Stocks (Thomas Brodie-Sangster)

Chapter 14

I nod, and Thomas runs his hand through his hair, and smiles at me.

"It's been a long day, hasn't it, Davignon? Are you up for a drink?" He pulls out his keys from his pocket and walks towards what I assume is his car.

"A drink? As in... alcohol?"

"As in... what else would I mean?" He laughs at me, but I am serious.

"I don't know if you remember, but we're nineteen years old. Two years under the legal drinking age! And my dad is a police officer! I don't exactly promote underage drinking." He laughs at me again, as if the law is a joke.

"That's perfectly alright, Davignon. You gotta try things sometimes! Don't worry about the law, don't worry about anything. Just drink. One drink, Aiden. You won't regret it, I promise. You'll feel better- and if you don't like it, you never have to drink again." He unlocks the car door, and looks at me to get in. I am reluctant, but I open the passenger door and sit in the seat, my arms crossed.

"I really don't think this is a good idea...how do you get drinks if you're underage anyway?" I say, as I buckle, and Thomas doesn't.

"I see you're interested! I know a guy, Davignon. I give him some drugs here and there and he gives me a couple of drinks once in a while." I don't process what he says until after a while.

"What? Drugs?"

"Yeah Davignon! I said don't worry about the bloody law! Live a little, would you? And besides, it's not like it's against the law.It's Colorado!"

"It's illegal unless you have a permit! And I highly doubt you do!" Thomas shrugs, and pulls out of the McDonald's parking lot. His car is nice, and it's clean on the inside, could use a car wash on the outside. I realize that Thomas is not a very careful driver, taking risky turns. After a while I decide to ask a question.

"Do you... you know.. do drugs?"

"Hell no! Do i look like I do drugs?"

"Well i mean-"

"I sell em. I don't bloody do em. Never in my life would I even consider it, after my dad..." He stops, and looks into the distance, like a classic dramatic soap opera.

"What happened to your dad?"

"Never mind, that! We're going for a drink! First one's on me. Not that you plan on having anymore."

It's a silent ride for a while, where we were going was further away than I had anticipated. I start to count yellow cars in my head, afraid that Thomas would think it was silly if I did out loud. He presses a button on his dash, and some music starts to play. I recognize it immediately, but it's not the kind of music I like. I don't think it's music at all. It's rap, by Eminem. I don't know the song, but Thomas starts to mumble along to the words, but I don't think he actually knows them.

I continue to count my yellow cars, including an old-fashioned bug. Thomas gently punches me in the shoulder, and even though he said no punch-backs, I punch him in the arm, and he turns into our destination.

It's a jazz bar, and there are only three cars in the parking lot including ours. There is a pet groomer store on the right of it, and a pole dancing lessons studio on the left.

"Perfect destination for the pet lovers who like to get a little funky from time to time if you know what I mean." Thomas laughs at his own joke, and opens the door to the bar. There was only a few cars in the parking lot, but the place is packed with overweight men with pedo-staches and shirts that are two sizes too small. There's only a few girls, but they are all making out with each other, and I immediately feel uncomfortable in the setting, but Thomas pulls me to the bar, where he introduces me to who I assume must be the friend he was talking about.

Thomas referred to the person as a 'him', but she was definitely not a 'him', he was a her. She had bleach-blonde hair and almost resembled a more punk version of Ainslee. She gives me what she gives Thomas, a shot glass filled only halfway. I don't know what it is, but I take the shot. It burns my throat, but Thomas seems to be fine and he smiles at me, so I smile back. The punk-Ainslee gives Thomas another, but I pass.

"You didn't seem so reluctant to drink that, Davignon. What happened to that argument in the car?" He smirks at me while he takes the next shot, and I get a water.

People suddenly start to shuffle out of the door all at once, and the saxophonist on the stage starts playing louder, probably trying to attract the people back to the bar. On the walls there are paintings of people I have never seen, and dartboards that appear to have never been used.

"You want to play?" Thomas sets down his third drink, which is only a rootbeer. I raise my eyebrow at him. "Darts. Do you want to play darts?" I have no idea how to play, but Thomas gets off his stool and removes the darts from the board. Without any explanation of the rules, he starts to throw the darts, getting exact bullseyes. I assume there should be more darts than there are, because there are only four. He hands them to me, and I throw randomly, none of them getting anywhere near the center and one hitting the wall.

"I think the game of darts originates from the UK, but I'm not completely sure. I don't know the actual rules, but it's nice just to throw things, sometimes." Thomas takes the darts out of the board, and continues to make straight bullseyes. After he throws, he removes them from the board again and helps me throw them.

He puts one hand around my wrist of the hand with the dart, and one hand on my butt. Feeling uncomfortable, I move it to my hip and he laughs at me, and guides my hand to throw the dart. I still miss, but I feel as if it was only an accuse to touch my butt rather than to actually help me.

"We've done this too many times and I still can't get this!" I yell while throwing the dart at the board with all my strength.

"Calm down now, Aiden! It's just a game, and we aren't even playing!" He takes the remaining darts out of my hand.

"I don't care, I just want to do this!" I walk over to the bar and ask for the best beer they have. The punk-Ainslee gives me a bottle and pops off the cap without any words. I chug the bottle, and I am full of regret. It tasted great, and it felt good, but I know I can't get into these kinds of habits in my situation. I put the beer down.

"You okay?" Thomas asks me, with care in his eyes. I nod, because I felt great. We play more darts. But after thirty minutes, I start not to feel so great. I sloppily throw the dart, and I rub my head.

"I feel weird..." I say, and fall into Thomas' arms.

(Short chapter, I know. But I just needed to update.)