CLEAT TRAP

"I am hungry,” I complain as I finish gulping down the rest of my drink. The burning liquid slides down my throat while purple and blue lights flash across the crowded club, making everyone look unreal for half a second before disappearing again. The bass is so loud I can feel it in my ribs.

I want to puke my guts out, but I’m so scared of being sober. Not tonight.

The air smells like alcohol, sweat, and somebody’s overly sweet perfume. People are laughing somewhere behind me, bodies pushing past each other under flickering lights like none of them have anything to worry about outside these walls. I try to get up, but my feet seem to have other ideas. The room tilts for a second, my knees almost giving out, before a hand grabs my arm to steady me.

Dean.

“Thanks,” I mutter, brushing my hair out of my face.

We leave the club not long after, escaping into the cold night air that hits me harder than expected. The city is still alive outside; cars rushing past, neon signs glowing against the wet pavement, strangers smoking outside bars like background characters in somebody else’s movie. We take a cab to a quieter pub downtown, somewhere warmer, softer, less suffocating than the club.

The second we sit down, Dean gets up to take a call outside. Laura is busy texting whoever has her smiling at her phone like that. And suddenly, despite the noise around me, I feel completely alone.

It’s only a matter of time before everyone gets a life, and I’ll just be all alone again.

I stare down at the scratches carved into the wooden table and suddenly feel the urge to cry. I can’t seem to figure out what I want to do, unlike everyone else around me, who seems to have everything figured out.

We order our food, and Laura is ranting about the new guy she is seeing; he seems nice. I don't want to talk much tonight. I got fired today at my now old job, which was a temporary job anyway. But now I have no idea what to do. I lean back on my seat, trying to keep up with the conversation, but my head is so heavy.

I sigh as I try so hard not to burst out crying right now. What's crying going to do anyway?

"Are you okay?" Question: Laura, while giving me a worried look, she is a very compassionate friend. She probably could sense that I feel like shit right now. The food arrives, which is amazing because I have no energy to talk. "Thank god, I'm starving", I say as I grab the tray of food, changing the topic as I pick my burger and bite into it. They both laugh and join me.

After we pretty much inhaled our food, I sensed myself sobering up a little bit, which is not so great; the headache was starting to get to me. Dean starts talking about jobs; he's been applying, and he is excited about this particular job at a football club or something. Boys.

I should start applying for jobs again. Maybe being fired isn't that bad after all; I was getting a little too comfortable with it.

It was getting late, and the headache kept getting worse, so we decided to call it a night. I had one last drink and took a cab back home. As I opened the door, I couldn't tell if my roommate, Sydney, was still up, when suddenly her petite body appeared in the hallway. "You came back", she says, mid-yawning. I grin as I make my way through the living room to her. I embrace her in a warm hug " You smell like alcohol and hot sauce," she complained. I let out a laugh and distance myself to take a sniff from my shirt. I can't tell; my senses are still not working, but a warm shower sounds nice right now.

I regain my consciousness, I'm not even sure if it's even morning yet, to the sound of my annoying ringtone. A call from Dean. If this isn't an emergency, I am going to give him one.

"Hello", I mumble in a grumpy morning voice.

"I GOT THE JOB, He yelled from the other line, and I could tell how happy he was; he just broke my eardrum. Now I am awake. Very awake.

"Oh my god, you did it!! I am so proud of you. When are you starting?" I get out of bed as I listen to Dean going on about this job. I make myself a cup of coffee and toast a piece of bread to toast. I end the call with Dean, and I can't help but feel empty. Laura is an intern at her dad's company. Sydney is almost done with her studies and will be working at the hospital where she's now training. Dean got his dream job; he's always wanted to work in something related to football, since he injured his knee badly when he was 18 and couldn't play anymore. He found some comfort working with athletes. I admire his passion for the game even when he can't play. I take a sip of my really hot coffee and a bite of my over-toasted bread. Life really is testing me right now. Can anything go right?.

I get dressed and leave to knock on doors for a job. I leave my resumes knowing they will probably end up in trash cans. I love fashion design. I am a great designer, or at least that's what my friends say. I wish I could get a job where I can do something I love this much. But I can't, I don't have a degree, I majored in Business Management, thinking I could start my own business and use my raw talent to build an empire.

Well, you could say that didn't go as planned. I get back home at around 6pm, exhausted and hopeless. It was yet another day of no achievements. Feeling like I could not trust myself alone tonight, I decided to call Dean, my gay best friend. And Dean, being the best friend ever, agreed to see me. We meet at our usual spot. I go off about the job and everything that's been going on lately, and he listens to everything I have in my chest.

I feel more relatable to Dean out of all my friends, don't get me wrong, I love them all. But Dean and I almost went through the same phases of life. "You wanted to quit anyway, don't be sad, you'll get a better job" his warm smile always cheers me up. "Maybe you should create a catalogue and start applying for fashion designer assistant roles", he says as he took another bite of his sad sandwich. "I can't, I am underqualified", which again, is True. I wish I could.

"I say give it a shot, it's not something you can just learn, u have the talent for it, you have nothing to lose", he responds, lifting both his eyebrows. I can sense the honesty in his tone. I don't know what to say. He always makes me feel like I am a treasure, and I really appreciate that. "I guess I am scared. If I get rejected, it would make me a real loser. My talent is all I've got. If that dream gets shoved underneath, too, it could wreck me," I whine, and take a sip of my soda, gazing in my cup for a while. Dean says nothing for a few seconds. "But, what if you don't fail?" He shot back, and I looked up at him. A sudden rush traveled up my spine. What if I don't fail?.

We finish our food in silence as I keep thinking of his last words. I then go to the bathroom to refresh and wash my face, still feeling a bit blurry from how drunk I was last night. I go back to the table, and Dean inquired before I sat back down, "What do you have next week?" I laugh at how sarcastic this sounds because the only thing I've got is time. I respond with a simple "why?". " I received tickets to attend a gala with the team, and I can bring a plus one", he explains, and added, "Can you come with me?"

I was caught by surprise because I had no idea football had a gala; I must be living under a rock. "Sure, why not, but I know nothing about football, you know that, I warn him. I don't want to embarrass him, because I might. I know absolutely zero things about football, well, except the big names. I have never in my life watched a football game. I never understood the hype; it's a bunch of men following a ball for almost 3 hours. I have got better things to do.

"All you gotta know is how to dress up ", he said with the silliest grin on his face. "Fine, but tell me more", I require. " The club I work for is called F.C Marlowe, it is one of the biggest clubs in the country. I work as Head of Social Media, which is why I will be attending the gala. This is one of the most luxurious, biggest events happening in the city, it's like an end-of-season award night, where everyone at the entire club will be there: the players, the billionaire owners, corporate sponsors, and the behind-the-scenes staff." And the more he spoke about this, the more stressed I got. I would feel so out of place. But maybe this can lift my mood a little.

Days passed, and the day has come. My week was full of job hunting and resume dropping, with no callbacks, so I could really use a distraction. I dress to the best of my abilities; a long backless red dress with a dantelle long-sleeve gloves that I designed and stitched piece by piece. I did my makeup following a YouTube tutorial, and I think I did well. My makeup skills are improving every day. I take a look at the long mirror in the corner of my room as I wear my black heels, and I can't help but be so proud of myself. I put on Sydney's necklace, which I borrowed last night, my favourite silver bracelet, and a ring with a blue stone I found while thrift shopping last month. The look is complete, and I'm happy with how I look.

Dean said he will meet me there, which means I have to get there by myself. Not knowing anybody at this very niche party, I ordered myself a cab. arriving there pretty early, not many people around, which is good. I am looking around the hotel's fancy entrance. I enter the hotel and go down to the ballroom, which was not hard to find, since the whole hotel was well prepared for this event. My jaw would drop to the floor if I opened my mouth right now. The area was huge, and everything looked so shiny and smelled expensive; it looked like something straight out of a movie. I start looking for Dean, who is nowhere to be seen. So I stand in front of a table in the corner before we're escorted to another room, which is as huge and luxurious as the first, but with seats, a big screen, and a stage. I take a seat, not at the very back but a few rows from the front row. I can see a few familiar faces enter the room, but I can't remember any names. I spotted Dean from across the room, and he looked busy, so I stayed seated.

A few minutes in, and a guy got on stage, mid-30s, handsome, but not the best looking in the room, if we are to be honest. I'm in a room filled with rich, neat-looking people. I try to focus on what is going on on stage, and it seems to be a season recap and the awards that will be handed out tonight. I lost interest a few minutes in, so I grabbed my phone to Google some names that caught my eye, just in case. In the row before me, an icon sat, not in football but in fashion; she is some famous player's wife, but that's not why I know her. She is a model I wish I could style. I can't believe I'm in this place right now. This whole thing feels like a fever dream.

After what felt like a lifetime, the awards were all given, and I can't promise I didn't fall asleep mid-ceremony. I left my seat early and went to the ballroom, where I noticed a door leading to a balcony. I walked out and pulled a cigarette out of my fake black Birkin bag. I needed to smoke my stress out. I hear people start to enter the room slowly, and a click on the door behind me, someone is here.

Am I even allowed to smoke here? I suddenly get self-conscious, out of place, and my dress, which I was so proud of, didn’t feel nearly as impressive as it had in my bedroom mirror.

"Do you have another one?" An unfamiliar voice broke the silence when I turned back to see who it was. A man in a Black suit with dark hair and green eyes, reflecting the dim light of the moon behind us, forcing eye contact. I am lost staring at him for a second. I clear my throat, "Oh, yeah, sure," and I hand him another cig, which he puts between his lips and leans his head down for me to light it for him. Close enough for his perfume to make me feel dizzy. God.

"You are not a big fan, I suppose?" he asked as he turned his head back to face me." I saw you sleeping when I received my Ballon d'Or", he explained, laughing, and a little bit of embarrassment rushed to my cold cheeks. I didn't know I would be caught or noticed at all. I don't even know his name, but his laugh makes me smile and relax. "I would be lying if I said I was," I laugh back as I look away to the breathtaking view of the city lights beneath us, and add, " sorry, superstar" sarcastically, as I take a breath of my burning cig. "Nothing to apologize for, you probably were so tired of carrying all this beauty" I'm I imagining things or is this 'superstar' guy flirting with me? He exhaled the smoke of his cig and looked at me. I closed my eyes for a moment, the scent of the burnt nicotine hitting my face. I can't do this.

I have better things to focus on; this man here isn't one of them. I need to leave. "Enjoy the rest of your night, and congratulations on your award." I put out the rest of my cig, a cig I wanted to enjoy in peace, and rushed back into the room as I felt the cold breeze hit my bare back skin. I look for Dean again, who seemed less busy this time. "You look amazing" he said, as soon as i got to where he is standing with a bunch of other people " thank you, Dean" I smile as I lean closer to him to say "can you believe who i saw in here? Victoria Kerr, in flesh" i screamed in lowercase in excitment, Dean knows who she is, who doesnt?. "you should go talk to her, who knows, make some connections" Deans suggestion felt unrealistic, why would someone like victoria kerr talk to me. I feel a few eyes on me, and, as uncomfortableeeeeee as it is, I enjoy it.

"Girl. Go" groaled and pushed me slightly forward. What will I do without him? So I gathered my courage, gave Dean one last look, said, "Wish me luck," and left.

Looking for her was not hard; she stands out anywhere she goes. I spot her on the other side of the room, talking to a bunch of other women, drinking champagne. I cut my way through the crowd, hesitating, but she is human after all. I took a deep breath and walked up to her. "Hello, I am Sophia, a huge fan of yours. I am so happy to finally get the chance to meet you, " I stated, and instantly could feel the other women looking me over from head to toe. She takes a quick look at me and smiles; my heart drops. "Thank you, Sophia," she responds, and I let out an awkward laugh, "I love your dress. Who designed it?" She continued, and blood pumping in my veins gets hotter, "I did", I claim. "You did? It is beautiful." I give a big grin, and I can't help but float out of my body with happiness. The woman I dream of styling tells me that my dress is beautiful. "What fashion house do you work at?" She followed with a question. What should I say? I'm unemployed.

"It's just a hobby, for now" My hands started to shake, and I could feel a lump in my throat. Why is this topic so sensitive for me right now? I should be happy that Victoria Kerr complimented my dress. "Do you have a protofilio?" She seems very curious and genuine; the other girls seem less intrigued as they finished their conversation alone. "Yes," I lied. I, in fact, don't have one.

"My friend Fredrick Fenzo is looking for an assistant; his old one is on maternity leave", she stated. I, when she was, gave her an oblivious look, not knowing where this was going. She explained, "Would you be interested?" very casually. I stared at her for a second, convinced I had heard her wrong. Is the iconic Vironica Kerr offering me a job to be the assistant of THE FAMOUS FREDRICK FENZO?. " Are you serious? Yes. I would love to" maybe I should've lowered my voice, now a bunch of people are looking at me. "Here, email it to me, and I will forward that to him. If he likes you, I will connect you to him", she playfully winks at me with a grin. " Thank you so much, I don't know how to thank you enough", I say as I hand her my phone to type her email address for me "Don't worry about it, you are talented". An overwhelming rush of happiness fills me, and before I could say anything else, the light in the room suddenly dims, and the music changes to "Until I Found You" by Stephen Sanchez. The song is beautiful, and now every gentleman is asking his partner for a dance, including Veronica and her husband, Christian Reed. I took a step back to watch the happy couples dance to one of my favourite songs.

"May I have your first dance?" A deep voice shattered my train of thought, and my gaze turned to face the guy from earlier, whose name I probably should've known. I looked at the hand open in front of me. Should I look at Dean, who was in fact looking back at me, nodding with excitement?

I fear I now have to dance.