Chapter Five.

12th June, 2005.

As promised I was picked up by the fabulous Craig Tucker, who walked with me to Clyde's house. Although was easier to locate which house was Clyde's from the angry neighbours, loud music, overflowing people and flashing lights.

I'm going to go straight into part number four, as I haven't got much to add here other than the party was amazing and I did everything I told myself I wasn't going to do, even the mother finding out bit, whoops.

Part Four.

Once inside the heaving household, I was pulled aside by Bebe who, once in the Kitchen along Stan, Cartman and Kenny (and a few other North Park lad's that I faintly recognised) offered me a small smile and a glass bottle with a bright blue liquid swirling around inside, knowing Bebe and her infectious ways, the night wasn't to go as planned. I accepted with an anxious look, I've never been drunk before. Of course, I've stolen a drink or two from my parents and shared them with the guys, but I've never been out of it.

Unfortunately, she wouldn't let me back down, urging me on with "Its only four percent, it's fine, you can't get drunk of it, well, unless you have loads and you're a total lightweight."

I am not a lightweight, thank you very much.

I began to sip at the sweet blue liquid, the alcoholic tang wasn't there as it was mostly an overbearing sweet bubble gum flavour. Much to my distaste as I've never really been a bubble gum person. Shame, isn't it Stew.

I drank it all, and then drank another because the more I drunk the better it tasted. "Proper alcohpop that." She giggled, taking the now empty bottle and placing it with the other two. "Three rules you need to abide by tonight, everyone does. Got it?" I nod. "Right, good. 1. Do not leave your drink, always hold onto it. Got that?" I nod, again. "2. Don't talk to strangers, stick with the people you know."

"Uh, okay? I don't really see anyone here I don't know though."

"No, you know them, but not well enough – don't get touchy with them, ok?"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

She laughed. "Good, now final rule; don't leave without telling three people. Three rules, three people. Three WKD's you've had and now we're going deeper!"

She cheered, waving her hips to the music as she made me up another drink, soon a transparent liquid was offered to me, obviously by the way we started out, it wasn't water. Oh god, anything but.

Vodka, she had me drinking vodka. Smirnoff, Jack Daniels, the lot of it. Anything she could find before dragging me towards a giant ring circle that had sprouted between my 11th and 12th shot. We stumbled into a sitting position, letting the game roll.

It was spin the bottle, nothing exciting, nothing new – same old, same old. Whoever spun had to kiss whoever it landed on, then the person it landed it on would spin. If it landed on the same person as before (rare but happening) they'd make out.

Craig had vanished, Kenny had reappeared. The game was light and it hadn't landed on me. So I let it play out, knowing I'd probably hate myself in the morning (Fun fact: I did, and still do.), it still hadn't landed on me and I was slightly restless, wanting the lid to point at me and dictate me their kiss.

Soon, it did landed on me, with a drunk looking Bebe staring at me intently, suddenly feeling conscious and letting the adrenaline pump through me, I leant forward – eyes slipping closed and wanting to get this over with.

She hovered over my mouth before planting a kiss softly on my lips, she lingered before pulling back. Smiling dumbly as whistles sounded, I blushed. It had felt nice.

Stewart, it probably didn't — I was drunk, remember.

I had to spin the bottle next, letting it land on Mr McCormick himself. Wiggling his eyebrows at me he leant in, kissing me sweetly before pulling away.

Kissing is weird. I don't know. This is probably why I like to avoid contact with my lips.

The night played out with a load of dancing, chatting and flirting. Although when Craig finally caught hold of me, he did let me tell three people I was going home, even if he didn't let go of my hand. His breath was laced in alcohol and smoke but he wasn't half as drunk as I was.

Maybe I truly am I lightweight.

Bebe, Butters, Stan. I told them three and they nodded, all giving me a 'be safe, don't do anything stupid, call me in the morning' chat. I stumbled wildly down the road, Craig continuously having to 'sh' me for being too loud. I wasn't though, he was just being paranoid.

I don't remember much of the night but I have pinpointed these moments and have put them into chronological order. I guess that night was fun and maybe I was too drunk, and maybe I was too loud.

But probably, in the most common situation; I thrived.

Maybe.

I didn't thrive for too long, because after waking up with a ranging headache, I found out I was in none other's house than Craig Mother Fucking Tucker's. Ironic. My rules were: Don't get drunk, don't wake up in someone else's bed, and don't let my mother find out.

Ah, the last one isn't even worth the paper it's written on. She had called numerous times throughout the course of the night and I had answered when I returned to Craig's house. He ended up talking to my mum for me and I just knew that when I got home it be World War 3.

It wasn't, just World War 2 and a half. Possibly three quarters if you want me to go into detail about it.

Once I had woken up from being uncomfortable, I was met with Craig's gaze. He sat on the floor looking amused, cup planted to his lips to his lips. Laptop screen shinning and reflecting of his glasses.

He laughed at me when I grumbled about my head, and after reentering the room with a flannel and a glass of ice cold water, he pressed the cold fabric to my head after folding it. Bringing in a large bowl to dip it in to keep it fresh and cold.

"Lightweight." He called after me when he left to get me paracetamol.

"Fuck you, Tucker!" I screamed back.

"Language!" His parents called back.

I swear I could hear him laughing from down there. Arsehole.

I'm going through a tough time with my title, you guys need to give me some good ideas.