The Gay Gatsby

Chapter 6: Alcohol's Organic, Right?

Auhtor's Note: Wow. I am a terrible person. Seriously, I apologize deeply for the lack of updates, I have just been so busy with exams, but now that they're over, I hope to get back to updating regularly. I know this isn't my best writing, but it's all that I could get done. Again, thank you for being patient and again, I'm sorry. Next chapter will be back to Chance/Callaway format!

Chapter 6: Alcohol's organic, right?

"The bar is in full swing, and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden outside, until the air is alive with chatter and laughter, and casual innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot, and enthusiastic meetings between women who never knew each other's names."

- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Callaway

The world was gyrating around me like I was a ship stuck in a whirlpool; a ship whose driver didn't really know what he was doing because he may or may not have been entirely inebriated.

All right, I had to concede that my metaphor was quite lacking, but I truly was slightly drunk.

I had had about one or two drinks. Well, now that I had thought about it, my "scarce" amount of drinks constituted approximately the equivalent of almost the entirety of a bottle of vodka.

I'm perfectly fine. I assured myself as I proceeded to make my way to the kitchen.

I wasn't going to have any more to consume, no, I was just going to... talk to people. Yes, I was going to converse and talk about petty things like the weather, and if by some means I found myself with a new beverage in hand, no one would know.

As I gracefully clambered down one of the many hallways, towards what I believed, was the general way to the kitchen; I heard some increasingly loudening murmurs originating from the crowds of people surrounding me.

I strained my ears to focus on what was being said. Through the reverberating pound of the preposterously chosen music, and the distant giggling of select females, I heard distinct mutterings of "door", "Knocking", "Where's the host?".

I looked around, through the swarming hordes of partygoers absentmindedly waving their arms (who would believe they actually classified their inane motions as dancing?)

I internally groaned as I attempted to prod my way through the wall of bodies.

With carefully executed shoves and "accidentally" spilling part of the contents of my near empty bottle of alcohol on an unsuspecting throng of scantily clad women, I was capable of safely (if you counted a purse to the face as well as tripping multiple times "safe") making my way to the front door of the large house.

When I had arrived, I contemplated hiding the glass bottle nursed in my hands, but opted otherwise.

The faint knocking could still be heard at the door, and I waited a few seconds slowly bringing the glass bottle of vodka to my lips with a sloppy move of my arm.

I gulped it down steadily and felt a gradual burning sensation as the liquid trickled down my throat.

With the newfound liquor in my body and an impossibly increased feeling of dizziness, I grabbed hold of the doorknob and slowly dragged it open.

I opened it up a sliver, so that in my haze, I could obtain a better comprehension of who was knocking. I couldn't see much through the darkness of the night, but I slowly squinted my eyes and raised my gaze.

At first, the figure in front of me was unrecognizable, then again if someone had placed my mother in front of my eyes when I found myself in a state this intoxicated, it would be likely that I wouldn't recognize her either.