2 kids

I keep an eye on everyone.

Ashley.

I had no intention of drinking when I first came here tonight. I knew I couldn't stay sober for the whole night, but I've already consumed more alcohol than I had intended to.

Violet pours more alcohol into my glass, but I don't stop her. Why do I not stop her? I ask myself, unable to answer my own question.

After dancing with Ace, I felt myself sobering up completely. I wasn't drunk to begin with, but I could feel myself falling for the spell of alcohol. I could slowly start to feel it in my head – the familiar headache forming in the back of my mind. The familiar heat in my throat, moving slowly down to my chest, the familiar mixed feeling spreading through my stomach. My mind was still clear, though.

And then minutes of dancing with Ace and the others made the spell vanish. I sobered up before I had realised it.

I allow Violet to pour me a strong shot. River has somehow appeared on the dancefloor, which she sees as a perfect excuse to cheer on him again. One shot is followed by the other, then the next. And before I really know it, the headache and the feelings are back. They hit me out of the blue, too sudden. I decided to take a break. Wise decision, Ashley. You should do it again.

I don't really recall how I ended up at the bar with Nico on my left and Sophie on my right. He's drunk, reaching his limit as Ace said, yet ordering more and more shots. Sophie's just sipping her on her drink, significantly slower than me and only reaching the top of her tipsiness.

Nico parted ways with the rest of us halfway through dancing and approached a group of girls, eyes locked particularly on one redhead. Only a few minutes ago did he join Sophie and I, until then he was right by the girl's side, dancing, talking and drinking.

I made a mistake of taking small, but consistent sips.

The headache I now have is insane. I feel as if my thoughts are going to make my head explode. Thinking, blinking, breathing, existing, drinking.... everything hurts. The alcohol keeps on getting poured into my glass, but I don't drink it. I can't get myself to it. My brain sends the signal to my hand to move itself up, to my lips, but it never does. Deep down I've had enough of alcohol. The conscious of mine has taken over, stopping me from getting even more drunk.

"Here, drink some water." Francis hands me a glass of fresh water. It's cold, ice cold, and it tastes like heaven. It tastes like pure heaven.

"Thank you."

Even though I'm drunk, I realise I've never spent proper quality alone time with only Francis. Yet I consider him a close friend of mine. The few times we've hung out together, just the two of us while waiting for the others have never been awkward in any way. In fact, it has always been comfortable. Perhaps I should change that.

"I'm wasted, I think." He says casually.

"And yet you're giving me water."

He laughs. His laugh can be described as the typical dry laugh. "Look at him." He points at Ray, who's dancing on one of the couches. He's the definition of someone who's enjoying his night. Violet's standing in front of him, phone out and recording his whole performance. "Have you ever kept an eye on him during parties?" It's a rhetorical question I don't answer.

"When he lets his guard down, he gets carried away too easily. His alcohol tolerance drops drastically, almost to zero. It doesn't take much to get him wasted, as you can see for yourself." He pauses. For someone who says he's wasted he has no problem forming sentences. "Being his friend, you are always the mum. A mum with a built immunity to alcohol, the tolerance quite high. But even the mum gets wasted sometimes. It's a hard job, you know."