Ethically Speaking

0.6

•- Quincie Jackson -•

The second I left the classroom I was full of regret. I knew that I had singlehandedly damned myself for eternity. Were my dramatics unnecessary? Completely. Unfortunately, there was no going back.

So here I sit, on the sofa in my living room in a pair of soft pajama pants, contemplating which way of death would be less embarrassing. A hit man? Those can be hard to come by without access to the darkest side of the internet. I don't think I'm in the proper head space to witness such horrid things on there. I could always walk into traffic. If not greeted by the kiss of death then at least I would be able to afford a hit man.

I gave up moments after I began finding the topic rather sad and instead i decide to divulge in the basic human form of entertainment; Reality TV.

Much to my dismay, the overly beautiful and not at all realistic shows of real life situations was more annoying than anything. I never fed off of drama. I liked to stay clear of the unecessary dramatics of high school. Grace was involved in enough for the both of us.

"Hey hot stuff," she smiles fondly before sitting down beside me. Like natural instinct I fall to her side and rest my head on her shoulder as I hold to her arm.

We make domestic conversation about our days and I explain what had happened with my essay.

"Sounds like you need a drink," she groans.

I can not help but smile to Grace as she tiredly leans into me.

"Sounds like you're projecting," I laugh.

Her teal hair nods against my shoulder before she jumps up theatrically which was her rendition of having a "Eureka!" moment.

"Lets go out for drinks. We haven't gone in ages!" she pleads with me.

I look over her shoulder to see the clock positioned on the wall.

Talk about ages, it took us almost a week to get tht thing hung in a place where we could see it from all corners of the room.

It was nearing 9 o'clock PM and I had already traded my clothes for the soft comfort of pajamas. But Grace never took no for an answer. It was a personality trait at this point.

"Must we? You have alcohol stashed in the fridge can't you just drink that?"

She shakes her head with a mischievous smile. There was nothing I hated more than my friends and their partying. They were college students of age to drink, and there was nothing stopping them from doing so. It was just a matter of whether or not they should be.

Grace was a flirtatious drunk, and Fletcher an emotional and anger filled drunk. Grace had drunkenly hit on me one time, and Fletcher cried for an hour because he claimed to have a hunch she would leave him for me.

Anthony was the worst. I would have to physically peel him from the floor. He claimed to have a great alcohol tolerance but it was an exaggeration for sure.

And me? Well I don't drink. I'll have an occasional glass of champagne at my family's fancy parties, and I'd indulge in wine every once in a while. But really I had no interest to drink. There was no underlying reason. I didn't have a bad first blackout story, and I never drank an excessive amount. I got drunk with Grace in junior high once but I didn't enjoy that experience all too much.

Drinking was just never something that interested me. Sure, it seemed like fun on TV and books. But I was someone who did not need alcohol to have fun. Besides, if I was to get drunk off my ass, who would carry the three idiots home?