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You could find some if you really wanted to.
I took another shot, my head swimming as the alcohol took hold.
I could, yeah. I could go out.
I stumbled, knocking my glass to the floor, wincing as it shattered into pieces. Drew was gonna kill me.
“Fucking stupid glass.” I bent down unsteadily to pick it up, but I fell forward, losing my balance, and collapsed on the floor.
What the fuck? I could hardly focus, my eyes refusing to stay still. The room spun, and my stomach lurched. I puked, the tequila burning far worse on the way back up.
I tried to stand but slipped on the vomit and fell face-first into it. A searing pain shot in my head and hand.
“Fucking shit.” I curled up in a ball on the floor and cried, the tears mingling with the puke I lay in, the stench making me heave.
I opened my eyes and peered at the mess surrounding me.
Why were my tears red? Why did I feel this overwhelming need to close my eyes again and be done with the world?
No one would miss me. Not one person would notice if I disappeared, never to be seen again.
Unworthy of anyone’s time and attention, I could slip away unnoticed, away from here. Go live somewhere off grid where no one knew me. Seemed like a plan.
I should do that. My parents wouldn’t care. Drew could easily find a replacement, and John, well, he’d find someone else. He thought I was too young for him anyway. What I saw as normal, he considered weird.
I’d just lie here for a little longer. The tequila had got me good. So many shots in such a short time. I drifted off to sleep.
It’d all seem better in the morning.
Whoever was jostling me and trying to wake me up would get the sharp end of my tongue. What did a guy have to do to get some sleep around here?
“Jesus, John. He was alone for five minutes, ten at the most. I heard a noise, ran downstairs, and found him like this. He’s gonna die, isn’t he?” Panic laced Drew’s voice.
“Let the paramedics do their job.” That was John. When did he get here? “He will not die. He just needs a few stitches in his head and hand.”
Stitches? What the fuck were they talking about?
I tried to sit up, but my head pounded like a drill, and I lay back down again. I felt like someone had smacked me with a cricket bat. Not that I knew what that felt like.
“Take it steady, Liam. We’re going to put some dressings on these wounds, then get you off to the hospital to be checked out.”
Who were these people, and why couldn’t I see a damn thing?
“You’re going to have to step back, gentlemen. We need to get him to the hospital now.”
I drifted off again and woke up in what I assumed was the back of an ambulance.
“Welcome back, Liam. You gave your friends a nasty shock tonight.”
I mumbled, trying to get out words, but nothing happened.
“You lie there quietly. You’ve got a nasty cut on your head and one on your hand. They’ll need some stitches.”
“D-do you know M-marc?” I tripped over my words. The guy looked at me, puzzled. Clearly, I was making no sense.
I shook my head, sending a fresh bout of pain through it.
“Lie still.” He touched the back of my head. “Denny, you need to get a move on. This one’s a little bleeder.”
