bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter fourteen. ?

"He wasn't flirting." His voice was crackly, but he kept using it, kept saying the same phrase to himself as if that would make it true. "He wasn't flirting with me."

Don't be silly, the voice stirred, reawakened and emerging from the dark as if it were a snake that had been hiding under an overturned rock, now ready to strike. it hissed, taunting. It slithered to the forefront of his mind. He was flirting with you. He's so nice and kind to you—maybe he's starting to like you?

"No." Case rolled over, squeezing the pillow over his head. No, that wasn't real. He forced his brain to shift gears, to picture the basement door swinging open, a SWAT team of police coming to his rescue. He filled his head with the fantasy, letting him distract him from the silence and loneliness, until Sir returned the next night.

Sir came down the stairs, a bottle of whiskey at his side. "C'mere," he said, unscrewing the cap. "I'm gonna show you a trick."

"What kind of trick?" Case asked as he approached. He eyed the dark amber liquid sloshing inside the glass. Could smell the aroma, like phenol mixed with BBQ sauce.

"Well, it's not a trick, per say." Sir surveyed him for a beat, his features pinched in thought. He took a quick swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and letting out a breathy aaahhh after he swallowed.

Guess that proves it's not spiked or poisoned.

Sir gestured for him to come closer. "Here, it'll be easier to explain if I show you. Open your mouth."

It occurred to Case that Sir hadn't brought any glasses. Sharing a bottle meant sharing saliva. Like secondhand kissing, almost. Case was still unsure if that bothered him as he folded his arms and tentatively opened his mouth for Sir to pour him a drink.

"Don't swallow," Sir quietly instructed as he touched the bottle to Case's lower lip. The glass was cold and wet. "Just hold the liquor under your tongue." He tilted the bottle, letting the whiskey gently pool into Case's mouth.

Case heartbeat quickened, anticipating and nervous for the familiar burn of straight liquor. The alcohol fumes swirled in his mouth. The taste was strong, adult almost; nothing like the stale beer or vodka-mixed-with-soda stuff he was used to.

"Take a breath," Sir whispered. "Slowly."

Won't I choke? Case wondered, but followed along anyway. He inhaled, as if taking a drag from a joint. The alcohol vapors travelled down his throat, blooming inside his chest and bursting like fireworks. Case sputtered, then giggled from the sensation; Sir laughed at his reaction. "Holy shit," Case gasped when he swallowed. The back of his throat burned. His insides burned. His skin burned. He couldn't stop giggling. "Blaagh. Oh my god. What was that?"

"That's a technique used by distillers, in order to appreciate the full scope of the alcohol's flavor and potency. Pretty neat, huh?"

Case coughed, clearing his agitated throat. "I wanna try again. I wasn't ready the first time."

"Alright, if you insist."

Sir held up the bottle. His pour was more generous the second time, but Case was steadier, pretending he was taking a deep pull from a bong. The vapors streamed through him, spiking his bloodstream with ethanol and heat. He took a step backward, staggering; he had carousel brain, the basement tilting on its axis. He giggled through tight lips, until he gave up and let the alcohol spray as he howled with laughter. Why hadn't he known he could get this super drunk, this super quick until now?

Sir reached into his jean pocket for his phone. He tapped at the screen, summoning the moody rise of synths and chiming guitar chords. 

"Yo," Case said, shouted in recognition. The music picked up, an almost melancholic pop-rock memory of the 80s. Astounded, Case stared at Sir, searching his knowing smirk for confirmation.