Nobody Wants To Know Him

VII - I Don't Want To Spoil The Party

Friday 1st December 1972
Liverpool, England
11.37pm

We weaved through the people dancing, heading into the kitchen. There were people chatting in there as we pushed past, John grabbing another drink that was on one of the counters as we headed out the back door which was open.

It was dark out, but the light from the house provided some illumination for the garden.

John stumbled outside, still gripping my hand. His drunk giggles resonated through the empty garden, and I responded with laughter too. There was a lingering smell of pot in the air, as well as a chill, and I shivered as we made our way to sit on the ledge which connected the patio to the grass.

We were still laughing together about absolutely nothing, huddled close due to the cold, both of us drinking this drink he'd snatched on the way out. I didn't even know what it was, but it tasted good.

I told myself I wouldn't drink anymore, but that was a fucking lie, wasn't it? I must've lost myself at this point.

We were chatting about everything and nothing at the same time, and it was probably incoherent to an outsider. If someone walked out at that moment, neither of us would've noticed.

In the haze of it all, John's arm wrapped round my shoulder, pulling me closer into his warmth. His chest was still vibrating as he was laughing, and so was I.

My chuckling stopped as I tilted my head to look up at him, orange glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, eyes scrunched as he giggled. He turned his head so he was looking down at me, and his laughter subsided.

I couldn't help but stare into his eyes, smiling up at him. He returned the gaze intensely, stupid grin still plastered across his face. His cheeks were flushed pink, probably partially due to the drinks, and partially due to the cold.

The light from the kitchen was cast perfectly on the side of his face, highlighting his nose and lips. His smile wavered as his breaths grew heavy against the winter air, small misty clouds dispersing around us as he breathed, the smell of alcohol surrounding us.

My breath hitched in my throat as he pulled me closer, eyes not leaving mine once. He leant down, so his nose was touching mine. I knew he was drunk. So was I.

He finally spoke, even if it was in a whisper.

"Ah... can I-"

"______?" A voice called from the kitchen door out into the darkness. "Are you out here- oh." Oh my god. I jumped, and John, startled, pulled back a moment later, releasing me from his grasp. I turned to face the voice. It was Tim.

"Sorry, uh- was I interrupting summin...? I uhm- I'll leave," Tim stuttered, eyes flicking between me and John. "It's ah- it's just that we should head back in about fifteen minutes."

I nodded to Tim before he left back into the kithen, completely and utterly embarrassed. I didn't look at John, finding my fingers particularly interesting at that moment.

John shifted uncomfortably and I could hear him scratch the back of his neck. A muffled roar of laughter erupted from the house.

"'m sorry, didn't mean for anythin'..." he mumbled, trailing off, bringing his knees up to rest his hands on. I gave a small smile, looking at him. He was about ten years older than me, and taller, but as I turned to meet him, he looked so innocent and small you never would've guessed. I could've just held him in my arms. I suspected this was an effect of the drink, on both me and him.

"Don't worry, John, it's fine."

"Sure? I didn't wanna spoil the party or nothin'..."

I shook my head, standing to my feet, a little wobbly. "You didn't."