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Tempt My Trouble

One Tequila, Two Tequila, Three Tequila, Floor?

The burning side affects seemed to disappear about seven shots ago along with any feeling at all in my face. The vibrations of heavy bass engineered by the JBL across the room tickled the pads of my feet as I walked across the room, my best friend and the celebrated Bride-To-Be, hanging loosely on my right shoulder.
“Ginny,” Bailey deadpanned at me. I stared down at her tiny, drunken figure with a raised eyebrow. “Listen to me, Gin.” She took a second to recollect her thoughts, whatever those could be at this particular moment in time, and took a deep gulp of smoke-polluted air.
“I am listening,” I stated, blinking rapidly as I awaited for her to speak again.
Bailey stopped us for a moment to pick a cigarette butt of the bottom of her sparkling gold pumps, causing my entire upper torso to topple over in response to the sudden movement.
“I’m going to drop you,” I cackled loudly as I attempted to straighten the two of us up.
“Ginny, shut up. This is important.”
Bailey rolled her eyes and clung to me once more, pointing towards the bar. We began the journey in that direction, trying not to fall on each other or stumble into any bystanders.
“Listen, Gin-Gin.” I cringed at the God-awful nickname I was christened with in the seventh grade. After twelve years, you’d think everyone would catch on to my distaste of the thing.
“True love, it exists,” Bailey urged as we approached the bar. It was my turn to roll my eyes, letting out a disgruntle sigh. “Do not do that at me.” Her perfectly plump and proportionate lips pushed themselves out in a red, matte-covered pout.
“Bailey Dawson,” I began. Her eyes narrowed at me immediately. “I understand you are getting married in a month, and I am so beyond happy that you have found your person. However,” I took a brief pause to order myself three more shots of tequila and Bailey another martini. “I just don’t happen to have the same luck as you. I am twenty-five and the only signs of love in my life come from these little glasses of liquid holiness and my relationship I have with my job. Leave it alone. I just wasn’t meant to be with anyone.”
I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly, turning to grab one of the shot glasses placed in front of me. Bailey began chewing on the corner of her lip and squinted her eyes at me, deep in thought.
“Whatever you’re thinking right now, just stop. Put it in the recycle bin and drink your martini.” I slammed the first glass down on the bar top and went for shot number two. The heat of the alcohol flushed my face almost instantly. My finger tips tingled as I licked the salt on the rim, throwing my head back once more.
“I just need you to be happy,” Bailey whined, the alcohol clearly taking over her state of mind. I scanned the room for the other girls we came with. Veronica, Melodie, and Valerie were all out on the floor, dancing with a group of men and having the time of their lives. On the other side of the bar, Hannah and Penelope were sitting at a booth, deep in conversation whilst sipping on Coca-Cola. Our deeply dependable designated drivers, those two.
“Bailey. I am happy. Just because I don’t have a boyfriend does not mean I am unhappy.” My brain began to cloud over with slight intoxication midway through my statement.
The music filling the closed in space of the crowded bar mixed with the overwhelming smell of various alcohol suddenly became too much for me, so I downed my last shot and grabbed Bailey’s wrist. I quickly guided my best friend to the booth where Hannah and Penelope were casually scrolling through their social media, explaining that I needed air, and slipped away to grab a margarita on my way to the patio.
“That’s enough shots for a hot minute,” I sighed to myself as I settled into the far left corner of the patio, propping myself up on the wooden railing. The humid Los Angeles wind slapping strands of blonde hair in my face. The cars buzzing by on the street before me made me dizzy. I closed my eyes and took a long sip from my margarita; as if drinking more alcohol was going to cure the spiraling reaction my body was currently having due to alcohol.
I leaned my head on the post beside me, letting my thoughts linger back to what Bailey had said about me being happy earlier and scoffed.
“Pfft,” my lips dribbled with a bit of slobber as I blew a raspberry, dismissing the thought of me being unhappy. “I am not unhappy. I don’t need some dude to make me happy. I am totally fine on my own.”
“Apparently so.”
I whipped my head to the left, smacking my face into the wooden post I had been resting on. I winced as I felt the small welt begin to form on my face.
“Oh fuck! Are you okay?”
My head began to buzz a lot more than it already had been. Two hands firmly grasped my forehead as I stumbled in attempt to steady myself.
“Dude,” I muttered in a low, sloppy slur. Whoever it was that had come to pay me a visit aided me as I sat down on a near by bench. “Well that fuckin’ sucked.”
A low, raspy chuckle came from my right. I finally opened my eyes, wincing as the lights invaded my vision. I took a sip of my margarita, taking in the presence of the man who had come to my rescue in a situation I’m only assuming he created in the first place. I was met with the sight of a blonde mohawk with dark roots and a goatee to match the roots.
“I deserve another shot after that,” I said to no one in particular.
“I feel like that’s a fair statement,” Mystery Mohawk agreed. I sipped on my margarita some more, taking in the momentary silence.
“But then again,” he glanced at my drink. “I also feel like someone who’s standing alone in a corner, talking to themselves, might have already reached their limit?”
My jaw practically slammed itself on the floor at the remarkably offensive comment.
“What are you? My father?” A snarky scoff made its way out of my throat. “I’m pretty positive I could down another ten shots and still be able to function properly.”
The fact that my body was involuntarily swaying back and forth as I said this didn’t exactly help with my case.
“Oh, I’m sure,” Mystery Mohawk mused as he eyed my unsettled body.
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my drink and stood up.
“I have friends waiting on me. Have a good night,” I called to him as I walked away, using a bit more force than I should have needed to, to keep myself from stumbling.
As I reentered the bar, I gazed around the room and saw that all six of my friends were huddled together in the booth at this point. Hannah waved over at me and I held up my index finger, signaling that I’d be over in a moment. I went to the bar and gathered another round of four tequila shots, knowing full and well that there was already a tray of assorted shots waiting for me at the booth along with my friends. I kindly thanked the bartender with a nod, clinging to my shots with a death grip as I sauntered over to the booth.
“Gin-Gin!” Bailey and Veronica squealed with laughter. I died a little inside as I slid into the booth, taking my place next to Penelope.
“Are those really necessary?” Hannah laughed as she eyeballed my shot glasses.
“Two for you and two for Penelope.”
As expected, there were two trays full of shots already decorating the table before me. I shrugged my shoulders and threw back a shot of tequila without even batting an eye.
“You disgust me,” Penelope laughed from beside me, nudging me softly with her shoulder. I wiggled my eyebrows at her in response, telling her that she was just jealous of how easy it was for me to throw back shots.
“You guuuyyyysss,” Bailey whined from her corner of the booth next to the wall (she was more than likely placed there so she couldn’t fall out). “I want to dance.”
“You need water, my dear,” Hannah stated. Bailey’s eyeballs just about reached the back of her skull at hearing this.
“Y-you’re not my mo-m.”
The five of us sighed.
“Here come the hiccups,” Valerie muttered loud enough for everyone but Bailey to hear. I hid my face behind my palms to stifle the cackle that was submerging.
You see, there are four stages to Bailey Dawson getting complete and utterly shit-faced.
First comes the hiccups, as demonstrated before. Second comes the giggles. And not the cute kind. I’m talking about if anyone even breathes and she thinks it’s funny, she will laugh for the rest of the night and will not stop. Third comes the tears, usually provoked by some inner dialogue she’s had with herself that everyone spends the next three hours trying to decipher. And lastly, the sloppy Bailey, where she has reached such a point in intoxication that she can no longer hold herself up right or keep her eyes open. This is usually what ends up closing the party down since a member of the gang is no longer conscious enough (or at all) for everyone else to keep going without feeling like a shitbag.
The hiccups in full force, I could only take this as one thing. I had a solid hour, maybe an hour and a half if we took extra great care of our Bride-to-Be, to enjoy my evening out. With this thought lingering in my brain, I downed the rest of the three tequila shots and raised one of the shots on the trays on the table.
“Ladies,” I semi-shouted, clearing my throat. Ten eyeballs stared at me intently. “Tonight we celebrate the Bailey Carson Dawson.” The eyeballs shifted to a blushing, almost giggling, Bailey. I knew I needed to hurry. “My dear, may your marriage be beautiful, prosperous, and grand. May your heart be forever cherished. And may the sex forever be filthy as shit.”
“Amen!” My friends shouted in agreement to my toast, picking up shot glasses of their own before clinking them together.
“You are a goddess, my love,” Melodie shouted to Bailey, her voice straining to cut above the techno music drowning out the noise around us.
“I love you guys!” Bailey squealed, dancing in her seat. “Now let’s dance!”
As the other girls slid out of their seats, I took it upon myself to finish the shots sitting, untouched, on the table. If we leave them here, there’s really no telling what kind of freaky shit some of these men would do to them… So really, I was just looking out for my tribe.
The six of us made our way to the dance floor, bumping and grinding to the music that was still too loud in my opinion. But I had consumed far too much alcohol to even think about caring, so I allowed the music to take me away. Halfway through the third song, as I stopped fighting to show how much I was actually under some sort of influence, a pair of beefy arms wrapped themselves around my waist. It took me a second to realize that the muscly arms did not, in fact, belong to any of my friends. I quickly spun around to tell the stranger off, but in one swift pull, I was brought closer to the man’s chest before I could even get a glimpse of what his face looked like.
“What the fuck,” I shouted into the overly worked chest.
“Hey, baby.” Cinnamon whiskey lingered in my face and danced straight up into my nostrils. It took a lot of strength to not puke on the guy - even though he clearly deserved it.
My scrawny arms pulled themselves up and I tried to push myself away from the creep with no success what-so-ever. I didn’t stop trying though. Somewhere in my deeply drunken state, I truly believed that I was going to be able to free myself from this man by strictly using the arm strength I did not have.
I mentally reminding myself to start going to the gym more often as I was being grinded on and partially groped.
“Hey, man. Mind if I cut in?”
The dance floor began moving in circles as I was passed from the bulky arms of the creep to whoever had asked for their turn. I blinked rapidly, trying to regain some sort of concept of where I was at that exact point in time. A pair of lanky arms wrapped themselves around my torso as I muttered lame protests, my arms not being much of any help seeing as how they had stopped cooperating with my brain. I needed another shot.
“I think you’ve had enough for tonight,” the person shouted over the music.
Oh, did I say that out loud? Fuck.
“Where are my friends?” I tried to ask, but I’m sure it came out as, ’We moo fans,’ instead. So talking wasn’t exactly an option here, either. My eyes grew extremely heavy and my body became too much to weight to deal with. I guess my legs were still in contact with my brain, because upon coming to that realization, my legs gave out.
I braced myself to slam against the cold, tile floor of the bar but it never came. I squinted against the dim lighting of the bar, trying to see past the fog of the smoke and the drunken cloudiness in my brain.
A sliver of blonde hair was caught in my eyesight before the world went blank and the god-awful techno music was finally put to rest.

Notes

Comments

I love this already! Cannot wait to read more!

annasaur4 annasaur4
8/1/18

I really like this so far! I have a friend very much like Bailey when she gets wasted lol

hopeless1313 hopeless1313
7/31/18