Healing Hearts | ongoing

five

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5 | Healing Hearts
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SIX BOTTLES OF beer later and a couple of shots, Asher was surprisingly still alive. He still even looked sober. I was cradling my fourth bottle of beer and was genuinely shocked at how strong Asher's alcohol tolerance was. From the last party I went with him, I vividly remember him throwing up because he had too much to drink. Then again, I wasn't really sure how much he had to drink back then.

    As he downed another shot of tequila, he was pouring himself another one, when I finally decided he had enough. I didn't want to have to drag another drunk Asher home again.

"Easy man, that was your last, no more," I said, grabbing the bottle of tequila from his hands.

He pouted, but didn't fight me on it. After the party started, Asher made a beeline towards the bar where he started drinking nonstop. I told Will to enjoy the party and I could look after Asher.

I was clearly not doing an excellent job at that but after all, it seemed like he had a pretty rough week and who am I to tell him to stop drinking? We both needed a drink and Asher seemed to know his alcohol tolerance this time around, hopefully. Anyways, I've made myself useful by grabbing some water and food like chips and fries from the kitchen, so we wouldn't get hammered easily.

    I know for a fact that the effects of alcohol wouldn't get to you that easily if you have something on your stomach. It basically slows the absorption of alcohol, at least to some extent because there is less surface area.

"We're out of fries," Asher said as he took the basket in his hands.

"I'll refill it," I said, gesturing him to hand it over and standing up.

    Walking around will also help digest the alcohol faster, from what I remember. "Nah, I think I can get this one."

"You sure?" I asked and Asher nodded, running his hand through his black hair.

He looked fine and seemed like he could handle it, so I waved him off. I watched him stand up and open the glass sliding door leading to Rhett's house, the music blared so loud as he opened it, but it immediately went faint as he closed it behind him.

I've been in and out of the kitchen for a couple times and I actually don't mind doing it. Aside from the fact that I was only doing it so I wouldn't get tipsy, it was cool meeting some old friends and seeing the people who actually went. Most of the small talks were refreshing. I also had the most perfect excuse–the basket of fries or the water bottles served as the best props–every time the conversion felt dull or became too suffocating for me.

Which reminded me, I haven't seen Cynthia yet and it was already nearing eleven. It seemed like she didn't attend. I dismissed the thought and started nitpicking on Rhett's overpriced backyard. Not long, the glass sliding doors opened once again and instead of Asher, it was Will, carrying two water bottles. Closing it behind him, he saw me and I waved at him.

With his eyebrows furrowed, he walked towards the small bar I was situated in. He looked confused, which made me confuse. This was confusing.

"Where's Asher?" Will asked, sitting on the stool where Asher used to sit.

"Went to refill the fries," I replied.

Will nodded, placing the water bottles down. Literally a second later, Asher came back with a basket of fries on one hand and two bottles of water and cans of soda on the other. I can't believe he managed to carry that much. He placed everything on the table and hopped back on to the bar stool on my right.