Callum's Colours

Drunk driving

"Fuck!" Ryan exclaimed, banging his head on the table.

I can't believe I didn't think about how to get home.

I'm usually so organised, so cautious. I never even considered that we'd have to drive home. Drunk.

Ryan lifts his head from the table.

"Cal," He sighs, "You know, we could just drive."

I glare at him. My cheeks flush.

"No way Ryan! Are you trying to kill us? First, you risk us both being shot and now you try to crash my car," I sigh, pausing, "and not just my car, but also us, the crazy people in it!"

My breathing quickens. We could kill someone if we drive. We could kill ourselves.

"Ok, fine," Ryan shakes his head, resting his head on the table, "We have two options then; we either ask one of these brutes for a lift," he pauses and summons towards the group of men singing, "or we walk."

I sigh.

Ryan continues, "in the rain."

I shake my head, ignoring that Ryan could be right.

Surely driving drunk is safer than suffering a car journey with one of the men. Besides, most of them look wasted anyway.

"Shit," I say, smiling as I shake my head, "Ryan Gold, surely trying to kill me twice in one day must be a record!"

He laughs, standing up. He almost falls over from the drink.

"Come on Cal, sooner rather than later! It's better we drive now while I'm mildly intoxicated than later, after the shots kick in," Ryan says, smirking.

Watching Ryan so clearly intoxicated makes me reconsider the whole plan, but the idea of walking home this late, in the rain is even less appealing.

He has a point.

Mind foggy from the drink, I grab my wallet from the table and try not to collapse as I stand up. Ryan walks round to my side of the table and grabs my arm to help me balance.

I shouldn't have drunk so much.

We both wobble past the bar and walk out the pub door. The mind-numbing air slams into me, freezing. I'm suddenly thankful I didn't decide to walk.

Fingers numb, I press the car remote multiple times, too weak to hit it properly. As the car blinkers flash on, we both walk towards the drivers' side of the car.

"No," I say, firmly, "Ryan, I'm driving."

He shakes his head.

"Cal you're a nervous wreck at the best of times, trust me you're not safe to drive," Ryan exclaims.

He has a point. I refuse to accept it.

I refuse to allow a drunk teenager to drive my car, with me in it, late at night and in the dark.

"Don't do this," I sigh, "Please Ryan let me drive!"

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he gently pushes past me and climbs onto the driver's seat.

"Hurry up, gay boy!" He laughs, "We're going to have an adventure."

"No," I reply firmly.

"Yes."

"No."