― the artist on my wall

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| chapter 9 | clouds                                           |
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↪ tw: alcohol consumption, drunkenness

George didn't remember how he got here. One thing came to another, and now he was standing in the middle of the trendiest club in town, surrounded by people he didn't know in a place he didn't recognize.

He was pretty positive he had declined the invitation, but as Darryl and Zak bounded away from him and towards the dance floor, George felt like his opinion had been overlooked, and frankly ignored.

The sound was far too loud, and each of his senses were overstimulated. He was overwhelmed and wanted nothing more than to go home. Well, he wanted one thing other than that, but he certainly wasn't going to get an apology from Clay.

Even if he wasn't moping about Clay and his stupid antics, a club was still not his scene whatsoever. How was he supposed to handle it now? Everyone here looked so experienced in clubbing. Did he under dress? He was just wearing a hoodie and jeans.

But as he thought about it more, people usually weren't even dress in some clubs to begin with, so he took comfort in the soft felt of his jacket.

He vaguely recalled Zak saying something like, "go hit on some people!" but that was the last thing he wanted to do.

If there was one thing clubs were good for, it was forgetting. This became key later on.

In fact... Why couldn't he have some fun? Everyone looked so easy-going, worry less and free. He wanted to feel that exhilaration, and forget about the thing he wanted most.

He shuffled forward into the party crowd, an array of hipsters and drag queens raising their drinks to him and wishing him good wishes. A few gays spoke up and offered him a drink (he found it hard to believe they knew he was gay. Did gay-dars exist? He looked like the average straight male! Oh well.) but he declined. A rebound wasn't what he wanted and he didn't want to fall in love again.

Again, as if he had fallen in love once. 

Another thing about clubs he should have remembered, was you didn't mix drinks. This too became very important later, when whiskey was thrown into the chaos.

The only thing he did safely that night was cover his drink. Whether it was because of the goth lesbian he had handed it to prior to going in the bathroom, and how she had "barked to scare away the creeps" or his careful eye never letting another soul near his cup, one thing was for sure- if he was going to get drunk, it was going to be his own doing.

Spoiler alert- he certainly got drunk.

Darryl and Zak would later joke he was on cloud nine for half the night.

The goth lesbian would become a very close friend of his, and she too would laugh softly about this entire fiasco.

But that was the future.

Right now, George ordered a simple shot. He downed it, and with the influence of the stoners to his left, he ordered a few more. A few could have counted as three, but witnesses would testify it was more around six.

He remembered a fun fact Clay had told him a week ago - it took about eight or nine shots for a full grown man to get knocked off his feet from alcohol.

George was a lightweight, too.

Stars glittered dangerously over head, the neon flashing lights dancing in his dulling hues.

Where even were his friends?

It was okay, though, because goth lesbian became his new wing man and he became hers - he was pretty sure she got a girlfriend because of his help, but it was awfully blurry.