Claustrophobic | Skephalo

Drunken Interrogations

Clay

"I knew I would be friends with Dave from the moment I saw him. Hey Dave, do you remember how we met?" Clay spoke slowly, his words somewhat slurred.

"Huh? No... Do you?" Dave replies, sounding similar to his friend.

"No!"

The two boys laughed from both sides of the couch in Zak's living room, drinks in hand. Zak has told them multiple times to be careful not to spill, but they argued back by saying they could get a new and better couch almost anywhere, for free.

Everyone had made their way back to Zak's house after leaving the stream, each freezing and shivering. Darryl lit a fire in the fireplace, and was now sitting in front of it with Vincent and Zak. The atmosphere was warm and cozy, with lots of pillows, blankets, and alcohol.

Clay wasn't used to being drunk. A piece in the back of his mind would always be paranoid about doing or saying something stupid, and Clay was afraid of alcohol numbing that sense. He rarely let himself go, but since everyone else agreed to drink with him, it was impractical to remain sober.

"Darryl, you haven't touched your drink! Come on and have fun with us," Vincent says, elbowing Darryl in the ribs gently.

"Maybe he doesn't like alcohol," Clay responds in Darryl's defense.

"He doesn't. Didn't you know that?" Zak adds, raising an eyebrow at Vincent.

Clay tries his best to hold in a laugh at Zak's snarky remark, remembering how Vincent berated Zak earlier about Darryl's claustrophobia.

"Okay, okay. Chill, guys." Dave says, opening another bottle of whiskey. "Don't wanna start any fights."

Vincent scoffs. "It wouldn't even be a fight if me and Zak went at it. I'd beat him so fast, I—"

"—No need to be violent!" Zak cried out, rolling his eyes with a small laugh. "Besides, I would have Darryl on my team, and he could crush you."

"What? Who said there were teams?" Vincent asks, taking another sip of his drink.

"Me, I just said it."

"Okay, then I get Clay if Dave doesn't want to fight."

Darryl cuts in. "There will be no fight, guys. Besides, you know Zak and I would beat your team in a heartbeat." He smirks.

All five boys then start arguing at the same time, each voice overlapping each other.

I'm like, the worst fighter ever. I like to fix wounds, not cause them. Why are we talking about this?

Clay shouts, quieting everyone down. "That's enough of the fighting talk! Come on, Vincent, you brought us all this way to make amends with Darryl and Zak. Why would you want to team against them?"

Vincent puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture. "We were just joking around, Clay. Chill out."

"Yeah, we don't really mean it," Zak adds.

Clay's cheeks start to burn red with embarrassment. "Oh, yeah, I knew that. I just need some air." He says, walking over to the door and stepping outside. The wind cooled him off quickly, relieving his mind from the scene of what just happened that keeps playing.

How was I supposed to know they were joking? This is why I hate drinking. Darryl's lucky he can resist it.

With his head buzzing with pleasure, Clay sat down outside the front door, enjoying the quiet around him. He hardly noticed the door open, and Vincent sit next to him.