intoxicated//crankgameplays imagine

intoxicated: an imagine

you stumble across off the dance floor, falling against the bar with an intoxicated laugh, your heels twisting under you as you grab the polished wood to find your balance. the alcohol burns in your veins like liquid fire, consuming you, and you love it. you relish the absence of emotion and the numbness that tingles through your entire body. gripping the edge of the table behind you, you right yourself and lean back against it, catching your breath. the memories of the past few minutes are slipping behind you in a blur, slowly being eaten away by the fire flickering inside your chest, which crawls through your arms and down your torso like a dark, silent predator. you remember drunkenly speaking, the words i'll be back slurred together and pressed against the ear of an older man with a blurred face.

the appropriately dark room is lit only by the flashing and spinning multicolored lights from the music stand. the dj is stood a few inches above the pulsing mass of people on the main floor. on either side of you are the drunker partygoers, passed out on the floor or drinking themselves to the point of unconsciousness. to your right, a couple are kissing passionately and violently, their hands tangled through their clothes in various suggestive places.

running your hands through your hair, you hastily pull down your skirt and pull up the collar of your blouse, a few whistles and approving jeers aimed at you piercing through the pounding music. you press your hands against your head and try to compose yourself through the inebriated thoughts spinning in your brain, breaking every crumbling wall of rationality that ever existed.

'ma'am, would you like a drink?'

your heart skips a beat and you flinch, trying to pinpoint the sound of the voice through the hazy film in your ears.

'ma'am?'

you spin around too quickly and lose your fragile balance, your flailing arm knocking over an abandoned shot glass. the sound of shattering glass is quickly swallowed by the music, but the bartender sees it fall. you lock eyes, his face haggard but clean shaven, a young man who looks like he's in his 20's.

'it's alright,' he says, leaning forward against the bar towards you. 'i won't make you pay. it's just a shot glass. even though thousands of people with different mouths and different stories have touched that thing, it's still just a glass, you know?"

your eyes slide up to his hair, and a giggle slips out of your mouth. 'i like your hair,' you mumble, copying his nonchalant pose and reaching up towards his head, fascinated by the blue. he stays still as you touch a stray piece, running it through your fingers. you break your fascination away from his hair for enough time to see the discomfort on his face. a pang of embarrassment breaks through the wall of alcohol, then fades back as quickly as it came.

'i'm not drunk,' i inform him, pulling another half-empty glass towards myself, my fingers desperately grasping the glass like it's my life support.

'i'm sure,' he says dryly, pulling the glass away. i let him, longingly looking at the amber liquid as it disappears behind the counter.

he instead pulls out a bigger glass and fills it with a clear liquid, handing it to me. i grab it eagerly, assuming its vodka, and tip the glass down my throat. as soon as it hits my taste buds i know its not vodka, and i swallow slowly and set the glass down.

'thats not alcohol,' i state matter-of-factly, trying to convey my disappointment through the three words i can manage. i pout at him, and he cracks a crooked smile, putting down the order he's holding for another person and coming out from behind the bar to stand next to me. he's taller than me, with an attractive figure tucked into dark jeans and a grey t-shirt. i immediately shift my figure into more flattering angles and lift my chin, staring at him challengingly. he moves closer, and i involuntarily close my eyes, a flutter of lust stirring through the alcohol. my lips part slightly, only to meet grey, empty air. my hand, however, is taken by his cold fingers, and i open my eyes and stare at our joined hands, confused about his intentions,