Status: so this is happening
The Dysfunctionals
CHAPTER FOUR
I know my limits.
After three drinks, I’m tipsy. After five, I’m definitely feeling the full effects. At my sixth, I’m not afraid to talk to anyone at a party. And the eith one makes me barf. Usually.
Tonight, somehow, vodka shots and shotgunning got thrown into the mix, and it’s messed with my control system. It’s pretty bad that at this point, I have no idea how much I’ve consumed. Maybe that’s a sign that I should stop, but there’s no roiling in my gut and I think I’m speaking without a slur, so one more couldn’t hurt.
Beth perches on the edge of one of the lawn chairs, across the fire pit from the log I’m seated on. She rubs her hands over her pretty face and then looks at me, a toothy grin cracking across her face.
My first thought is that she doesn’t smile like that when she’s sober. The second is, “What?”
The light from the fire bounces off the few greasy splotches that have accumulated on her skin over the past few hours. It makes me wonder what time it is.
She ignores my question and watches Jay, who decided to hang around, fiddle with a package of little rectangular papers in his lap. He artfully twists it into a joint, and then nods toward the rest of us sitting around the pit. “Anyone up for a puff?”
“I’m in,” Beth respond almost instantly.
Elliot interjects, glaring at Jay. “Do whatever you want. But don’t do it on our plot of land. I’m not really up for paying a fine.”
The two boys have been in a power struggle the entire evening. Now Jay stands and tucks Beth’s arm into the crook of his elbow. A symphony of snapping twigs fills my ears as they begin to wander away. I catch him mumble something along the likes of what a hard ass, but if Elliot hears, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
The area drops into a peaceful stillness after they leave. In front of me, the dying fire pops and cracks as it devours the chopped logs. Glancing around, I notice that Elliot and I are the only ones left.
I look at him, intending to ask him where the other boys have gone, but I lose my focus when I observe how comfortable his broad shoulder looks. Without warning, I flop against his torso. He lets out an oof, but manages to reach his arm around my back before I slide backward onto the hard ground.
“You’re very floppy when you’re drunk,” he states.
There’s not much I can say, so I shrug. “It happens. Where’s Finn?” He’s been on my mind more than I’d like to admit. Maybe it’s because I’m drunk. It's probably because I’m drunk. I’d like to think that it’s because I’m drunk.
His light eyes skim the darkened campsite. “Hunting for an outhouse.”
“What time is it?” I feel like a little kid who’s pestering her mother.
With his free hand, Elliot lazily slides his phone from his jeans pocket and clicks on the screen. “Only eleven,” He sighs.
Oh. I attempt to convince myself that I’m not tired, but waves of exhaustion continue to sweep over me. I swear only minutes ago I had enough energy to run a marathon.
“I think I want to go to bed.”
The boy playfully nudges me. “I think that’s a good idea.”
Despite my revelation, I don’t move. Mostly because my limbs feel like Jell-O. Elliot doesn’t move either. I watch his face in the firelight. The flickering flames make his freckles seem like they’re dancing.
About three minute pass before I make some progress. When I stand, everything tilts to the left and I stumble a bit, but eventually regain some of my balance. Elliot supports me on my way to the trailer, steadying me as I stagger over a protruding tree root and cupping my hips with his hands when I trip up the stairs of the camper.
“Will you make sure Beth gets back okay?” I ask once I’ve collapsed onto my mattress, unable to completely escape my need to make sure everyone’s okay. “And Finn and Nathan?”
“Of course,” He says.
My mind is a muddled mess and I feel like I’m riding The Scrambler at the annual summer fair. It takes all of my will power to force down my nausea. The need for sleep conflicts with my whirling stomach. Forcing my eyes shut, I spread myself out on the bed, not even bothering to slide into my sleeping bag. My voice is filled with unease when I murmur, “Do you promise?”
With a sigh, Elliot drags his hands over his face, as if he’s regretting that he even came on this trip. “I promise.”
After three drinks, I’m tipsy. After five, I’m definitely feeling the full effects. At my sixth, I’m not afraid to talk to anyone at a party. And the eith one makes me barf. Usually.
Tonight, somehow, vodka shots and shotgunning got thrown into the mix, and it’s messed with my control system. It’s pretty bad that at this point, I have no idea how much I’ve consumed. Maybe that’s a sign that I should stop, but there’s no roiling in my gut and I think I’m speaking without a slur, so one more couldn’t hurt.
Beth perches on the edge of one of the lawn chairs, across the fire pit from the log I’m seated on. She rubs her hands over her pretty face and then looks at me, a toothy grin cracking across her face.
My first thought is that she doesn’t smile like that when she’s sober. The second is, “What?”
The light from the fire bounces off the few greasy splotches that have accumulated on her skin over the past few hours. It makes me wonder what time it is.
She ignores my question and watches Jay, who decided to hang around, fiddle with a package of little rectangular papers in his lap. He artfully twists it into a joint, and then nods toward the rest of us sitting around the pit. “Anyone up for a puff?”
“I’m in,” Beth respond almost instantly.
Elliot interjects, glaring at Jay. “Do whatever you want. But don’t do it on our plot of land. I’m not really up for paying a fine.”
The two boys have been in a power struggle the entire evening. Now Jay stands and tucks Beth’s arm into the crook of his elbow. A symphony of snapping twigs fills my ears as they begin to wander away. I catch him mumble something along the likes of what a hard ass, but if Elliot hears, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
The area drops into a peaceful stillness after they leave. In front of me, the dying fire pops and cracks as it devours the chopped logs. Glancing around, I notice that Elliot and I are the only ones left.
I look at him, intending to ask him where the other boys have gone, but I lose my focus when I observe how comfortable his broad shoulder looks. Without warning, I flop against his torso. He lets out an oof, but manages to reach his arm around my back before I slide backward onto the hard ground.
“You’re very floppy when you’re drunk,” he states.
There’s not much I can say, so I shrug. “It happens. Where’s Finn?” He’s been on my mind more than I’d like to admit. Maybe it’s because I’m drunk. It's probably because I’m drunk. I’d like to think that it’s because I’m drunk.
His light eyes skim the darkened campsite. “Hunting for an outhouse.”
“What time is it?” I feel like a little kid who’s pestering her mother.
With his free hand, Elliot lazily slides his phone from his jeans pocket and clicks on the screen. “Only eleven,” He sighs.
Oh. I attempt to convince myself that I’m not tired, but waves of exhaustion continue to sweep over me. I swear only minutes ago I had enough energy to run a marathon.
“I think I want to go to bed.”
The boy playfully nudges me. “I think that’s a good idea.”
Despite my revelation, I don’t move. Mostly because my limbs feel like Jell-O. Elliot doesn’t move either. I watch his face in the firelight. The flickering flames make his freckles seem like they’re dancing.
About three minute pass before I make some progress. When I stand, everything tilts to the left and I stumble a bit, but eventually regain some of my balance. Elliot supports me on my way to the trailer, steadying me as I stagger over a protruding tree root and cupping my hips with his hands when I trip up the stairs of the camper.
“Will you make sure Beth gets back okay?” I ask once I’ve collapsed onto my mattress, unable to completely escape my need to make sure everyone’s okay. “And Finn and Nathan?”
“Of course,” He says.
My mind is a muddled mess and I feel like I’m riding The Scrambler at the annual summer fair. It takes all of my will power to force down my nausea. The need for sleep conflicts with my whirling stomach. Forcing my eyes shut, I spread myself out on the bed, not even bothering to slide into my sleeping bag. My voice is filled with unease when I murmur, “Do you promise?”
With a sigh, Elliot drags his hands over his face, as if he’s regretting that he even came on this trip. “I promise.”