Chapter One
1.
Music bounced from wall to wall, its volume blaring over all competing sounds. Random, colourful lights shone and twirled in the darkness, whilst in the centre of the room drunk teenagers made a pass at dancing on the polished floor.
Tess Browne was one of the few that had managed to cling to sobriety into the later hours of the party. Sat at one of the many tables surrounding the dance-floor, she tried to recognise the song playing. Apparently it was quite popular: the couples and groups in the centre of the room had cheered when it’d come on, and danced with renewed energy.
She mumbled a few lines she recognised from the chorus, and then shook her head as the title of the song continued to elude her. It wasn’t her type of music anyway; it was the sort of bouncy crap almost all such parties had. But despite her dislike for the genre, Tess knew she had danced to it more times than she cared to count. Alcohol did that sort of thing to people.
A soft voice broke her from her musings, talking in her left ear. ‘You’re being very quiet,’ it said. ‘Is something wrong?’
Smiling, Tess looked up from her drink. Her friend, Sarah, was sat beside her, drink in hand and a look of concern in her large eyes. Perhaps it was the fact that Tess was rarely quiet at parties that had provoked her friend’s concern. Certainly, Tess had noticed herself that she was acting out of character. A sort of lethargy had gripped her, and forced her into quiet submission. ‘I was just thinking,’ she said.
Sarah raised her eyebrows, a confused expression on her face making it clear she hadn’t been able to hear what Tess had said. ‘What?’
Leaning forwards to speak into Sarah’s ear, Tess repeated herself. The music playing - and Tess suspected that the song had now changed, although she wasn’t entirely sure - drowned out most other sounds. Speaking directly into each other’s ears, or else shouting, was really the only way conversation could be held.
‘Thinking?’ Sarah asked. ‘About anything in particular?’
‘Yeah. About whether or not I’ll get drunk enough to dance tonight.’
Sarah’s lips curved into a smile as the worry vanished from her eyes. ‘Knowing you, yes.’
‘That’s what I was afraid of.’ Tess glanced behind herself to look at the dancers, noting as she did so the way in which her sight seemed to lag a fraction of a second. ‘In the morning,’ she said, ‘I always end up cringing at the memory.’
‘Or vomiting.’
‘Or vomiting,’ she agreed, turning away from the dancers again to face her friend. She looked down at her drink. It had been a good month - perhaps longer - since she had last got drunk, and she felt loathe to ignore the opportunity now. And besides, if there was a way to dispel the lethargy that had gripped her, alcohol was that way. With a quick shrug, she downed her entire glass. The liquid rushed into her mouth and down her throat, the strong taste overpowering her.
A feeling of sickness welled up in the back of her throat, but as she put the empty glass down and wiped her mouth, she forced a predatory grin onto her face.
Sarah laughed. ‘Impressive.’
Tess said, ‘What was that drink again?’
‘Double vodka and coke.’
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’ The sense that she was about to vomit was growing and growing, every second, and she realised it was only a matter of time before she really did throw-up.
Sighing, Sarah nodded to a nearby door. ‘That’s the girl’s toilet. Do you think you can hold it that far?’
‘Probably,’ muttered Tess, trying to ignore the unpleasant sensation.
She peered at the empty glass. ‘This is your fault,’ she said to it.
‘Stop talking to inanimate objects,’ Sarah said, ‘and come on.’
Standing up, Tess walked, her friend almost dragging her by the hand towards the toilets. As they crossed the hall, Tess noted with a certain satisfaction the way in which her senses had further dulled. But, she couldn’t help noticing, she was not yet truly drunk.
‘That alcohol’s really kicked in fast on you,’ Sarah said as she pushed open the door.
The toilets seemed bright compared to the dark hall they had just left. The walls were perhaps white a few years ago, but had since become a light beige colour. And the little square mirrors sat above the two washbasins also looked rather grubby, their reflections dulled by aging glass and various greasy marks.
Still, for the most part, it looked clean. A few girls had congregated in there, leaning against the walls and chatting. The music was not quite so loud, which made having a conversation far easier.
But Tess’ main concern, right then, was having a toilet to throw up into. There were four cubicles in the room: two of which had closed doors with the OCCUPIED sign present; one of which had a girl in, leaning over the toilet and vomiting also, whilst two of her friends cheered her on; and the final one empty.
Thankfully, the floor looked clean and the toilet itself was empty. ‘I’m not actually drunk,’ Tess mumbled to Sarah, as she got to her knees and leant over the toilet. ‘I think it was just downing that drink, rather than the actual alco-’ she stopped mid-sentence as the feeling of blockage at the back of her throat suddenly increased. She opened her mouth to curse, and then her stomach muscles convulsed. Her head jerked forwards as a vile, acid tasting liquid burst into her mouth.
The vomit streamed out of her mouth, a viscous fountain of stomach acids and half digested food. It made an almost comical plop noise as it fell into the toilet.
Then she was leant over the toilet, breathing in the stench of the vomit. She opened her mouth to mutter a curse, but before she could, she convulsed and threw up again. I really hate being sick, she thought bitterly to herself, as she spat out the bile.
Breathing heavily, she leant against the toilet, waiting to see if she would throw up a third time. I really hate being sick. It was perhaps the worst downside to alcohol - to think that such a fun activity could have such a negative hiding in the back, in the shadows, waiting to pounce…
When she was younger, stomach bugs and illness had often prompted the much-hated vomiting, now it was partying. But at least she could usually enjoy herself before the vomiting set in, and that was a definite step up. Still, she always dreaded the seemingly inevitable moment.
After a few more moments of peace, she was confident that she was done.
Spitting the last of the bile from her mouth, she flushed the toilet. Groaning, the toilet sucked in the vomit; a twirl of brown and yellow. Tess felt better, and wasn’t too surprised about it. Experience had taught her that, often, it was best to just get it up and out the body. Wiping her lips, she climbed to her feet. The taste of the bile still stained her tongue, but she knew a few drinks would purge it, so wasn’t too concerned.
‘You feeling better?’ Sarah asked.
‘Much.’ Tess grinned, and then spat in the toilet again. ‘Come on, I wanna get wasted.’
‘Yes ma’am.’
(Any and all thoughts - especially the critical kind - on this would be very much appreciated.)
(Part 2.)
(Part 3.)
I have to get used to the differences between US and English spelling....)
Gender:
Points: 9907
Reviews: 506