Alfred gulped down his last beer.
"So-sorry, dudes... to-tota-totally fucking awe-awesome!" he groaned, his head spinning. "Whoo! Par-tay!Par-tay!"
"Y-you're-you're not go-gonna stay? Stupid blitskotchingfrighun," his British friend Iggy rambled off, his eyes rolling as he fell to the ground. He was always the first person to get crazy drunk. Not the first person to black out, just the first person to start gibbering nonsense and doing crazy stuff. So the most fun to mess with. Alfred could hold his beer much longer than him and he and all his friends had had fun playing with his drunken state of being, since old Iggy was never any fun normally.
"Right on! Right on!" Gilbert howled. "So true!"
He laughed, more like cackled really, before smacking the nearest girl's ass.
The nearest girl happened to be Elizaveta Hedervary.
She swung around and punched Gilbert square on the face, causing the already dizzy boy to hit the ground. She soon joined him, straddling him, somewhere between smiling down at his seductively to furiously glaring at his face with a deep-seated hatred. "Fu-gin dooj bag," she slurred at him. "'m gonna screw you up, joo stug up pig-pig-piggy faced bi-bitch-"
"You can-youcanscrewme wunever y'want," Gilbert giggled.
Alfred giggled.
"Ha! It's like an orgy!" a French exchange student from Paris named Francis Bonnefoy screeched. "Let's 'ave an orgy! Let's 'ave an orgy!"
"Not if Iggy's- Iggy's out of it," Alfred slurred. Dropping his empty beer bottle onto the grass. And swatting at his face for imaginary bugs.
"What does zis matter?"
"RAPE! RAPE!" Iggy screamed, coming to all of a sudden. His green eyes were as round as tennis balls and he looked terribly, terribly excited. "Duck left, duck right! All around, up and down, down and up, dodge, dodge! Be quick and dodge all of them rapists! They're everywhere! They're everywhere! Especially in France! Especially the Francenese. I mean, uh, the French! They're rappey!"
"Eez not rape if you like it," Francis purred.
"Like totally!" Feliks screeched. He'd come to the party wearing pants, but now, somehow he'd ended up in a red dress. He lifted up his skirts. "Whoo! How, like, totally hot am I? Be honest!"
"Total 10!" Elizaveta screeched. "Francis, kiss him for me, will ya?"
Francis threw himself on the Polish boy and seized him by the front of his dress, lifting him up and laying a drunken kiss directly on the lips.
There was a mix of catcalls (from the girls) and ewww's (from some of the boys), and a squeal from Elizaveta.
Alfed laughed. He started to stumble away from the couple before tripping over Yao's prone body.
"So-sorry dude," he choked. "Didn't-didn't see ya' there!"
He stumbled vaguely in the direction of his car, then swung around again.
"Dudes-dudes, I-I gotta bail! Ma-Mattie-he-he's all alone... and I feel bad, so I'm gonna go home now. I mean, his home. I mean, not his home. He doesn't live there. I mean the home he's visiting... I mean babysitting! Babysitting! He's babysitting the house for me and I gotta go-"
He trailed off. No one paid his rambling much attention. They were having too much fun in the drunken haze, the drunken let-it-go aura the party possessed. But the party was mostly over now. Most of the party-goers had passed out, were having sex, or had gone home, not necessarily in that order, and it was now more of a private party. All of Alfred's friends were here, no longer just the general school mass that had been there a few hours before. Even the friends he'd driven here had gone home with someone else before he had. Were his friends the only ones left now? Cool. Private party, still with plenty of booze and good company.
He didn't really want to leave, even if the really crazy crowd was gone. But he was feeling guilty about letting Matthew take the rap for him... and guilt and alcohol never went well together. Matthew would need a ride soon.
Uh, he was starting to get sober.
He hated being sober.
It was like the middle of being drunk, which was fun, and normal, which could be fun. But between the two of them?
It sucked balls.
He got to his car. To his shock, it was already open. Had he not locked it?
Oops. Oh well. It wasn't like he had anything valuable inside and it was pretty obvious no one had hotwired it.
He climbed inside the driver's seat, plopping down with a heavy sigh.
He began turning the wheel.
It took him a good four minutes before realizing that he wasn't driving and the car wasn't moving. Aww. If he was drunk, then he'd be giggling. Whenever he started getting sober, he ended up being sad rather than giggly when his mind still wasn't functioning properly. So in effect, his mind was slow, but he wasn't happy, he was sad. And that sucked. Frowning, he wondered where his keys had gotten to.
He checked his pockets. Nothing in his pockets except a few gum wrappers, coupons for McDonald's, and condoms. He wondered dimly where they'd gotten to. Had he put them in Yong Soo's pants? He remembered the South Korean boy throwing his pants to the ground and streaking around butt-naked before passing out, but had he put his keys in his pants? Had he thrown them down in the grass? Had they ended up in Yong Soo's pants or had Gilbert taken them from him? He remembered Gilbert pick-pocketing him, but had he taken his keys too?
Thump.
Alfred let out a girly scream and jumped, swearing as his head banged against the windshield.
Still cursing, he clutched his temple. "Ouch!" he cried. "What was that?"
"Yo!"
Alfred screamed again.
He threw himself at the door, almost yanking the door handle off as he twisted it, letting himself out.
He hit the ground hard, but he wasn't easy to injure. He could easily brush off falls that had most people moaning on the ground clutching their injury. He rolled and was back on his feet almost as soon as he hit the ground. He glared up at his car, his eyes wide.
Eyes that narrowed in annoyance.
"Gilbert! What the fuck do you want? And why are you in my car? Get out, you loser!" Alfred yelled.
"Me? I ain't a loser! I'm pretty friggin' nice! I got your car keys, for one, and I'm going to drive you home 'cause you're drunk and they say drunk drivers... they say-they say you shouldn't drive drunk," Gilbert said, looking a little confused for a moment. It took him a moment to understand what he'd say, but when he did, a grin like the Cheshire Cat's spread across his face. "I sure am nice, aren't I?"
Alfred swore at him, getting to his feet.
"You're drunk too-"
"But not as drunk as you. Besides, I want to see Birdie. I called him earlier to apologize for forgetting to say goodbye and ignoring him by accident, but he wasn't there and I'm not sure if he's angry! I wanna go see if he's okay... I forgot to say goodbye and I think I upset him," Gilbert murmured, any signs of intoxication fading as he stared solemnly at the American. Alfred frowned at him. Great, now he felt bad for forgetting to say goodbye too.
"F-fine. Drive. But you'd-you'd better not get me killed before we get there!" Alfred exclaimed. "Because it would make Matthew sad!"
"Sure, I'll try not to crash us. Or get a DUI," Gilbert murmured, scooting into the driver's seat and letting Alfred take the passenger's seat.
The drive back was quiet but Alfred's head was starting to throb as he began to get sober real fast.
"Uh, I wish I could black out like everyone else," he moaned. "I never get to wake up with a headache. I always get one before I can pass out and end up not sleepng at all. It really sucks, man."
"Yeah, well, sucks to be you, dude. Seriously. I'm like one of those people who never gets hungover," Gilbert said. "My head is buzzing, but it'll fade away and I'll feel like I always do."
Alfred stared at him.
"Seriously? Dude, you are so lucky. Uhh, I hate being sober. I wish I could recover from alcohol poisioning in the morning, not in the same night! And how does that even happen anyway?"
"Uh you get drunk, but it doesn't stay in your system too easily? Do your drunk spells last that long?"
"No. Unlike Iggy, when I get drunk, it's usually quick, so to get totally off my ass drunk, I have to drink a lot. Too bad I didn't drink enough tonight," Alfred ended his sentence with another groan. "The good news is, though, if I'm a miserable sober guy, then at least me and Mattie can spend the first night of summer together! He thought I was ditching him, but I'm coming back early! And even better, I'm sober!" He suddenly went red.
Gilbert barely had time to flinch before the America lunged into the back seat and threw up in the trash bag hanging around the passenger seat headrest.
"Well, almost sober."
"Disgusting," Gilbert grimaced, his eyes drifting back to the road. "You poor, poor unlucky people. For me, it's like masturbating! It's fun and when you're done and had your fun, you can just go back to doing whatever you were doing before with no side affects."
"You're disgusting dude," Alfred said, his throat scratchy. "And you need to get laid."
"Yeah, well, I was, but then I decided to drive your drunken ass home! Not because I like you, but because Mattie's been worrying me. Have you noticed that he's been really... distant recently? Like he was always kind of gloomy and anti-social, but recently, he's seemed really... sad. I've been meaning to talk to him, but-" Gilbert stopped and Alfred knew what he'd been about to say. He'd forgotten.
Just like everyone did.
Damnit.
"Stop the car!"
"What? Why?"
"Just do it damnit!"
Gilbert pulled over to the side of the road.
And ended up turning on the radio and cranking the volume up as high as he could to drown out Alfred's wretching and vomiting noises.
Disgusting.
He was so glad he had an immunity to hangovers.
It had a lot to do with the fact that as soon as his buzz started to die down he would drink gallons on gallons of water then piss it back out. They said that got it out of your system. But he had a lot of friends that tried that too and it didn't really work for them.
In a disgusting fascination, Gilbert watched his friend/ enemy puke his guts out, his fingers thrumming against the steering wheel.
For whatever reason he'd had the luck of having an immunity to painful hangovers. And he took full advantage of it.
"Alfred? Dude, you okay?" Gilbert asked. "Are you puking up blood?"
"Nope, just everything else," Alfred said, his throat extremely sore. He made an odd, distorted his face and leaned over again, but this time was just a dry heave. He panted. "Dude, there's a water bottle in the door pocket. Grab it for me, will ya?"
Gilbert rifled through hamburger wrappers before he managed to fish a half-drank water bottle out of the mess. He took a sip himself before leaning over the armrest and tossing it to the American on the ground.
Alfred began to gulp down what was left of the water. He sighed when he'd squeezed out the last drop, wishing there was more. Oh well. He knew his throat would feel dry for a long time, probably until tomorrow morning, regardless of how much water he drank.
He sighed again, rubbing his hair.
He put his hand to his pocket.
Good. His glasses were there.
But his phone wasn't.
"G-gil? Have my phone?"
"Yup."
"Give it to me."
He climbed back into the car.
"You okay now? No more Exorcist shit?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Give me the phone."
"No drunk-dialing now."
"Shut up! I'm not drunk! Well, not the fun drunk anymore," Alfred admitted. "Damn. No more drinking."
"Everyone says that, but they all know getting drunk is so worth it. No, I'm sorry, I mean everyone but the awesome me! Since I never-"
"Alright! Stop rubbing it in!"
Gilbert cackled/ laughed and pulled the car back into the lane as Alfred started dialing.
The first time, he accidently called his home phone on impulse.
"ALFRED JONES, I'M GOING TO MURDER YOU, YOU LITTLE PUNK!"
Alfred hung up.
"Ouch, even I heard that," Gilbert grimaced.
"My old man. Wrong number. Mattie's at the Vargas household. I already called him like ten times."
"Aww, the Vargases? Those cute litte Italians? Cute," Gilbert said, smiling.
Alfred dialed the right number this time, his ears ringing from the wrong number. Rather, the voice on the end of the wrong number. God, he was going to get so much crap for staying out late and getting drunk. Maybe he could convince Dad that he hadn't gotten drunk. Would that work? He smelt like alcohol, but there was no hangover to prove it, right? Maybe he could-
"Hello, this is the Vargas household. Please leave a message," someone said in a gruff, faintly Italian accent.
"Uh, why haven't you been answering me, dude? I'm sorry for not calling sooner than the last time I tried. Listen, now we're going over there, okay? I decided to pick you up, since I'm not as drunk as I was hoping. I guess I was exaggerating. Too bad, since I was really hoping I'd be really drunk. Gil's driving, but I'm not drunk anymore, so we can watch movies tonight, if you're up to it, instead of tomorrow! But I warn you! Dad's spazzing out. You're going to have to calm him down, I guess. But you know, it's like putting a goat with a giraffe right... oh wait, that might not be right. Maybe it's a goat with... a horse? I don't know. I just know he doesn't yell at me too much when you're there. So I'm coming to get you! It was a fun party, dude, and a lot of people are going to wake up tomorrow morning wondering what the hell they did last night, but not me! I know exactly what I did, since I didn't get to sleep myself sober! Just ask Gil, I had it the hard way-!"
The phone clicked off.
"What the hell?" Alfred frowned. "Why did it turn off?"
"Because you were talking for too long, stupid," Gilbert grunted. "Damn, I'm feeling a little woozy. Can you shut up, please? Your voice is annoying."
"Okay, fine, Mr. I-don't-get-drunk Beilschmidt!"
Alfred huffed and pouted.
But he did quiet himself.
Gilbert wouldn't admit it, but having the car completely silent was rather awkward and he almost immediately regretted the command. He thrummed his fingers against the steering wheel. The silence didn't do anything but make the buzzing in his head seem louder. He gnawed on his lip. He'd never had a reaction like this. Maybe his immunity was wearing off.
The buzzing was kind of unnatural.
Something about it made him uneasy.
There was a rock in his stomach.
He felt... dread.
He was worried.
About what?
He squinted at the road, thinking harder.
What did he have to worry about? School was out. There was nothing he should be worrying about. In fact, he should be relieved that school is finally over and all of his work load is gone. So what was he dreading? Why did he feel like he was going to throw up? It wasn't the alcohol. No, it was something worse. He felt the way some people did after horror movies, a sick and churning fear. He felt the way he had after watching Woman in Black. While watching it, he hadn't thought it was scary, but after he'd gone home and tried to sleep in his dark, lightless room, he'd had this same feeling. Like something bad was going to happen.
He wasn't the type to have premonitions or those weird "bad feelings" some people had before some big disaster.
He didn't have that sense some people got before getting on a plane. You know, those people that get off the plane before it explodes.
Like that Final Destination shit.
Yeah, Final Destination. Gilbert liked those movies.
Nah, it was nothing.
Gilbert was just being paranoid.
Not to mention weird.
"Hey! Idiot! Turn back there!"
"Don't call me an idiot! I don't know where this place is! You're supposed to direct me, dumbass!"
"I just did! Turn back there! Totally not awesome!"
"Excuse me?"
They began to bicker.
And kept bickering.
And didn't stop bickering. Not even when they got to the Vargas household.
Alfred was still yelling at the albino as he walked up to the door and hammered on it.
But he soon directed his voice at Matthew instead of Gilbert.
"Hey Mattie! I guess Mr. Vargas isn't here yet! So... I don't know when he said he'd be back, but I guess we could just wait with you, huh? Gilbert wants to talk to you anyway! He wants to admit that he LURVS you and is so totally guilty for not saying-"
"SHUT UP, FATASS!"
"I'm not fat!"
The two began to wrestle. Some shuffling and pathetic insults thrown at one another that mostly just rehashed the typical insults ("you're fat," "you're stupid," "you can get laid," "you're a hamburger-munching nitwit"), ensued. But before it could progress, something stopped them both in their tracks. Something that scared both teenagers.
They heard screaming.
...
Review?
Yeah, please point out wherever there is a flaw in something that happened. For instance, earlier I planned on having where Alfred leaves the message saying "Love you," in this chapter, from Alfred's point of view. I actually had it and was about to publish it when I realized that the wording implied that Alfred was actually AT the party, not driving there as I had it placed.
So please point out when I do something like that.
I'm sure there's some point where things are illogical or don't make sense or just don't add up.
Seriously, please, don't let me embarrass myself.