Cupcakes and Sirens

It was the big 18th tonight. Chloe had finally reached the legal age of maturity and freedom, and in a small, electric nightclub, she and her friends gathered to celebrate. Shot after shot and pitcher after pitcher, the girls fell into that drunken haze which tempts alcoholics into addiction. Men travelled in and out of their protected space, offering drinks that the girls did not refuse, hiking up their skirts for special attention, though no girl gave in to other demands, turning back to their circle for unwavering support.

The blinding lights outlined their silhouettes, and alternating waves of blue, red, green, white and gold turned their black dresses into kaleidoscopes of wonder. This was youth, and the constant intake of cherry sourz and tequila rosé made the daunting, impending arrival of adulthood seem so far away. They were carefree, immersed in the celebration of the onset of adulthood that doesn't actually mean anything.

On the other side of the club was a girl rejoicing in her engagement, taking back cider like soda, because fruity drinks were too close to associating her with people of Chloe's calibre. Eden was due to be married, but an overwhelming sense of disappointment clouded over her, although she refused to face it. She was living in denial, taking the engagement as a blessing because that meant settling down and not having to use men for drinks, even though men weren't who she depended on for fun. She was content, but content wasn't her style. She thrived on the experience of danger and the sense of everlasting freedom.

Though many nights before her fiancé wandered into her life, she would sometimes fantasise about the feeling of sleeping with someone behind her; their arms holding her so tight that she couldn't possibly slip through the bed and off the face of the earth. She wanted the comfort, but she was also too scared to love again, failing to trust the empty words they chewed on, down to just walking into a room and not warming to the atmosphere radiating up from the floor and pouring out from the walls.

But tonight didn't feel like the time to worry about it. She had another issue.

This bar wasn't just a random hen do hot spot and birthday bash; it was a shield from the forthcoming doom she was due to be reunited with when she stepped out. Eden was on the run from the major authorities, who lived lurking in the shadows and waiting to catch her off guard so she could fall to the bottom of the well. She had clawed her way back out multiple times, but she was too scared that she had already experienced the last.

While this was the beginning of freedom for Chloe, this was Eden's last night to reminisce in hers, and that's where Eden thought Jägerbombs and cider were much more fitting for the occasion. And so she ignored her final destination of isolation and forced atonement for her sins. She disregarded the inescapable structure of a prison and the dirty, cold cell she'd live her last days in, and shot back another half-pint of Red Bull and vodka.

A friend of hers came along, a short man and rather rotund, with a cupcake concealed in a small bag. It was vanilla, decorated with beautifully piped buttercream on top, white, like it was commemorating the purity due to come with marriage. Small crimson and blue sprinkles, shaped in circles and stars, traced the swirl of the buttercream, like they had been taken from the night sky to give their farewell. Eden thanked Pete and took back one last shot, because now was the time to leave.

Pete was the cue that it was time to go. It meant that there was a car waiting outside for her, unmarked and symbolising a loss of rights infringed upon those rebelling against the capitalist society. She walked across the bar, heading towards the door that led to her final breath of fresh air. Now, all that was between her and Chloe's group of insufferable idiots was a gate made up of thin wooden planks, stretching from the ceiling to the black dance floor.

Here, a girl named Elise, on the birthday girl's side, decided to ruthlessly shake a bottle of Tango and open the lid in Eden's direction. She was already fragile and ticking like a bomb ready to go off, so when she was swamped with this sticky infusion of orange and sweaty summers, she stormed around the other side of the panels and grabbed a fistful of Elise's blonde, tacky hair, straw-like from the excess of bleach.

She dragged her to an open space and forced her down on her knees, facing the futile crowd, their eyes filled with excitement and confusion. Eden grabbed the girl's arm and twisted it around to her back, shoving Elise and her made-up face into the ground, which reflected the shoes of the useless onlookers. The music stayed blasting over the speakers, playing Tainted Love while Eden repeatedly smashed Elise's face into the ground. Blood began to pour from her nose, and her pretty, made-up face was turning into a recreation of Starry Starry Night, if Van Gogh had taken a hand across the painting and splattered some harlot into it.

Then, once satisfied, Eden let go of her hair and let the helpless friend of the birthday girl fall into the sweet relief of the cold and blood-ridden dance floor. She stood and took out a cigarette, lighting it as she left the bar. Pete followed behind her, cursing what she did, frantic about her fate, but she wasn't listening. What did it matter adding a few more years onto a life sentence? She was already never getting out; she might as well have experienced one more bout of glory if it meant reminding her of how prison was punishing her for what made her feel euphoric.

Out on the street were a few stragglers, shivering in the cold and sharing cigarettes of their own. And on the left, looking broken and beaten by years of self-destruction, was Amy Winehouse, huddled away in the corner, unrecognisable to the young crowd drunk on high hopes and false expectations. Eden raised her eyebrows in a mixture of surprise and acceptance and let out a small laugh, walking over to her and offering the rest of her cigarette. Amy took it, shaking, and her eyes filled with an emptiness that only death could describe. Then Eden walked away, leaving a wonder of the world to fight with her own disappointment.

She saw the God-forsaken car on a street to the right, with try-hards waiting to shackle her up and throw her into a hole of self-hatred. Pete looked at her, trying to force her to make a silent goodbye, not so it wouldn't hurt for her, but so that he could bear the pain of having to let her go. But Eden simply wasn't feeling it.

She stared back at him, with a slow smile creeping up her cheeks, before turning away and bolting across the patio of the bar and left down the connecting street. The sun was beginning to rise, exposing the gaps in her ill-prepared plan, and behind followed a mindless Pete, shouting at her once again like old times. But even he enjoyed the thrill of avoiding damnation and pissing off the authorities.

He was far behind her, struggling to keep up with the cupcake bag thrashing about in his chubby hands and racing behind them was the car, with sirens blaring and red and blue lights colouring the sunrise. Eden laughed before turning sharply right down an alleyway with Pete in tow. She came to a stop, Pete tripping over his own feet to join her, and she grabbed the bag out of his hands. She closed her eyes, brought the cupcake to her lips and took a bite of the dessert that had survived a police chase with them.

Divine is the only word she could use to describe it. The buttercream melting on her tongue, the sprinkles cracking in between her teeth, and the sponge breaking apart into small, delicious pieces of heaven. The sirens grew quieter, and at this point, she realised that once again, she was the girl that got away.

She opened her eyes after swallowing the last bite of cupcake, and above her was that same wooden ceiling she would wake up to every morning. She was back in her bed, and it was the morning of her engagement party. The space beside her was empty, and she assumed that her settle-for-less fiancé was away in the kitchen brewing a sweet concoction of coffee and normality.

Once more, she smiled, knowing that dreams do in fact predict the future and ultimately, her soon-to-be prohibited and perilous freedom.