The bass of you

Chapter 5

It's been two hours and I'm tipsy, but not quite drunk yet. I'm trying to drink as fast as I can to get drunk and loosen up a bit ; without doing it too fast to the point where I'll feel sick, but it's just not going my way tonight. It's taking longer than I thought for the alcohol to hit me. But, then again, I'm saying that now, and it'll probably hit me all at once knowing my luck.

The later it gets, the more the music is turned up and Layla is thriving in it, because they've played a few of Black Dagger's songs and a lot of classic rock music. Black Dagger isn't classic rock music, but they've become so good that they've made their way onto almost every rock station, or maybe all of them for all I know.

My stomach is twisting in knots in response to me being nervous and I can't seem to shake the feeling away, no matter how much I drink. I hope that I get drunk soon so that these feelings disappear and I'm my fake confident self. When I'm drunk, I know I can talk for Wales, and I do the funniest shit ever ; not on purpose, I'm just too drunk to function properly.

A couple of years ago, I was drinking in my bedroom with Layla. I believe I had drank three quarters of a bottle of vodka to myself and I was steaming drunk. Suddenly, I had the urge to go outside and walk to the pub. Of course, I was in so much of a state that my parents naturally refused to leave me out the house, but I rebelled against them and decided to go out anyway. Layla was also trying to make me see that I was too drunk, but I was just too determined to go to the pub. My parents were standing by my bedroom door as I was trying to pull my jeans up, Layla was sitting on the bed, all of them were trying to convince me to stay home. Next thing I know, I lose my balance and fall backwards into the TV on the TV stand behind me : all the while everyone was watching me and saw everything. My elbow pushed the TV off the stand, the screen smashing on my bedroom floor. My back bashed into the edge of the TV stand shelves as I was falling, and then I landed ass-first on the bedroom floor. Needless to say ; I had a lot of bruises the next morning. Even after all of this and my parents seeing how drunk I really was, I still went out. All of this hassle seemed pointless when me and Layla left, got to the bottom of the street, and I decided that I couldn't be bothered to walk to the pub after all, and I was cold. So we went back home.

I know what I need : a fag, I need a fag. The addiction calls to me yet again, although, I'm surprised that I didn't need a fag sooner. I pull out my tobacco pouch and watch as Layla starts ordering bloody shots. This only makes me feel like I'm going to be spewing by the end of the night. I never leave a gap between each shot, they're always downed one after the other - no matter how many there are. Layla is at the same levelness as me : tipsy. Her words are beginning to slur, but not too much, and she's laughing more than usual, which only makes me laugh at her because it's funny how much she finds everything funny when she's been drinking. Layla is probably the best person I've ever gotten drunk with, she's a laugh and gets drunk around the same time as me most of the time.

The shots she's ordered are those ones that taste a lot like cherry bakewells, but they're a hit or miss with people : some people hate them, some people love the taste. Me and Layla love the taste. Actually, we love the taste so much that we buy it from the shop and drink it straight from the bottle. Some people may call weird, but the whole point of drinking is to get drunk from something you actually like the taste of.

The tray of shots are placed in front of us before I even roll my fag and my tobacco pouch is just lying open on the counter. I'm telling myself that I'll drink them when I come back from smoking my fag outside, but the sight of them is all too teasing and inviting. Layla is waiting for me to drink them with her, but she'll have to wait until I come back. I take out my papers and menthol filters, plucking out a paper from the packet and opening it as I pop out a menthol tip from the strip and rest it on the end. Holding my thumb on the menthol tip and the paper to keep them in place, I dip my fingers in my tobacco pouch and take out a decent amount of tobacco to put inside my fag. Spreading the clump out evenly throughout the skin, I roll it and lick it, rolling it to stick the 'licky' part to the rest of the skin to hold my fag together.

"I'm going for a fag, I'll see you in a few minutes now," I tell Layla.

Layla nods in understanding and I get off the stool, beginning to walk away, when I suddenly stop and think about those shots that are just waiting to be drank. Not able to control myself and the urge becoming too much, I turn around and pick up a shot, opening my mouth and letting it slide down my throat. I continue to do this with all five of my shots in a row. The shots are strong, but so bloody tasty. I slam the last shot glass back on the tray after downing it and raise my eyebrows to Layla with a smirk, she returns the same expression and laughs as I spin on my heels to walk to the exit.