BANALITY : Draco Malfoy

11

It seems Blaise was wrong. At least, I don't see Draco on Wednesday, Thursday, or even Friday. He must have decided to leave of his own accord, with Blaise accompanying him. Thursday night I go out to a pub with Ali and Amanda, and some blokes they know from uni, but not Graham and John and their friends.

There are four boys, and three of them are enraptured by Ali's stories about growing up in New York, and how with any luck she's going to fly back home to see the ball drop on New Years' Eve this winter. It's sure to be special, she tells them as they watch, because we are welcoming in the new millennium. She makes New York seem magical, and I am not easily impressed.

Amanda and the fourth boy are hitting it off. They sit beside each other, laughing at everything each other says. Every time I tune in it's a different topic, though they keep circling back to psychology, which Amanda is studying. He's in Ali's year, so she knows a bit more than him, and he seems to be a man who can listen.

I sink deeper and deeper into the booth. They were the ones who got too drunk last time, so it is my turn. Eventually, I get so drunk that we ought to call the night early. Pubs will kick you out for falling asleep, and my eyes are drooping. I try to keep drinking but my stomach feels like it will burst, and then I plateau.

If you ask me, there is a curve of the perfect amount of drunk over time. Euphoria increases the more you drink, but then there is the pit which you can fall into if you drink too much but not enough. One that squeezes your stomach and bladder. I'd rather blackout than reach the point where the entire world spins and I feel numb. Ali and Amanda never understand what I'm talking about when I explain this theory, but maybe it's because they don't have head trauma.

When it is time to go back, I can't walk because of the dizziness. They are forced to call a cab, and Amanda is pissed because she likes the walk home, but Ali finds it funny. I'm so drunk I can't even slur. No words are able to find their way into my mouth let alone out of it.

I manage to sit through the debrief after they pump me with so much water that I want to puke it up. Amanda says she might actually go out with this new guy, Mark, even if she doesn't seem to be convinced by him, and Ali cannot decide how to let down Bill and Barry because she likes Neil and it's in poor taste to shag someone and then shag their flatmate, and holy fucking God if I have to hear another bland name of some identical man I will puke again. The hatred for them is a projection of the feelings I have for my plain face and stupid name. Even in my drunk state, I can tell, which is why I say anything.

Draco's name is somehow more tolerable than Mark, Bill, Barry, Paul, John, Steven, Scott, Craig, and Graham. I wish he was here, and I would go find him right now if I wasn't worried that one wrong move would prevent my body from ever sobering up again. It honestly feels like the fabric of space and time is less real than it had previously felt, which is almost impossible somehow.

Ali and Amanda won't let me sleep on the couch tonight, possibly because Niamh is home but equally likely is the idea that they don't want me to vomit in the common room. So, when we go to bed, I hit the sheets and manage to wriggle out of my uncomfortable trousers before I slam into unconsciousness.

My nightmares are foggy, but they are always like that. Something so horrid my chest pounds but when I wake up, I don't remember it. Usually, I don't experience panic on waking if I go to bed drunk, but this time I do. I lift myself up, struggling to breathe.

It's early. 6:00, actually, and surely no one is awake and if anyone is it's Niamh. It's an effect of the plateau I suspect. Often when I reach that awful drunkenness, I wake up early and unrested. Once I verify that no one else is awake, I shower and then do some cleaning around the flat.