The club they went to was noisy and dark and Frank had drunk enough at the bar beforehand not to care about the fact that his shoes stuck to the floor. It didn't matter. He had the best friends in the world and his back didn't even hurt anymore, and through the haze of booze and loud music it felt like the whole haunted whipping thing had been a really disturbing dream.
"Going out with you is like Goodfellas," he yelled in Mikey's ear after the doorman had given Mikey some complicated handshake and waved them all through free of charge. "You know, the part where Ray Liotta says he's in construction."
"You shouldn't even be here," Mikey yelled back. "What if you start bleeding through your shirt, or the...the thing from last night happens again?"
Frank waved him off. It felt really good to be out, to be dancing and laughing and doing normal stuff, the stuff he should be doing, not worrying about infected scrotums and fucked-up wrists and angry, violent ghosts. Frank danced with a girl who had a flower painted on the side of her face, and a boy with those grafted-on fangs that Frank thought were stupid and kind of hot in equal measure. A few more scary blue drinks and he was on the fucking podium with one of the club's dancing girls making an idiot out of himself, but whatever, he was having a good time.
"Your friend is good dancer," the girl said to Mikey when they were taking a break at the bar. "You don't bring him here before, Mikey, you make me sad."
"You have an accent," Frank giggled, with his head on her shoulder.
The girl patted his face. "You have hangover in morning."
Mikey was looking into Frank's eyes. "Frank, I think you've had enough to drink."
"Noooooo." Frank levered himself upright and fell forward against the bar. "You just want to keep all the fun for yourself, Mikeyway."
"You had all that Vicodin before," Mikey reminded him. "Bob'll kick my ass if I let you drink yourself to death."
Frank waved him off. "Whatever, you're - you're hoarding the fun. You're a fun-vampire. Funpire."
"Funpire," said the dancing girl, and laughed. Mikey had his arm around her waist.
"Hey," said Frank, leaning close to be heard. "Why didn't you bring your brother out tonight?"
"Not really his scene," Mikey said. He looked uncomfortable, Frank thought, but that might be because dancing accent girl was sticking her hand down his pants in front of everybody.
"Your brother's hot," Frank said, tossing back the last of his drink. "Your brother - Mikey, did I tell you how it feels when he touches me?"
Mikey wasn't listening. Mikey was doing a little pants-exploring of his own. Fucking Mikey. The dude had more sex than anybody Frank knew, and he didn't even seem to try.
"I'm going to the bathroom," Frank said to nobody, and stumbled off in what he thought was the right direction.
When he had to close one eye to see straight enough to pee, he thought maybe Mikey was right about the booze. Frank rinsed out a glass someone had left and filled it up with clean water. He drained the whole thing, then twice more, then splashed some water on his face and leaned heavily over the sink, staring at his face in the mirror.
"You're drunk," he told himself. The dude pissing behind him gave him a weird look. Frank ignored it. "You're drunk and you should go home."
Except he couldn't go home, because he didn't have any money for a cab and he didn't know how to get back from here, and also there was the whole bedroom covered in blood issue, the thought of which did more to sober Frank up than any amount of water.
