And Suddenly, I'm Sinking | Violentine

Part Two | Falling

"I feel like I'm falling."

Violet leans forward on her arms, smiling slightly as she focuses through blurry vision at the stranger. At Clementine.

The younger girl is lying on the undergrowth floor of the forest clearing, twigs in her hair and her eyes trained on the stars above.

"You're not falling," mutters Violet as she loosens her grip on the neck of the vodka bottle. "You're just drunk. Have you never been drunk before?" she queries, moving closer to the now dying embers of the campfire between them.

Clementine closes her eyes and shakes her head as if to rid the spinning in her mind. "Of course I've been drunk before," she replies, "I am over eighteen you know."

Violet makes a small noise, almost a hum, so quiet that Clementine has to strain her hearing to catch the tone. "I was drinking long before I turned eighteen," says the blonde, taking another swig from the vodka.

"Is that why you're not drunk?" queries Clementine with her words slurred. "You've had more than me, but you seem fine."

"I'm not a stranger to a bottle of vodka," mutters the blonde as her voice tapers off. Her panicked look and the way her tone changes tells Clementine that Violet fears she's somehow said too much. The blonde clears her throat and changes the direction of her answer. "I have a good tolerance," she settles on.

Clementine rolls onto her side, aware of the twigs and branches that dig into her arms and scratch her skin. Under the influence of the alcohol that swirls through her bloodstream the brunette loses control of her words, and for the first time all evening, she speaks her mind.

"I bet you think that makes you cool," she slurs, closing her eyes once again as she tries to root herself to one spot. A flash of sobriety crosses Clementine's mind and she attempts to pull herself into a seated position, worry written across her face. "Shit," she mutters, "I didn't mean it like that. I'm drunk," she states.

"Clearly," replies Violet. She watches Clementine for a moment more before once again lifting the bottle of vodka to her mouth.

Clementine keeps her eyes on Violet, wondering if the blonde will open up as her sobriety begins to fade. Instead, the young adult leans forward and attempts to revive the dying fire, paying minimal attention to the drunk girl sitting against the carpet of pine needles and damp sticks.

"You're not very talkative," states Clementine as she fiddles with the buttons on her jacket.

"I don't have much to say," replies the blonde shortly.

Clementine rubs her eyes and looks around the grove, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, she once more attempts to strike up a conversation with Violet. "Where did Louis go?" she mumbles, looking over both shoulders before staring at the blonde with a quizzical expression on her face.

"God you are drunk," says Violet as a small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "He left ages ago, we're the last two women standing."

"Oh," says Clementine, suddenly left alone with Violet, the brunette finds her face getting hot. It's the alcohol she tells herself, but she knows it's not. Clementine hasn't been able to take her eyes off the other girl all night.

Clearing her throat and mustering up the courage to try and get to know the blonde better, Clementine shuffles a little closer to Violet, taking in every tiny detail of her face as she summons up the courage to talk.

"I want to know about you," she states confidently. "You are friends with Lou and Brody, and I want to be your friend too."

"Are we twelve?" asks Violet with a scoff, but Clementine notes the underlying lilt in her voice that gives her the confidence to press on.