she’s done all the shit there is in the industry, but in reality, she havent even smoked pot yet. She herself couldn’t believe it, she was always surrounded by those shit, but always she would pass in favor of something else—like the rush of a joy ride. This time though, she would have done anything to snap her out of her boredom. “Gimme,” she ordered. And they did, discreetly handing her a small blue pill. She had her initial doubts of course, opting instead to keep the drug in her bag and just down on some strong booze to lift her mood. But then China-man started taunting her, saying he didn’t believe she’d take one, so just to prove him wrong she took the damn pill…
The whole fucking pill.
The last thing she recalled was texting the cursed Chinese saying, “I took one moron, sagot mo na ako.” And him replying back, “You idiot! Why did you take one? Stop drinking alcohol, drink water.”
Then everything went black.
She woke up in the shower with voices urging her to calm down. “Settle down! Settle down!”
She was thrashing, screaming. She felt so hot, “God it was so hot”. She started moaning, “ahh.. ahhh… ahhh!”
She started to hit everything and anything that she could get her grasps on, and when they rendered her hands immobile, keeping her still, she used her head.
She kept trying to hit on the glass panel while the guy holding her down was begging her to stop. Her best friend was pleading with her to calm down too, but he couldn’t come close to her, she was threatening him, “Im gonna kill you man, fuck you I swear, I am going to kill you!”
She didn’t know why, but she really felt like hurting him. It was as if she wanted to punish him for allowing her to lose control. He was all she could see, he was all she could hear, and therefore, it was him she wanted to channel her aggression against.
After a few more minutes, she started to “settle down,” as they called it. They changed her to more lose fitting clothes and made her drink milk—cartons of milk.
Still she wouldn’t stop thrashing, although it was no longer as bad as her initial relapse.
By that time, her best friend had left her, (she would later find out that he would be forced to leave her as the only means to have her calm down, being the obvious target of her aggression) but not without leaving his girlfriend to see to her care of course. She started to cuss again, promising she’d kill him, asking his girlfriend why the fuck she stayed with him, then begging her to let her see him.
“Lemme see him sister, I need to see, him, don’t be jealous sister, he’s my brother, I love him, but we’re brothers, it’s nothing, he loves you sis… sis don’t be jealous of me…”
And she assured her it was okay, that she wasn’t jealous, but also, that she couldn’t let her see him, because he was with his wife.
“Call him” she demanded, I want him here.” He promised he’d take care of me”.
When she realized he was gone, she started making threats again, “I’m gonna kill him, let me kill him sister please? Let me kill him”
Then a man’s voice butted in, “No don’t do that.”
“And why not?”
“Coz he’s our friend”
“But he deserves to die,” she said, weakly.
After several minutes of threats to her Chinese friend, pleadings to let her see him accompanied with a series of apologies for the trouble she’s causing, she stopped thrashing.
She started recognizing the people around her, going down to the sane level of drunkenness instead of the former dangerous high she had been entranced to.
It was, at that time, that she started caressing the man beside her, who happened to be the same guy whose been betting on her affections a few weeks prior. The same guy she’s hardly paid any attention to for lack of attraction. She started kissing him, on the neck first, licking, biting on her way up, then down, clawing at his shirt. “I love you baby,” she moaned continuously.
She felt his hard-on, and she knew she was treading dangerous lanes, but she couldn’t stop. She wanted to, but she didn’t feel like herself anymore. She was a panther in the deep jungles of the Amazon and he was her pray. At the back of her head though, alarm bells were ringing like crazy. “No, not like this, she begged herself.”
And her best friend’s girl, (to her eternal gratitude) she heard him repeat over and over again, “Don’t, don’t do anything to her, he (her best friend) would kill me if anything happened to her.”
And the man she was, well, molesting, (thank god) listened, and just bore with the torture with all the restraint he could muster, which, seeing as how he was so into her even before she got into the frenzied stupor, was admirably, a lot.
They had to give her cocaine to counteract the effects of the “happy pill,” and when that didn’t work, they had to make her take sleeping pills.
She woke up beside the same man she had been straddling when she was still high. Realizing that she had no clue where she was or how she got there, she did what any other woman or man for that matter who woke up with no memory of the previous night’s activity, on unfamiliar territories, would do, she inspected herself for damages in the mirror: She was bruised all over, her body was literally covered in black and blue. Her lips were chapped so bad it was swollen to a distorted pout. She noticed that she had her period too, which, she thought to herself, must have discouraged anyone who would’ve wanted to take advantage of her during her state of madness. As she proceeded to gather the clothes she wore to the party, she realized much to her dismay, that it was torn.
And her jewelries…
She lost her charm bracelet, that amethyst piece her mother gave her for protection.
As if on cue, she felt an overwhelming urge to bolt out, it was as if all the caution and reason came flooding in, shocking all stimulus in her system that she had to resist the urge to run.
So she put on her badly beaten clothes and left, what she realized, was a mansion situated in a private villa in Greenhills. She just hailed a taxi and went home.
What comes after would’ve been a series of depressive attacks, a post mortem of the drug she took. She would live to regret what happened, true, having have made a real mess of herself in front of all those people. Going so low as to actually seduce a suitor while she was on trance.
She would later find out that she “dropped” in the club, and that everyone saw her lose it too, that all of the bouncers came rushing to her…
That had she been with less important people, she would have woken up with a warrant of arrest in a hospital.
That she had overdosed with that one pill she so dumbly took with alcohol.
That she could’ve slipped into a comma, had she been less lucky, or worse, she could’ve died.
Yes, she would live to regret it, but she would also still be there to thank God that the worse has not come to pass, and that she came out of the ordeal with just a few bruises and a missing heirloom.
One thing for sure though, she would not tempt fate again—
She might not be as lucky the next time.
No, never again, she’d rather eat a fly to cease the boredom next time.