Callum's Colours

Drunk

I park the car outside a pub on the other side of town.

I have no idea which pub it is, or where we even are, but it's a pub.

And according to the law, I shouldn't be allowed to step through the doors.

My fists clench and cheeks heat.

Adrenaline worn off, doubt begins to spread across my thoughts as I start assuming the worse.

Ryan looks at me.

"What you waiting for," he says, grinning.

His eyes are shining, carelessness radiating off of him.

I sigh.

"Ryan, I'm sorry but this was a bad idea, I'm 17 for God's sake. I have no form of fake ID and I look about 10!" I joke, trying not to piss him off.

He rubs his forehead with the palm of his hand before climbing out of the car.

I barely see him once he's outside due to the darkness but a nearby street lamp partially illuminates him walking round to my side of the car.

He opens my door.

"Hurry up," Ryan says, glaring at me.

I shiver from a sudden gust of cold air blowing through the open car door.

"Fuck that's cold!" I laugh, trying to distract him while I consider my excuses.

"Cal," He says, sternly.

My head drops when he says my name.

Suddenly I'm angry at my cowardice.

Only Callum would act this way. Cal would stroll into the pub and confidently order the most expensive drink on the menu.

I sigh before undoing my seatbelt.

Then I step out the car, grabbing Ryan's arm for support as I clamber out.

Shocked, we both smile knowingly at each other. I must be changing. Previously I couldn't cope with physical contact without flashbacks of the rape.

I must be changing.

I lock the car, checking the door three times just to be sure. In the evening so dark and being on the poorer side of town, I don't want to take any chances.

It's safer for us to go out together in this part of town. There's less chance of us being recognised.

When we reach the pub door, music spills out from under the door. I begin to sweat.

Ryan looks at me, checking I'm ok, before pushing open the door and strolling inside.

I anxiously follow him.

Inside the warm air smothers me, comforting and cosy. I immediately feel more relaxed.

Despite the loud music, there's only a guitarist strumming along to a crappy quality recording in the corner of the room while people queue at the bar.

There's a crowd of about 200 people near the door, all rowdy as they drink.

To the back are a collection of bar tables with high seats.

I nudge Ryan's shoulders and nod towards them.

"I'll just meet you other there," I say, hoping he'll let me go.

He shakes his head.

"No," he looks at me, raising his eyebrows.

"We only agreed that I'd come to a bar, not that I'd order a drink," I stammer.