Daggers of love

chapter 39

TW- mentions for forced puking and drugging.

Underage drinking. for most it's an exciting experience filled with feelings of rebellion, adrenaline and over all naughtiness. For most it's a hard, complicated task. How are they going to acquire the alcohol? Who are we going to get it from? "Oh my god this is so exciting Britney!" Hyped up children thinking that their fooling the bartender at a club with their shitty fake ID's, their age not matching their display of maturity.

Presentation has never been an issue for me. maturity has always been something I silently scream and though it sounds tacky, I have always been mature for my age. Maybe it's the trauma, I know it ages you, much like a fine wine. my form dripping with confidence, despite how confidence I'm feeling at the time. My gaze strong and seductive, leaving bar tenders so starstruck that they usually forget to ask for ID.

I've pretty much perfected the art of giving a fake ID. Memorising the info on the plastic, plus a nice purse with organised cards help sell your story. The illusion of a well put together life.

And so here I am, at a bar collecting a round of shots for a verry sober Marcus as well as a verry eager willie. The bartender wasn't too difficult, the middle-aged man was very easy to manipulate. after gaining his attention, a small flirting attempt was made by him, leaving me as unfazed and disgusted as ever, though I didn't show it. I ignored his pathetic advances, telling him my order before reaching into my purse for a wad of cash.

"Hang on there, sweet cheeks," he started. "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to see some ID. ya know, to make sure you're a good girl." A sleazy smile made its way onto his face, his arms spread across the bench of the bar. My blank face raised an eyebrow at the man, moving from the cash in my purse to a card located in a little pocket.

"No problem." I respond, confidently handing the man the piece of plastic. He took it, looking at me before looking back at the photo on the card. After a few back and forwards between me and the picture, he finally handed my card back. turning around to start pouring the round of shots. One for me, one for Marcus, and one for willie. more will be ordered for any late comers.

I turnaround, leaning against the bar bench with both elbows rested gently on the cold wood. My eyes drift around the room, the celling, all cracked and peeling. The walls, just as bad as the roof. Soon enough my gaze landed on Marcus, him sitting carelessly in a chair, cigarette between his lips. Marcus, sober and adorable, the person I would happily let my parents marry me off to.

"Here you go beautiful" the bartender speaks, breaking me out of my daze. I turn to him, looking at the small platter of shots that have now been placed Infront of me. I count them, one- Marcus, two- me, three- willie, four... wait four?

"I ordered three." I state, staring the lust filled man in the eyes. He looked back at me, that sleazy smile returning for a second act. He extends a hand, reaching for the fourth shot before pushing it ever so slightly towards me.

"let's just say its... on the house." he responds causing me to raise an eyebrow as his eyes begin slowly tracing the carves of my body. Once his eyes return to mine, I lift up my hand and reach for the shot. Picking it up and downing it in one swift movement, my face as straight as a ruler. I'm a girl that loves the burn pure alcohol provides; the pain is a twisted pleasure of mine. I place the glass down and glance at the man, his surprised face bringing a wave of pride across me.

I reach for the tray and pick it up, beginning to turn around before stopping. I notice the taste in my mouth, something was off, it didn't taste right. "What was it you just gave me?" I question the man, his expression a little off as well.

"Vodka, that's what you ordered darling." His smile spreading into a creepy grin. That's not the right after taste, and he knows that. I turn back to him, placing the shots back on the table.