You stiffen. Even in the haze of your drunken stupor; you remember vividly the sound of a pissed Wanda. A hand, Natasha’s, clamps down onto your waist, roughly pushing and dragging you out the door of the college party you were told not to go to by your older friends; introduced to you by your negligent mother. You wonder briefly how they had figured out where you were.

Drunkenly, you stumble along in front of her. You hear their familiar voices as they speak to each other, likely about a punishment in store for you. You’re lifted and hauled into the backseat of the awaiting car by Natasha.

You stay silent in the backseat, laying on the leathery seats. Feeling a bit nauseous. Even when drunk, you still did not wish to face the consequences of not listening to Natasha and Wanda. The two older women sit next to you as the chauffeur drives the limousine.