The Thrill Is Gone

Thirty minutes. They were only supposed to stay at the club for thirty minutes and then they were going to go back to her apartment where they would fall into a deep sleep. That had been their plan all along, but now that they were in the club, now that they were slinging back their fifth shots of tequila, they were beginning to think differently. Maybe it’d be best if they stayed awhile longer. The alcohol was, after all, free. They didn’t have to pay a cent for all the drinks that they’d ingest that night and it’d be a waste to not take full advantage of an open bar. No. It would be worst than a waste, it’d be a crime! An unforgivable crime that neither of them wanted to be guilty of so when they finished taking their fifth shot, Paulina leant forwards and motioned for Alfred to do the same.

“Alfie!” she shouted over the music. “Want to stay a little longer?”

“What?” the music was so loud he hadn’t heard a word.

“CAN WE STAY LONGER?!” she bellowed, adding hand gestures to try to get her point across.

He should’ve asked how much longer she wanted to stay. That was a very Alfie like thing to do but the truth was he didn’t really mind staying an hour or two or even three more. He was having a genuinely good time. The music might not have been to his liking, but he was fond of drinking and he was fond of dancing like an idiot, even though he’d never admit that aloud. And since Alfred was going to spend his time drinking and dancing, he was more than fine with listening to poorly created pop music. It was a decent trade off. With that in mind, he nodded his head in approval and then turned back to the bar to order them two more drinks. This time they weren’t tequila shots. They were two glasses of Irish whiskey and two pints.

His mouth watered as he watched the bartender pour the blessed liquids into the awaiting glasses. Alfred was well on his way to getting smashed and these drinks would transport him from the land of pleasant sobriety to the realm of buzzed inebriation, where he would dwell until he finished the flask that was safely tucked away inside his jacket, as well as one of the bottles of champagne that were up for grabs in the tables. That would be enough to get him smashed and if he wanted to take his drunkenness any further, there was still an open bar waiting for him. His wait was short lived; the bartender quickly placed the finished drinks before him. For his time, Alfred left a generous tip in the cup. Leaving a tip wasn’t necessary, with all the money that it cost to put on such a production, the tip had been included in the price, but Alfred liked giving his parents money away to other people, because in his mind, it meant that his sister wouldn’t be able to waste it.

With the drinks placed before him, he grabbed the glasses containing the whiskey as carefully as he could and handed them off to Paulina. He then grabbed their pints, careful not to spill a drip, and led them to a table in the least populated area of the lounge. Getting to the table was quite the challenge. The space was littered with drunken twenty something year olds that were well into their journey of intoxicated stupidity. Had someone told Alfred that he would be witnessing Rhodes Scholars acting like drunken fools, he wouldn’t have believed them, but there they were, acting like hormonal young adults. And he had to admit that it was a relief to see them acting like idiots. It made him feel better for his own drinking and smoking. He often thought ill of himself for doing both so often, but watching the Scholars – the young men and women that had the most prestigious scholarship in existence – doing the very same things he did, warmed his heart and made him feel that his vices weren’t truly vices, but more like small bad habits.

“This is rad! Don’t you think its rad?” she asked, her dark brown eyes glinting mischievously in the dimly lit booth.

“It’s brilliant!” he agreed, a lopsided grin erupting across his face. “Can’t believe we almost didn’t come!” he took a swig from his whiskey. “Seriously wouldn’t have forgiven myself for passing up on all this. I mean. This is top notch whiskey. Haven’t, had this since I nicked some from me dad.”

“Next time you visit, you should take a bottle.” Paulina raised the glass and downed half of its content. “This,” she held the glass up, “Is the best reward! We’ve been working like crazy all week and now . . . now, we get to treat ourselves!”

“Worked to fucking hard,” added Alfred. “And I can’t even sleep in my own bed tonight. Isn’t that some bullshit?”

“Know what? Fuck that. Don’t ruin tonight thinking about who’s in your bed. That’s for Charlotte to worry about. You focus on these drinks. That’s what you need to focus on. That’s what I'm focusing on.”

“Right, you’re right. Tonights about having fun and getting smashed. Grab your pint,” he ordered. “Let’s toast, yeah?”

“To what?” she held the pint tightly in her hand, the coolness feeling divine against her warm flesh.

“To a night of drunken merriment!” he declared.

“Thought you were going to toast for the end of Hilary term,” she told him.

Alfred shook his head. “We’re not thinking about that remember. Tonight’s about getting smashed and having a proper good time! So to a night of drunken merriment, with my best mate,” he raised his pint.

“I’ll drink to that.” Paulina raised her pint. “Cheers!”

“Cheers!” his pint clinked against hers and he then lifted it to his lips so he could down it. “Should I get us more drinks?”

“Not till we finish the champagne.”

Paulina handed one of the champagne bottles to Alfred and then grabbed another for herself. She then sat up on the edge of the booth, her eyes scoping out the dance floor. She’d never seen any of her fellow students acting like they were then. On a day to day basis, they pranced around like bookish asexual creatures that lived to kiss the ass of the Trustees, but there they were, snogging in front of everyone and downing drinks as if the alcohol was water. They were acting irresponsibly and she knew that this was one of the few moments of irresponsibility that they allotted in their lives.

Across from her sat Alfred whom was holding the bottle loosely in his hand. He was tempted to chug it. If he did, he’d end his buzz and go directly into drunkenness. It would save him the tediousness of taking drink after drink over a longer period of time. He could be drunk, almost automatically if he just chugged the damn champagne, but as tempted as he was, to do just that, he knew it was better to space out his drinks. That way he’d remember the night and not wake up without memory of what had gone down. He hated when that happened. He always felt like an ass for not being able to talk of the events or even remember if he’d thrown up or not. So not wanting to be an ass, he decided that he’d savor the champagne and that over the course of the next hour or so, he’d build himself into drunkenness.

And that was exactly what happened, for both of them. It took them twenty minutes to finish each of their champagne bottles. After that they worked on their flasks; Alfred finished his and Paulina only finished a quarter of it. But they had taken a seat on the bar, they claimed two black stools near the center, from which they beckoned the bartenders to keep the liquor flowing. They spent a great deal of their time there, until one of Paulina’s favorite songs began to blare from the speakers. Her excitement was so great that she grabbed Alfred by the arm and dragged him onto the dance floor.

“THIS IS MY FUCKING JAM!” she slurred, her hips swaying to the beat as her arms flailed in the air. “Say what you say, but give me that bomb beat from Dre. Let me serenade the streets of L.A. From Oakland to Sactown, the Bay Area and back down, Cali is where they put they mack down. CALI-LOVE!” she sang along, terribly out of tune but the alcohol made her feel like Tupac.

“You’re the greatest singer ever!” Alfred complimented. “Like . . . you need a contract so that everyone hears how good you sing.”

“Right?” she smiled brightly. “Madonna doesn’t have shit out on me!”

Alfred nodded in agreement. “X FACTOR! We need to get you on X Factor! People will bloody love you. I know they will. I feel it!”

“Awe, why are you so lovely? You’re the nicest person I know!” she grabbed his arms and held them out to the side, as if inspecting some model. “Lovely Alfie!” she exclaimed.

To this, he did a semblance of a curtsy and shouted, “Well you’re lovely to! We’re both so lovely!” and then he spun her, as if they were doing a waltz. “You’re the sister I’ve always wanted, you are!”

“But you have a sister.”

“Don’t want her though.” And he spun her again, laughing wildly as he did so. “Much rather have you.”

“Well I want all my brothers,” she declared. “But I want you as a brother to!” and she hugged him so tightly that she swore she heard him yelp.

Their moment of drunken affection soon passed and they were left to dance like idiots. They occasionally wandered back to the bar to have some water, but most of their time was spent dancing. Alfred – though keen on dancing – was horrible. He had no natural grace with which to dance to modern music. He knew how to waltz, he knew how to foxtrot, he knew how to swing dance, but grinding and getting low were completely foreign concepts to him. Then there was Paulina, who could grind and get low. The years of seeing her peers in high school do that, had made her an expert, but she wasn’t up for grinding on strangers. She preferred to dance as badly as Alfred and laugh.

That was, after all, the plan for the night. She was going to laugh at anything and everything, regardless of how silly or solemn the subject was. For the first time in nearly two weeks, she was going to be a very silly woman that would run through the streets of Oxford, singing at the top of her lungs and would purposely dance badly, just because she could. Tonight wasn’t a night of worrying about propriety or looking good in the eyes of the Trustees. None of the other Scholars were fretting that and nether was she. So she danced! She danced and laughed and danced some more, spilling perfectly good cranberry juice on a stranger that bumped into her and as the world began to spin rapidly she realized she needed to smoke. That was the only thing that straightened out the world when she was drunk. A few puffs from the blunt concealed in her pocket would slow things down, she wouldn’t be able to be as active as she was before, but she preferred it to the dizziness.

“Alfie!” she tugged at his sleeve, trying to get his attention. “Alfie!” she bellowed again, this time pinching his nipple.

“OUCH!” he shrieked, covering his nibble with his hand. “What was that for?”

“To get your attention,” she explained. “I'm gonna head outside for a bit. Need a smoke to calm down. Want to come with or not?”

“Was thinking of going to the loo, I’ll go while you have your smoke,” he shouts back. “But I can go if you like.”

“That’s alright. I’ll be back in a few.”

A reassuring smile was offered to him and she was soon on her way to the back area of the lounge. There was a hallway entrance that was covered by thick fabric, it was tucked away behind the DJ booth and although it was a bit of a challenge, she managed to get herself into the hallway and then out the backdoor that led to the alley way behind the club. Going to a dark alley alone wasn’t the best idea. It was one of those things that people warn others about, but she’d done it before and Oxford was a pretty safe place so she felt comfortable with lighting up behind a few trash bins.

She looked around, her eyes training to see in the dimly lit alleyway. There was only one light, a small little lamp that was in the far left corner of the alleyway, where the main street was, but as she stood there, she noticed another light, a smaller one. It flickered with the breeze, obviously coming from a lighter and so she walked towards it, curious to see who it was. There was potential for it to be a rapist, a murderer, a hoodlum that would mug her, but she was drunk and she was curious and when the familiar scent of marijuana struck her nostrils, she picked up her pace and walked even faster.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she blurted out without thinking.

He lowered his lighter, his blunt hanging loosely in his lips as his bloodshot eyes stared at her face. She looked familiar. He’d definitely seen her before. And that voice! He’d heard that voice before. But where was she from? In his drunken condition, he couldn’t figure it out right away, but when the wind blew the dark curls from her face, his own broke into a grin and he lowered the blunt from his lips.

“What the fuck am I doing here? What the fuck are you doing here?” he replied, grin still intact. “Not safe for a bird to be lurking about on her own. London’s not safe.”

“This isn’t London.”

“It’s not?”

Paulina shook her head. “Oxford.”

“Oh. Right, right, charity thing, got it.” Harry took another hit from his blunt. “Always end up forgetting where I am by nights end. But what you doing out here?”

“Gonna grab a smoke.” Paulina reached into her pocket and pulled out her own blunt. “Care to pass the lighter?”

“Look at you, little miss Rhodes Scholar. They know you do this?”

“Does the Queen know you do that?” she retorted.

Harry chuckled as he passed the lighter. “Like you better like this. That yes Sir, of course Sir, bit just doesn’t suit you.”

“Got to do it though,” she placed the tightly rolled blunt in between her lips and lifted the lighter to it; with her left hand she shielded the blunt from the wind.

What followed was a long, slow hit that filled her body with a sensation of warmth so pure that she swore she was tucked under a mountain of blankets. The first hit, in her opinion, was always the best. There was nothing like getting that first taste of it, that first rush of smoke that created a sense of calm in her that was unrivaled to any other. It was with that first hit that the world stopped spinning and she was able to lean against the wall beside Harry. And without saying a word they stood there, smoking in a peaceful silence that was much welcomed by them both.

They stood there until they heard a noise, coming from the main street.

“Hugh! Do you smell that? Smells like a bit of the puff doesn’t it?”

“Yes. Those hoodlums from the club are having a smoke in public!” the one known as Hugh replied. “No respect for anyone.”

“None at all,” agreed the other man. “But what can we do? There’s always a few around these parts.”

“We can make an example of them to send a message that this won’t be tolerated in our city!” bellowed Hugh. “Get your flashlight out, Mark. We’re taking them in.”

It was then that she registered what was going on and without a second thought; she dropped her blunt onto the ground, smacked the blunt out of Harry’s mouth and grabbed his arm. She pulled him to the right with such a force that he had no choice but to follow her.

“STOP!” shouted Hugh. “THIS IS THE POLICE AND YOU WILL CEASE AND DESIST!”

Like hell we are, she thought to herself as she pulled Harry along behind her. It was amazing what the human brain was capable of doing when someone was in danger. The moment she heard the police say that he was taking them in, her mind sobered up and began orchestrating an escape. Self preservation was it’s main priority and if it meant forcing a drunken body to cooperate, then so be it, because it wasn’t about to be wasted. There was a future that needed protecting and the unpleasant churning sensation that emanated from her stomach was going to have to be tolerated for the time being.

“Where we going?” asked a breathless Harry.

“Shut up!” she hissed, her dark eyes narrowed as she peered into the alleyway.

He asked no more questions. His grip simply tightened on her hand and they kept running. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but something told him that she had a good reason for taking him wherever it was that she was taking him. And so he ran, although his muscles were crying out in protest, he ran. He ran for what felt like an eternity. He ran until she pulled him behind two trash bins and pulled the lids off them. She held them over their heads to keep them shielded.

“Where the devils have they run off to!” shouted Hugh, his arms placed on his hips as he leant forwards, trying to catch his breath.

“D-don’t know, S-sir,” replied Mark, who had his hands on his knees. “Think there’s a restaurant near, m-maybe they got in there. Want to have a look? Might not have seen them, but have a good idea of what they’d look like.”

“And what would they look like?”

“Red faced and breathless,” Mark stood up straight.

“Yes. Of course, let’s go. Go on, show the way.”

It wasn’t until five minutes after the footsteps could no longer be heard that she lowered the lids. She placed them beside her and let out a sigh of relief. That was a close one. She had had an image of her behind bars, being visited by an employee from the American embassy that told her that she’d have to carry out the sentence given to her for smoking marijuana. She had seen her life slip away, but thankfully none of that would come to pass. She was safe. She was exhausted and liable to throw up, but she was free. That was what mattered.

“Those were policemen. Weren’t they?” he asked, finally realizing what had just gone on.

“They were.”

“Oh God,” he sighed. “That would’ve been such a mess. They wouldn’t have recognized me and would’ve thrown me in and I would’ve – I would’ve been processed and the media would run wild with it.”

“But they’re not.” Paulina wrapped her arms around her aching stomach.

That calmed him. “That’s right. You made sure we’d be alright. You were still thinking and I was just . . .”

“We’re alright. That’s what matters.” She stood up slowly an arm around her stomach while the other grabbed onto the trash bin for support. “Pinche chingaderas (fucking shit),” she cursed when she began to feel the sensation of needing to vomit take over.

From his seat on the ground, Harry watched as Paulina grasped the bin and leant forwards. It was obvious what she was going to do and he wanted to leave. Watching people throw up had never been a strong suit of his, but she’d just saved him from a public fiasco. And so he did something he’d never done before. He abandoned his seat on the cold concrete and walked towards her. Then, while taking in a deep breath, he held her hair back as she threw up in the deserted street.

“Let it all out,” he whispered to her, his voice soft and gentle. “You’ll feel better once it’s done with.”

His words were of no comfort. They didn’t ease the pain that shot through her. They didn’t stop the tears from stinging at her eyes. They didn’t do a damn thing and she had half a mind to tell him to shut the fuck up and let her throw up in peace. She would’ve done so had she not been puking. It was awhile before she stopped and when she did, she felt more level headed; level headed and tired.

“We should get you home.” Harry spoke. “There’s some light coming through over there. Can go get you a taxi and drop you off at your flat.”

She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket. “I have to go back to the club.”

“Like hell you are! You need to get home.”

“My friend’s there. He’s supposed to crash at my place.”

“But you need to –”

“Go to the club,” she interjected. “Fuck. I smell like shit.”

“Both do.”

“Not very comforting,” she mumbled. “Are you going to head back or are you getting a taxi?”

“I’ll head back, can’t let you go on your own. No telling who’s lurking about.”

“What a real Prince Charming.”

“If anything, you’re Prince Charming. You’re the one that saved me.”

“Then that makes you, Snow White.”

“Prince Charming and Snow White, wandering the streets, smelling like piss, what a romance!” and with that they began the walk back to the club, back to their respective lives.