Giggle Juice

Part 2

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Disclaimer: I do not own Guns N' Roses.

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Seattle, Washington, 1979

Roosevelt High School was fairly normal. Jocks, geeks, cool kids, music kids, etc. Duff was a sophomore and doing well. His teachers liked him and his grades were above-average. This being said, his heart wasn't in it. It never inspired anything in him. Not the way music did.

Bruce, one of his brothers, had taught him to play bass. Each string equidistant from the next, it was beautifully symmetrical. Long strings made for a deep sound. To Duff, it was a perfect instrument.

"Dude," Chris whisper-shouted at him from behind.

"What?" Duff asked, eyes still focused on their math classwork. Finding the correct answer, he gripped his pencil and circled it.

"What you doing tonight?"

"Probably practice, I don't fucking know."

"Come over with me to Ben's. His folks aren't around."

"Alright," he bit out, not bothering to hide his annoyance at being disturbed. He was tense today.

Chris finally fucked off and he finished his work in peace.

That evening, Duff was regretting agreeing to the little get-together. Probably gonna be stupid. Dumb fucks. His word meant a lot to him, though, so despite his shitty mood he trudged over to Ben's. To his surprise, they boys were already well on their way to being wasted.

Ben said something unintelligent which resulted in beer streaming out of Chris's nostrils. This of course made them laugh even harder. 

"What's up?" 

Noticing him, they threw their hands in the air and roared with delight. Duff cringed but his mood lightened. 

"Gimme a beer," he demanded. Ben opened the refrigerator and tossed him a can.

He hadn't been planning on drinking, but it had been an excruciating week. His mother was a wreck and his sibling's weren't much of a help. There wasn't enough money, enough food, enough time in the day to do everything. He loved her, truly he did, but it was painful to be around her sometimes. Let's see if this will wash her away. Wrapping one hand around the can, he tilted his head back and chugged. The boys cheered him on.

They got drunk that night, very, very drunk. So drunk that Chris vomiting on the floor only made them giggle harder. Duff had fun drinking, like his father. He was funny when he drank, and making other people laugh made him feel good, so he started drinking even more. All the time. It wouldn't always make him laugh, but for now, he was just a teenage boy with his dumbass friends, having a good Friday night, acting like a fool and drinking like a fish. 

The next morning was hell. Ben's house was a cacophony of moans and groans. It felt like his head was a bell that someone mighty strong had pounded a hammer against. He wobbled to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet. Luckily Ben's parents were away until Sunday, otherwise they would be horrified at the mess. 

They spent that morning nursing headaches and getting rid of all traces of beer and vomit. Duff's thoughts briefly strayed to his mother but he let them go. She probably wouldn't have even noticed he was gone, bone-tired as she often was. When they finished vanishing all evidence of the night, Chris walked to the corner store for snacks. An hour later, Duff was stuffed to the brim and newly educated on the miracle hangover cure that is junk food.