Surviving Cibseption

Confessions of a Drunkard

She let the spicy liquid glide down her throat, flames licked at her insides and the shot landed in her stomach like a rock. So much so that she doubled over and gripped the counter for support and hissed out a curse. Once she felt the sudden wave of numbness she stumbled over to the couch with the bottle in her hand. It was only a quarter of the way gone.

She sucked in a breath and still tasted the bitter fluid and groaned for a whole minute, staring at the ceiling. She sipped a few drops from the rim of the bottle and pulled the iPhone out of the pocket in her navy blue sweat pants.

Clayton had messaged her, and wanted to Skype.

Annabelle widened her drooping eyelids and tried considering the consequences. She couldn't think through the cloudy mush of a state she was in, so Clayton and Annabelle exchanged usernames. Six minutes later, his face appeared on her screen, and hers on his.

They both had bags under their eyes.

She didn't slur her words, they just came out slow and quiet. He said what approximately seventeen times within the first five minutes. He was laughing and asked if she was drunk. She didn't give him a direct answer, but she did say that she wanted to get drunk with him.

In her intoxicated stupor she admitted that she had "dirty thoughts" about him and laughed, not at all embarrassed. Not then, at least. She picked at her nails and scratched her knee, which she had pulled close to her chest.

He put his face in his hands and slid them down to his chest. Interlocking his fingers, he grinned in disbelief. Knowing that she wouldn't remember any of this the next day, Clayton chuckled and told her that he had a wet dream about her the previous night.

"You should get to bed," Clayton said as Annabelle snorted and spilled her drink on herself. Her face had gained some color.

"Yeah then I can have....sweet dreams!"

She made a sound only a dying dolphin should make and rolled over on her back, promptly falling asleep.

"Annabelle?" He whispered her name hesitantly, trying not to laugh, but to no avail. After saying goodnight to a lump of a person, he ended the call, shut his laptop down and laughed to himself like a loon.

He wondered what both of their Saturday nights would be like if they were together. Drunk together. He shuddered when he thought of the things they could do. They'd probably hurt themselves or do the "frick frack diddly dack." The consequences could be dire, but he still wanted to try it.

Clayton stared out the soaked window in his bedroom and put his head in his hands. They'd been talking for about a month and a half, and the feeling in his gut was deepening and rising into his chest. When he thought of her he felt a wave of some sort and became a bit dizzy.

Rubbing his eyes, he swore to himself that he would find a way to be with this girl in a physical sense.

Clayton was going to visit Annabelle.