American Royalty

At the time that six ounce bottle of cherry vodka seemed like the most important thing in the world to me. It had a shiny label that just screamed expensive and the lid was sealed tight over the top, it had never been opened before. It was just begging me to be opened from the place where it sat on top of the cabinets, a place that told me it was not to be touched or for that matter drank. I, being already tipsy and slightly pissed-off, didn’t care. All I wanted was the feel of that expensive vodka burning down my throat like I just knew it was.

Of course, this was a problem to whatever poor girl was hosting the party. When someone spotted me gazing longingly at it they nudged my side gently, I barely made the effort to turn my head to face them. I could tell that he knew me, had seen me in the halls around school, and heard the rumors. I could also tell that’s I wouldn’t be able to pick him apart from a million different faces in a crowd. His pupils were huge and he reeked of pot and I knew he had been hanging out in the corner that the druggie’s always managed to occupy during parties.

“I’ll boost you up if you’ll share it,” he told me, his smile spreading across his face slow and lazy like a dog left outside on a hot summer’s day.

I peeked back up at the bottle sitting up there, lonesome and gathering dust and I pretended that I already had it, and that I was bombed beyond belief and that I was the life of the party, the quickest to have a witty comeback, the quickest to join in a game of seven minutes in heaven (while unbelievably juvenile, it still manages to hold some allure over us), and the quickest to laugh at all the right jokes.

I looked back at pot-head-boy and he was nodding enthusiastically even though I had yet to even say anything. But maybe he already knew what my answer would be, judging by that hungry look in my eyes that I get whenever my gaze will zero in on booze.

“Just don’t try to grope my ass while you’re at it,” I told him with the threat of a glare playing at my eyes and tugged his jacket sleeve to the counter.

“No problem, I’ve got a girlfriend,” he said as if this was the end-all to any thoughts of touching my ass while it was two inches away from his hand. I knew that it probably wouldn’t even cross his mind when he was touching me.

I grunted in response and lifted myself onto the countertop and stood on shaky legs until what’s-his-face managed to get an arm wrapped around my upper legs and hoist me up onto his shoulder. I had to admit, for a pot-head druggie he was pretty strong and he managed to lift me up to where my fingertips were inches away from the desired bottle. I started to think that the girl who was hosting this party must be some sort of amazon woman, because I still couldn’t reach it on this guy’s shoulders and that she somehow managed to get it up there all on her own.

“Jump,” I said down to the boy who’s head was now between my legs and his hands were indeed getting acquainted with my upper legs.

“Hell no I can barely lift you as it is!” he said wincing as if in pain.

I rolled my eyes down at him, “Just jump damnit!”

He grunted something in response and just as I was about to jab him with the heel of my shoe I felt him jump a few inches in the air and my fingertips collided with the vodka, disrupting it’s balance enough so that it teetered on the edge of the cabinet and my hand immediately slid underneath it to prevent a waste of perfectly good alcohol.

The druggie boy let me down slowly and I clambered off of his back, holding the bottle in my hands as if it were an infant. It was cool to the touch and I could hear the liquid sloshing around inside, my fingers practically trembled in anticipation as I slowly unscrewed the cap and brought the bottle to my lips and took a long drink. The vodka chased down my throat, burning like fire and it was like I had never been this satisfied before.

The boy looked at me with a quirking eyebrow and reached for the bottle. Out instinct I recoiled, clutching it to my chest, my heart fluttering desperately in my chest.

“Hey we had a deal,” He reminded me leaning in for the bottle again, but I just stepped further back. His playful smile fell off his face as I did so and I knew that I only had seconds to react.

I dove forward, my lips crashing into his with a clumsy smack. I let our tongues loll together and his mouth tasted like drugs which made me want to jump away, but I forced myself to stay there and his hands snaked their way around my body and held me tight against him, I felt like I was being suffocated.

When I finally had to come up to breathe I leaned into where his ear was under his thick mat of hair and let my breath drift into his brain. “You touched my butt, so the deal is off,” I whispered, moving away from him and around him, drifting past like a summer breeze and taking the bottle with me, moving it up to my lips for another cool drink that would burn down my throat.

And two hours later when I was in the bathroom vomiting, I couldn’t remember for the life of me why I had wanted it so badly.