Here's a little something from my vault that I thought I'd share. It's not really the best thing I've ever written, but it has a certain shade of emotion that I like. It's short, I know, but if if this gets enough attention then I might be persuaded to add more (as I often am).
So, here it is, enjoy!
I felt my bed dip slightly to one side slightly, then go back to normal as Sam teetered her way from laying beside me on the bed to the bathroom. She had come in through the window by the fire escape again, drunk as ever. The sound of helpless dry heaving could be heard, before she began to vomit into what was hopefully the toilet and not the wastebasket or sink.
"Ugh," I heard her long, muffled groan as the sound of her leaning clumsily against the bathroom wall could be heard. A faucet is turned on, and I hear gargling, then swishing, and finally the sound of Sam spitting into the sink and taking in a long, shuddery breath. A beat later, she releases the breath in a sigh. She flushes the toilet and opens the bathroom door, stumbling and swaying slightly on her way back to my bed.
"Sam," I mumble in concern through what had previously been a throat thick with sleep. It broke my heart to see Sam like this, it truthfully did. But, to be perfectly honest, she was doing this to herself, so how much of my sympathy could I possibly lend to her in this situation?
Sure, we're best friends, but there comes a point when one friend can not take blame for another friend's actions, and I'm getting a feeling that this is that point.
It wasn't as if anyone held her down and forced her to consume more than enough alcohol to get a horse on the floor, am I right? And it's a shame that I have come to find out that Sam's tolerance for booze is so high, but with her coming around like this so often and me tagging along with her to parties at all hours of the night to watch her and make sure she's safe all the time, I'm more than acquainted with the fact that she can hold her liquor like a man – a Russian man – so, I know she must have gone out and pounded some serious liquor.
"Ca-Carly," Sam replies after a few moments, slumping down beside me on the bed and curling up into a ball. Her voice let on that although drunk, she was still cognitive of her surroundings and also still very much in pain from her previous retching session.
I would definitely feel so much more pity for her if she didn't bring all of this onto herself. But, this was Sam's way of coping with something. I just haven't been able to find out what she was feeling the need to cope with.
"Why are you drunk, Sam?" I ask, not trying to sound demanding, but I know that I do. I can't help it – I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, and demand to know what's wrong/going on. My best friend has been hurting for the past six months and I haven't been able to figure out why, making me feel like an absolutely crappy and useless friend.
"There were two for one special on Jose Cuervo and Tuscan Lemonade," she slurs, and I can practically hear the goofy grin that she's most likely wearing on her face. I wonder if she realizes at this point in her state of inebriation that she's seventeen and it's illegal to sell alcohol to persons under the age of 21, let alone teenagers. Not only that, but by 'sale' she probably means that she either stole it, or bought one and stole the other for good measure.
"I wish you would tell me what's wrong," I say, turning to face away from my semi-estranged best friend. I heave a sigh, but then I suddenly felt two arms wrapping themselves around my waist. I feel Sam moving to press herself a little closer to me, and she rests her head in the crook of my neck. A feeling of indescribable warmth passes through me and I can feel myself involuntarily relaxing in response to her body's proximity.
"Are you sure you wanna know?" she asks me, her voice lilted with a drunken drawl that I've grown accustomed to. I shiver slightly at the feeling of her hot breath against my neck and I try my hardest to ignore the fact that her mouth smells like she's been brushing her teeth with gasoline.
"Of course I do," I reply, eager for her to explain, although I'm fully aware that I'll most likely just get the crock of bullshit response that is her drunken reasoning; I like to call it 'The Drunk's Guide to the Universe and Ham Products.' I try not to get my hopes up, but I also decide to be patient as I wait for her reply, just in case it's legitimate; it would end this guessing game once and for all so that I could start to help like a best friend should.
It's been over a minute, and I think that she's fallen asleep because of the uncharacteristically even breaths she's taking.
"I don't think you're… ready for this. I don't think… that you can handle it," she says her voice broken up with stray hiccups, and I can't tell if she's teasing me or not. That's one thing about drunken people; they can put on one hell of a poker face and if you're not careful, they'll make a fool of you.
"What do you mean?" I ask in a neutral tone of voice to be safe. The air conditioning kicks on and I shift my body closer to Sam's to stay warm.
"I dunno," she mumbles, tightening her arms around my waist and burrowing her face into my neck again. "I guess maybe I'm the one who's not ready. But, I don't care anymore. It's not worth it to be decaying inside…" she says, trailing off in an unintelligible, drunken slur.
"Sam, please share with me," I beg, and I feel her shrug and take in a deep breath. For some reason, I find myself feeling frightened of what might be the problem. I close my eyes and tense my shoulders up, bracing myself for what is to come – maybe I'm not ready after all.
"I guess I fell in love," she mutters, sounding surprisingly sober. My ears perk up at this confession and my eyes snap open. "And the one I love can never love me; it just isn't possible by any means. So, I've decided to break my heart before my heart breaks me; and before your rejection could tear me to shreds."
My eyes widen and my heart races around its cage. What does she mean by that? Is it really that she is in love and with me, no less? My mind churns with the words that she just said and my stomach twists into tragic and incomprehensible knots. After a beat, I slowly turn around to face Sam – only to find that she is already asleep, with drool dribbling down from the corner of her slightly parted lips.
A sigh escapes me and I know that I won't sleep tonight.