I haven't written a short in ages, but I dug up this one I wrote about two years ago. Thought I'd throw it out there and see what comes of it. I'll be posting a few more from aroudn the same time. Sorry they're not slashfic, but I'm still working on the whole gay porn method of writing.
The fifty cent coin flew high into the air landing with a clink directly next to the empty shot glass. She pulled the bottle of Sours from the grimy grip of the boy sitting next to her. She downed a large sip, trying to drown something inside. She was waiting for the click. Tonight, two bottles of wine later, it still hadn't come.
The room filled with drunken laughter. Girls fell over their high heeled boots, landing on the eagerly waiting boys below. Every dark corner was occupied. A glance at her watch told her the night was still young. Not waiting for her turn, she grabbed the bottle and drank deeply. The sickly sweet liquid flowed down her throat leaving a sour mark in its wake. Nope, still no click, not even a hum. This was going to be a long evening.
The game was getting old fast. She walked outside to the pool. The air was balmy. Not that mid summer was cold. The pool gleamed oily in the moonlight. Its dark depths inviting. Taking a quick look around, she took off her jeans, the sliver of material that was her top and slipped off her beaded slops. In she dove.
The splash was ignored. More important things were at hand. Now where had he not felt this girl up yet?
She swam deeper and deeper until her hands felt the grainy floor of the pool. Looking up, the world seemed a thousand years away. She lay there, looking up, entranced by the distorted light playing all around her. This was much better than the click. Way better.
Her lungs started to hurt, her throat burned. An invisible force pulled her to the surface, forcing her to breathe, live, breath, live. Not a soul had missed her exit. No one noticed her entrance. She dove back down, back to herself.
He rolled onto his back. Something dug into a rib. Fuck! Who put rocks in his bed? He reluctantly opened an eye. Cool. A skylight. He heard a splash. Looking over towards the pool, he saw a pair of legs disappear below the surface. A shake of his misted head reminded him of where he was. How he had got there? His brain was still working on that one. Feeling inspired, he decided to join the pool party. Now if only his stomach would stop turning every time he moved anything, he would be ok.
Crawling on all fours to the edge of the pool he looked down at the girl on the bottom of the pool. What on earth was she doing? Trying to drown herself? He continued to stare down hoping to attract her attention. Hoping she'd surface.
The face she saw warped with the water. He just stared. Why can't he just leave her alone? Can't she have some privacy? Her lungs pulled her to the surface again, face to face with him.
"Whats up?" he asked
"The moon?" she replied curtly
"With you. Planning a suicide party for one?"
"I wasn't trying to off myself"
"Well it looked that way"
"Can't. I'm already pissed" he smiled lazily
She dove back down to the silent depths of the pool. He continued to stare.
Surfacing once again she eyed him.
"Be useful. Get us a drink."
"What do I look like? A waiter?"
"Damn you're good" he smiled
"I'm going to go now" she said, annoyed at his cockiness.
"Somewhere you won't be." she seemed to spit at him.
"Hey! If you're feeling anti social, what you doing at a party?"
"Some party this is."
Without a second glance, she stalked to the house. Her clothes forgotten beside the pool. He picked them up.
He followed her to the house, but by the time he got there, she was gone.
It was a small town. He'd run into her again. Without a further thought, he passed out on the couch, her clothes still in his arms.
He awoke the next morning, his head pounding, his stomach roiling, threatening to empty itself, no matter in which direction. He stumbled from the couch, crawled along the floor until he reached the bathroom. He dragged himself to the bowl of the toilet and let rip.
Never again is he going to get that drunk. Not ever. He promised himself. Feeling better, he stood up and stared into the bathroom mirror. A pair of dulled green eyes looked back at him, bloodshot with dark rings beneath them. Shaggy black hair hung low on his forehead, brushing his lashes. His face was pale, drawn, his usually plump lips were cracked and sore. He reached for his toothbrush. Not finding it, he looked around. This wasn't his bathroom. Where on earth was he? Splashing cold water on his face, in an attempt to wake up, set off his digestive pyrotechnics again. He lunged for the toilet, making it just in time. Please, he prayed, just let me die now. Anything is better than this.
He finally crawled back to the couch where he spent the night. There was a pair of jeans and a silky top entangled in the blankets on the couch. He held them up and caught the faintest whiff of Jasmine. There was something about that smell that teased his memory. He dropped onto the couch, and as he lay there clutching the clothes in his hands, he thought back to the night before. Jasmine. Water. Mermaid? His eyes closed, pulling him under again.
"So how was the party last night?" Her sister asked as she bounced onto the bed.
"It sucked." she mumbled, burying herself deeper under the covers
"Come on, you said you were going shopping today."
"Na huh." came the muffled reply
"Please, I need some new clothes." She whined
"No. you're awful to go shopping with. And I'm tired. Go away."
"Ag, you're always tired. Fine, I'll leave you."
Her sister left, silence decended on the house again. She drifted off to sleep again.
A soft damp nose touched her cheek. She opened an eye to find two bright green eyes staring back at her.
"Hello kitty." she mumbled holding the covers up for her cat to crawl underneath them. Kitty made herself comfortable against her stomach and purred them both back to sleep.