Signed /Dream Team/

31

If I'm being honest, I thought Clay would be drunk after three shots. Even the toughest drinkers get drunk after the fourth glass of whiskey.

However, Clay's on his fifth glass and still very much aware of his surroundings. At this point, I feel bad cause it feels like I'm just taking his money. What's the point of drinking if you don't get drunk?

"Your liver is screeching for help," I poured the sixth glass. I swear this is the last one I'm gonna pour.

"So is my soul, but nobody cares," he's fidgeting with the glass on the table, eyes focused on the sphere of ice spinning inside of it.

I'm tired of telling him that I do care and would actually love to listen and help. So I just sigh and watch him gulp down the whole thing like it's water.

He looks at my face and pushes the glass towards me. But I refuse to refill it. He's gonna die.

"C'mon.." his voice is deeper from all that alcohol.

"Do you want water?" I offer.

"I want a drink," he taps on the side of the glass.

"Enough drinks for you tonight," I shake my head. I can't even tell him to go back home cause I'm scared he won't make it. At this point, I'm hoping to keep him alcohol-free for four more hours until I finish my shift and take him home.

"I'm not drunk and I don't get drunk, what's your problem?" His speech is not even a bit slurred. I'm impressed.

"So what's the point of drinking then? Do you like the taste?" I'm confused.

"No, it makes me sleepy and I think less when I'm sleepy."

I want to offer him melatonin but then I decide against it in case he gets addicted and blames me.

And after two more shots, the only option I have left is to pull out one of my dummy bottles. I have bottles of whiskey, vodka, tequila- every common liquor you'd find in cocktails that look exactly like the real things but are watered down so much that they taste like weird water.

It's probably illegal, but when people are so wrecked that one more shot will make them throw up on me and they're demanding another one, I give them shots of water that taste a little bit like alcohol. Trust me, when they're that drunk, even air tastes like alcohol, they can't tell the difference.

I pull out the watered-down whiskey and pour a glass for Clay. I hope he can't tell the difference. His tastebuds should be burnt down by now.

He toys with the glass for a little while, waiting for the beverage to cool down. I try not to make it obvious that I'm waiting for him to take a sip. And he doesn't seem to care, he's too focused on the ice.

And that's when my phone buzzes.

Finally.

George💙: whats upp :]

I smile at the smiley.

George💙: is everything okay?

I quickly start typing. So what if I immediately opened his message and momentarily replied?

Anastasia: yeah

George💙: how's Clay?

I look at him; still playing with his glass.

Anastasia: idk im at work

I hope I'm doing the right thing.

George💙: his phone is turned off hope he's okay

Anastasia: he's probably asleep dw