Crash (ptv fanfiction)

I Didn't Mean To Hurt You

Tony's POV

I put my glass down with force, the remains of my strong drink spilling over the edge. I looked around the little pub. All the furniture was made of wood and even though it wasn't even midnight yet, at least eighty percent of the people here were drunk. A group of men not far away from me were sitting at the bar and drunkenly singing along to a song from the eighties. At the other side of the room I saw a man with a grey beard passed out on a table. For a split second I suspected him to be dead, but then he choked on his breath and started snoring.

"Tone, I'm going to have another round. Do you want a drink too?" My friend Sam asked me as he hit me on the shoulder.

I looked up at him and saw that he was trouble keeping his balance. His eyes were all glassy from the alcohol.

I shook my head and pushed away the glass in front of me. "No, Thanks. I still have to drive home." I said.

Sam only lived one street away from this place, but I was here by car. Which probably wasn't smart, because I couldn't drink much.

"C'mon dude! You've only had two drinks and it doesn't seem like you're even feeling it." He slurred and he leaned on my shoulder with his hand.

I laughed at him trying to form the words. "No, I'm not going to risk getting pulled over. I'll get teased for it for the rest of my life." I said even though he was right. I was in fact not feeling the alcohol at all. I had built up quite a tolerance for alcohol over the years. One of the reasons for that is tour. When you're locked inside a vehicle with a lot of other guys, there's bound to be a lot of alcohol involved. And now it took me far too much alcohol to actually get drunk. I didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

"C'mon, you only live once. You're a good driver. You won't get pulled over if you drink this one. Those cops only pull you over if you drive really funny." Sam said while hanging on to me for dear life.

The bartender who was cleaning glasses, laughed and shook his head at our conversation. In normal situations I might have been embarrassed, but I'm pretty sure this guy saw drunk guys like Sam every day he went work.

I leaned in until I was close to Sam's ear. "Nope." I said and I leaned back.

He groaned and let out a breath. "Tony, if you don't drink one more round with me, I will go to your mother and tell her about the time we did weed in her back yard when we were seventeen." He said and he tried to look at me with a serious expression.

There was no arguing this man, even though he probably wouldn't even remember this when he'd wake up. Oh well, one more wouldn't hurt, would it? Besides, my mother would probably kill me if she'd found out I did drugs in her backyard. While she wasn't home. When we were only teenagers.

I squinted my eyes at Sam, being mad at him for his childish ways of persuasion. "That was a low move." I said and I shifted my attention to the bartender. "one more of these, please." I said pointing at my glass.

"Good, you decided not to be a buzz kill." Sam said grinning and he sat down at the stool next to me, almost falling off in the process.

I glared at him, but resisted the urge to hit him in the face. Instead I downed my new drink in only one swallow. I shook my head at the burning sensation I my throat. Nope, still nothing. I was still perfectly sober. I felt a bit more relaxed, but that was it.

I stayed at the bar for another half hour after that, discussing things with Sam as far as we were able to. Sam was an old friend from high school and I didn't see him very often anymore, so we had a lot to talk about. He was one of those friends I only saw once a year. Even though he was very drunk, he was still very nice to talk to. His intoxicated ways might have even made the conversation more interesting.