“Drink!” says one.
“We’re gonna try every shot in the place,” says the other.
“Won’t that be expensive?” I ask.
“It’s your going away party, it’s worth it!”
I look from one to the other, their seedy but bright faces eager. My vision is already starting to blur at the edges, but you would have to physically tear me away from a free drink.
The first was a simple Jäger-bomb – a drink I’m already familiar with. The shot glass drops into the energy drink with a messy ‘plop’ and I hurry to skull the toxic liquid before I can consider the cleanliness of the glassware. I slam it down on the sticky bar and the two men cheer, thrusting back their own glasses and calling the bartender.
“Three slippery nipples please, bar keep!” the shorter man requests, his arm falling around my shoulders. As the stoney-faced bartender lines up the shot glasses, the other guy – a blonde I’ve only met once before – slips his arm around my waist. I laugh jovially, my attention following the creation of the drink.
“I’ve always wanted to try one of these! What the hell is in it? There’s no actual nipples, right?” I have to shout over the deafening club music. My friend laughs and his friend squeezes my waist.
“There could be! I think it’s Sambuca and Baileys. Try it, they’re great!”
I glance over my shoulder at the rest of my party and a tiny glass is shoved into my hand.
“Ok, but I don’t know how many more I can do!” My head is swimming and my throat still burns from the Jäger – which had been my fifth bomb of the night. In the back of my mind I consider the results of mixing my liquors and ignore it, focusing instead on the blissful tingling in my body.
“You ready?” asks the blonde, and I experimentally sniff the liquid. A mistake. My stomach churns and I take a deep breath.
“Let’s do this!”
We take the shots together and I toss the glass away as soon as possible. It’s awful! It goes down my throat but I gag, flexing my tongue out to fill my mouth with non-alcoholic air. The two men are laughing at my disgusted expression when I feel a large, strong hand grip my shoulder and drag me backwards.
It’s my boyfriend.
And he’s furious.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he spits at me and I blink several times, taking in his red, glaring face.
“Uhhh, drinking?” I offer.
He rolls his eyes, the muscles in his jaw twitching. I stumble slightly in my heels and he grasps my arm tightly to hold me up.
“Those guys are all over you, what the fuck Caitlin?” he growls and I glance back at the bar where my fellow drinkers are watching the altercation with mild amusement.
“They’re not – what? I’m not even, it’s nothing, we’re just drinking…” I’m stumbling through my words nows and I can’t focus on his face, let alone whatever has angered him.
“That random guy had his arm around your waist and you think it’s nothing?”
I screw up my face as I contemplate this, still swaying slightly.
“He’s not random, we’ve met before. He’s Adam’s friend.”
He releases me with an exasperated sigh, fists clenched.
“That’s not the fucking point, Caitlin. You’re my girlfriend, I should be the only one with my hands on you.”
My drunken mind is barely processing his words or his anger. He leads me away to another room of the club and I wave goodbye to my drinking buddies.
“I need to siiiiiiit,” I moan. My best friend and her boyfriend join us, their disapproving looks a deep gouge in my liquor-induced high. “You guys are no fun.”
I attempt to sit but there’s nothing there, so I plunge straight to the soggy floor. My boyfriend barely moves to catch me, instead standing above me with my friends. They seem like giants to me. Judging, petulant giants.
“Let’s just leave her down there,” he says. “I’m fucking pissed.”
I don’t hear the reply. There is only thudding music, drunken laughter, sticky floors and the pulsating spin of my mind into darkness.
Writing prompt: Drink