Colorful (H.S) | ✔️

62

Ellie's P.O.V

My eyes literally light up at all the drinks. Alcoholism is not cute nor quirky, but with the week I've been having, I deserve this.

Harry's annoyed by the atmosphere. I can tell by his tense posture. 

I ignore it and grab his hand. We walk to the kitchen and I pour myself a mystery drink. I offer one to him as well, but he just holds up his keys. I nod and put the second cup down.

Instead of nursing the drink, I take it down in a couple sips and refill so I don't have to come back as much. 

God knows how, but Harry manages to find some friends. They all call for him as we're walking to a couch. He seems reluctant to leave me, but I force him to go socialize. I sigh and sit alone, sipping my drink. 

I frown when my cup's empty. Trudging back to the kitchen, I ditch the cup and grab one of the bottles instead. No one seems to argue, so I assume it's okay.

I'm joined on the couch by a couple who doesn't know what privacy means. They begin making out, practically dry humping, on the sofa. I scrunch my nose and get up, not wanting to be caught in the middle of their quickie. The last thing I need is an indirect STD. 

My trusty companion, Jack Daniels, and I wander around the house. I try to focus on the layout, but it seems huge. Too big for me to even comprehend. 

Maybe if I was sober, it would be easy.

But I'm not.

I can feel my legs turn into jello. I quickly slip into a room, hoping there's somewhere I can sit. When a huge library comes into view, I sigh of relief. What're the odds someone's hooking up in here? Books don't exactly scream 'sexy'. 

A leather chair sits in the middle of the room. I basically crawl over and situate myself.

"You know," I slur, holding the bottle to eye level, "you're a good friend. I know you wouldn't leave me."

The bottle (obviously) doesn't respond, but I take the silence as comforting. 

I hum to the faint music, bopping my head to the song. I stare at Jack and my eyes widen when I see he's almost empty. 

"See," my voice cracks. "I used you too. And what did you do? Leave me." I hold the bottle upside down and empty the remaining contents into my mouth. When it's dry, I throw it against the wall, as hard as possible. 

God, I'm pathetic. Why am I talking to inanimate objects?

The noise makes me flinch and I wait for someone to come in and scold me. When no one shows, I sigh of relief. 

I sit up a little too quickly. When the room around me finally stops spinning, I look around. Shelves on shelves contain a multitude of books.

There's no way someone could read all these sober. There has to be a secret stash somewhere.

My eyes scan around and find a wooden desk in the corner. I sneak closer and do indeed see a minifridge tightly fit under. 

Aha!

Opening the fridge, I quickly grab something. My hands don't appreciate the sudden coolness.

There's a bottle of straight whiskey. I've never seen anyone refrigerate that before. That's weird.

Before I can stop myself, I pull it out and resettle on my chair. The whiskey burns my throat, but the cold temperature softens the taste. 

Interesting, I might have to try this at home.