Disclaimer: I do not own any of the companies, brands, bands, songs, products, etc. mentioned. I do not make any money from this. I'm dirt poor, so suing me will get you nowhere. I do not condone illegal drug use or the underage consumption of tobacco or alcohol. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is merely paranoia on your part.
In Which Riley Blackmails Alex and Alex Can Do Fuck-All About It
"And we have a new member joining us today," some stereotypical tree-hugging, green-peace activist chick announces cheerfully to a completely uninterested audience.
I take a swig of my rum and coke sending a glare across the room at the corner where Riley was sitting. Apparently he is the faculty advisor for the environmental awareness club.
Of fucking course he is.
No amount of alcohol could prepare me for this horrific situation.
I swear to god the bastard smirked back at me.
I still can't believe he blackmailed me into joining. He has no evidence to support his accusations against me!
Not that I am willing to risk a room search, seeing as possession of marijuana will get you expelled almost automatically. Fascist university pigs.
I freeze, turning my head slowly-out of fear as well as heavy intoxication- to the front of the room.
The green-peace chick is staring at me expectantly. Her headband of braided hair irks me for no identifiable reason.
I try to figure out what she's silently asking of me, but her face keeps moving back and forth.
Fucking hell, I haven't been this drunk in a while.
I'm not sure how my head is managing to feel simultaneously packed full of cotton balls and empty- save for the consistent sloshing liquid that is the sorry excuse for my brain- but it is. Fucking Christ, it is. There is a ringing in my ears piercing through the invisible, drink-induced mufflers. Lot of fucking help these mufflers are doing, seeing as they stiffle every sound but the one I really could do without. All this can be attributed to the alcohol; however, I'm not quite positive as to the origins of my aching jaw.
Muffling mufflers muffle. Spuffle Spiffle. duffle. huffle. Hufflepuff. Muffling mufflers muffle the hufflepuff.
What the fuck brain?
A fairly vague awareness that an awkwardly long period of time has passed arises; however, I'm too preoccupied with swaying in tangent with the room so that the scenery remains stationary to truly care. This old building has some shaky foundations.
Shit. I need some weed. Seriously. With alcohol, the next day, I feel terrible. Emotionally, I mean.
So I drink even more so I can ignore how much my psyche feels like utter, battered shit.
Weed, on the other hand, makes me happy, the high may go away the first day (unless I have done nothing but hit after hit off a GB, then it lasts until the morning after), but I feel good for several days. I don't experience the crushing depression that comes after drinking.
Most miraculous of all, I don't have the comedown from drinking the next day if I smoke weed whilst drowning my body in alcohol.
And, yes, I have gone long enough without smoking marijuana to know that I won't come crashing down from it.
A few people try to tell me that pot is addictive. Please, try to quit smoking cigarettes, try to quit drinking, try to quit jerking off then come complain to me about how pot is horribly addictive.
My neck feels like a flimsy spring, my head wobbling all over the place.
I need to text RJ once this farce has concluded.
"She asked you to introduce yourself, Alex." Riley says tiredly.
"Oh!" I say a little too loudly. "Seems you've… both done it for me, m'name's Alex."
"What year are you and what's your major," Riley asks, obviously straining to remain calm, as if he's speaking to a child.
I hate him.
"Y'know that alr-rready, dumb butt." I respond and I like to think I can see a vein throbbing in his head.
"What is wrong with you?" Riley hisses at me in the hallway he dragged me into. Well, dragged is a bit of an exaggeration; more like, asked politely through gritted teeth to please accompany him as he had to talk to me about my latest test scores.
I squeak in response, stepping back clumsily, losing every ounce of bravado I had previously mustered with a body freshly filled with liquor and a classroom of people separating us.
"It's four o'clock on a Monday and you're completely wasted. You are one messed up girl, you know that? What the hell compelled you to drink so much? What is wrong with you?"
"I d-d-dunno," I whisper, vainly attempting to keep my legs from stumbling and my eyes from watering; alcohol can make me rather weepy. It's a pathetic sight to behold. I need to meet up with RJ, no fucking joke. I'm so sick of the alcohol. I need to change things up. I heard Molly was good, but I'm trying to cut back on my use of recreational substances, not add more to the list.
"You never know, do you?" Riley sighs, exasperated.
I absolutely did not sniffle in response, wiping a hand across my face. I am not upset in the slightest. Nope. Not at fucking all. It's not like Riley holds my future in his hands: College graduate or kicked out of college. If I piss him off, he can ruin me.
I try not to hyperventilate as if I'm not absolutely terrified. Having someone hold that much power over me makes my skin crawl unpleasantly. And he wanted me to join a fucking club, full of people I don't know. What else am I supposed to do but get fucked up before dealing with that?
Even worse, I can't help the prickling fear as other ways he could abuse his power slither through the back of my mind. I ignore them as best as possible.
I need a fucking cigarette. Bad.
"I can't believe you called me a dumb butt," He shakes his head and I dare to glance up to see him smiling wryly. I cannot tell if he's more amused than irritated.
I want to beg him not to turn me in, please don't turn me in. If I get kicked out I have nothing.
I want to punch him in the face. Or perhaps the nuts.
I want to run back to my room, pop a few Zzquils and pass the fuck out in my bed.
I wanna see RJ. He treats me like I've got my shit together, like I'm going places. I'm not a fuck up to him.
He also gives me weed and smokes me out beforehand for free, which is always quite the perk in our relationship.
"I… I… uh. I-I'm… I'm…." I grimace in pain, as if preparing to divulge my darkest secret, hoping to appease Riley so he'll refrain from ratting me out, "I-I'm not… ah, not v-very good… n-not good w-with, um, people."
I stare fixedly at the mysteriously shifting floor, not daring to look at Riley. A long, stunned pause follows my confession before I hear a strangled chuckle.
"Alex, most people figure that out within a few seconds of conversation with you, if not from sight alone."
I think my eyes may have ejected from their sockets as a result of the shocking statement, which is rather ridiculous. Why should I be surprised by his comments when it seems Riley's campaign to boost my confidence has turned into a campaign to completely disparage my character?
I shake my head, blinking my eyeballs firmly back in place so that I can scowl darkly and drain the rest of the coke bottle while Riley continues to silently laugh at my confession.
See if I ever answer with anything but 'I don't know' again, jack ass.
Yo. I got drunk for the first time in several months. Seriously, I've been so straight edge recently; I don't know whether to be ashamed or proud of myself for the sobriety. But anyway, my intoxicated state left me feeling inspired to finish this chapter which had been squatting in my documents folder, taking up space like the unpublished bum that it was.
I'm not happy with it, but I've generally been unhappy with my writing as of recent. I think reading nothing but med books has zapped a lot of the creative energy from me.
And my inebriation is also the perfect excuse for any editing mishaps.