A giggle escaped my parted lips, one that was slightly too high pitched to be considered real. Arya was practically passed out on the sofa, mumbling some incomprehensible nonsense.
"Honestly. We're only just getting started!" I snorted, poking her with my foot as I brandished the vodka in her face.
"Leave me 'lone," she groaned, clasping her stomach. "It's my birthday t'morrow, don't wanta be hungover."
"Like you're not already going to be. I've learnt - during my long career of drinking - that it is best to accept defeat when you have been defeated and carry on glugging," I decreed, plonking heavily down beside her.
She gasped, suddenly legible as she cried, "Quit jogging the sofa!"
"Aw, dear," I said dryly, beginning to unscrew the lid. "Ugh, it's all sticky. Have we already had some of this tonight? I don't remember doing so."
"You wouldn't, you little alcoholic," Arya muttered, elbowing me in the ribs. "And just for the record, we have already had some, when we were doing shots earlier."
"Shots? oh, yeah!"
"You idiot."
"Hey, I'm not the one who's passed out on the couch," I grinned, rolling clumsily away from her next assault on my ribs. "C'mon, just one drink with me?"
"You always say 'one drink'," she sighed, but resignedly sat up and held out her hand.
"So you are joining the party?"
"It's best to accept defeat when you've been defeated," glared my intoxicated cousin, taking the cap of vodka I'd prepared for her. She grimaced at it. "All of this?"
"Why ever not?" I cackled, putting the bottle to my lips with a clank against my teeth.
"Didn't that hurt?"
"Don't know. Can't feel it."
*****
My eyes felt slightly sticky when I forced them open on the following morning: her sixteenth birthday. Other than this, I felt fine. No repercussions from the alcohol whatsoever. I looked across at Arya from my position in the makeshift bed we had made on her living room floor, too tired and heavy-headed to climb up the then seemingly mountainous stairs. Her mouth hung in a way that made me snort loudly with laughter, rousing her from her slumber. Her red eyes shot open, and she yawned unattractively. She seemed to consider a moment, then fidgeted a little.
"Oh, Jesus," she moaned, her hand flying up to her head.
"Feeling a bit dodgy, are we?" I sniggered, stretching before sitting upright.
"And you're not?"
"Nope. Feel fine. I'm practiced."
"Sad, sad girl."
"I know," I said, lightly, adding, "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday-"
"Crikey, I forgot about that."
"See? you're already past it. Losing those marbles."
"Thank you, anyway."
"Most welcome. Well, it's eight fifteen. Better get up."
"It's too early, Layla!"
"No, 'tis not. Move it, we have a heck of a day before us!"
YOU ARE READING
Hurt People Hurt People
General FictionI couldn't stop it. Now I couldn't control it. It was like a disease let loose on my mind, and it was rapidly spreading. Layla Richard's life was uneventful and, to her, a little dull, but a renewal of old friendship leads to a blissfully memorable...
