Numb
A thirty minute challenge from Harlequine
Required line: "'I'm not as think as you drunk I am,' he babbled, swaying slightly."
Standard disclaimers apply
"Why did I let you talk me into this?" The words were almost lost, drowned in the frothing mug held just in front of his lips.
A laugh arose from the other end of the table, the figure from whom it came from blurred, but the voice unmistakable, "Because you can't say no to a double-dog dare." Two clunks; the sound of two feet propping themselves up on the long oak table, both noises loud assaults to the first boy's ears. He groaned, clutching his forehead with his free hand, as took another swig of the loathsome brown liquid, trying to drown out the noises. It wasn't working, he realized with a snort. Instead, he was drowning out faces, memories... anything but the blaring music, flashing lights and loud voices that were making his head pound. At least he was holding his liquor, unlike some other obviously underaged people in the small, dark bar room.
He closed his eyes tightly, but the flickering strobe lights were still ever present, despite his squinting lids. "Why?" It was a simple question, seemingly directed at no one, perhaps a personal question. A moment of self revelation? Silence from the other side of the table, the only response from the throbbing beat of the dance music, the chatter of the people around them..."Why do you do this?" Still no response. Squinting, he opened his eyes once more, almost expecting to see through the haze that his friend was either passed out on the table or simply not there.
Finally, a response, slow and slurred, "Geddaway."
"What?"
Again, though now spoken more adamantly: "Geddaway, Tris'." The boy reached again for his mug, liquid sloshing over the brim and running down his hand.
There was nothing else to do but comply. Grunting, the brown haired boy pushed away from the bar table. The world seemed to spin around him, and he grasped onto the table for support, breathing heavily.
"No, no, Tristan... stay." Tristan, as he was called, slumped back into his chair, his gaze back on his brown eyed friend. "I--- dis. Dis is a geddaway." he clarified.
"Some get away, Joey." Tristan mumbled, looking back down into his mug, and back over at the blonde's growing collection.
Joey downed the rest of his mug and threw it on the table, droplets of beer spattering across its surface. "Dis is what dad does." He mumbled, taking his feet off the table, "An' when I get home from school, he's passed out on the couch. Or on the pot. Hell, middle of the floor. But he's..." He paused, tracing one finger through the droplets of beer, "He's numb... doesn't give a damn." Softly, almost to himself, he mumbled,"I don't want to either."
A grim look of determination, an almost unperceivable half smile as Tristan greedily finished the last of his beer, nearly gagging as the foul substance trickled down his throat, dulling his senses, but he did it... for Joey. And for Joey, he put his head between his legs and hurled, and hurled, and hurled...
This seemed to catch Joey's attention. "TRISTAN!" He slurred, staggering to his friend's side, "YER DRUNK, MAN, YER DRUNK." His every word pounded into Tristan's head, causing him to retch further from the pain. Several minutes (and angry bar tenders) later, Joey helped Tristan to his feet. "Come on, man, let's get you home."
"Naw, naw, I'm not as think as you drunk I am," he babbled, swaying slightly despite Joey's hold on his arm.
"Look't you, all pukin' and swayin' and..." Joey listed, laughing maniacally as he helped his friend to the door.
"Must be funny lookin'." Tristan slurred, "Gettin' all drunk to get all the feeling away. Hell, I can't feel one bit. Like... my feet!" he began to sound a bit nervous, "Are they still there?"
A distracted answer, "Yeah..." Joey trailed off, looking down at his own feet as the duo walked out of the bar.
"Funny, though... wonderin' if it feels good to not feel anything. Course it doesn't! It doesn't feel like anything at all!"
Joey sighed, looking Tristan in the eyes for a moment of understanding. An uncomfortable silence followed as they stood in the cool night air.
"Don't tell Yug'." Joey whispered.
"Tell him what? I won't remember anything by tomorrow morning." Just getting out of the bar seemed to be doing wonders for his headache and both boys' coherence. They walked down the lamp-lit streets in near silence, but one phrase echoed in both boy's minds: "Never again."