Chuckjd's Words

a convenient dumping ground for my writing

1991/01/06 01:52am

6 January, 1991 – 1:52 am – Philip Hall’s house

To commemorate moving into Philip Hall’s cramped house, sharing two beds amongst four guys, and a recently new year, the only option was to go to every pub on the street and drink until they were broke or blind. Whichever came first, of course.

Nicky, being the lightweight, didn’t make it to all the bars they intended on going to. Richey took him home early, leaving James, Sean, and Philip, who was more their chaperone than a fellow drinker, to go where they wanted. Terri had gone to her sister’s for the weekend, opting out of the boys’ celebration.

Richey had a difficult time helping such a tall stumbler home, and Nicky laughed almost the whole way. Richey didn’t know what the joke was, but knew that if he had been as drunk as Nicky was, he might. He was only slightly drunk, just beyond tipsy. He tried his best to keep Nicky mostly quiet and upright while he guided him through the dark house. He succeeded in keeping Nicky standing, but how quiet he was could be disputed.

“Richey?” Nicky not so much whispered as he hoarsely yelled.

“What?”

“Richey?”

What?

“Hi,” Nicky finally said, giggling again.

Richey rolled his glassy eyes. Nicky was the happiest and goofiest drunk he had ever known.

“You need to go to bed,” Richey said as authoritatively as he was able to make his voice sound. It wasn’t very cooperative, wavering. “I’m going to help you, and your head is going to regret this tomorrow.”

Nicky snickered, “Oh, so you’re gonna bed me now? How nice.” He let the ‘s’ extend longer than the word, hissing like a snake.

Richey couldn’t help but smile a little. Nicky was drunker than he thought. He dropped Nicky unceremoniously on the bed, glad to be rid of the extra weight. Nicky may have been skinny, but he was still heavy.

“Come ‘ere,” Nicky beckoned with his finger while flat on his back. “I gots a secret.”

Richey leaned down toward Nicky, but Nicky wasn’t satisfied and he curled his finger to come closer. When Richey’s face was right next to Nicky’s, he whispered quietly into his ear.

“I di’n’t forget that night, you know,” Nicky said cryptically.

Richey cocked his head, confused. “What ‘re you talkin’ ‘bout, Nick?”

“You know, the one when you kissed me,” he said, his voice suddenly warm and deep. Richey was startled when he felt Nicky’s tongue trace the edge of his ear. He shot upward, as did his eyebrows. He looked back at Nicky, who had his hand over his mouth like a guilty child. It wasn’t a good acting job, though, because he was quietly chuckling.

Richey couldn’t believe his ears. He was just drunk. Nicky was just drunk. He was dreaming. There were so many possibilities that the sound waves were lying.

“Kiss me again,” Nicky instructed casually.

He couldn’t have misheard that one.

“Nicky,” Richey started, unable to think of what to say. Those were some good words to hear directed at him coming out of that mouth, but were they right to listen to and follow? “You’re drunk.”

“I’m serious.”

“But you’re still drunk, and… it seems wrong to take advantage of that.” Richey’s gentleman side was choosing a stupid time to show itself.

“I’m not that drunk,” Nicky lied. He tried to sit up, but fell back on the bed miserably.

A loud ringing from the kitchen stole Richey’s attention from the confusing situation at hand. It was the phone. He debated, but it kept ringing, and it was late, so it must’ve been important. He looked back at Nicky and said, “I should get that.”

“Fuck it.”

Richey ignored him. “I’ll be right back.”

Richey sprinted to the kitchen, proud not to knock everything over in his path.

“Hullo?”

“RICHEEEY!” It was James, and he was particularly inebriated. He was shouting into the phone and was still only barely audible over the rolling mumble of the bar patrons.

“Wha’s up?”

“Jus’ makin’ sure you got there,” James slurred distractedly.

“Yup, all good, gotta go,” Richey said quickly, hanging up before James could reply. He ran back to the bedroom, accidentally slamming his shoulder into the door jamb. Holding his shoulder, he stood over the bed looking at Nicky.

He was asleep. Son of a bitch.

Advertisements

Filed under: Timeline:Original/Nicky, ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog Stats

  • 7,578 perusals

By The Day

April 2009
S M T W T F S
    Jan »
 1234
567891011
12131415161718
19202122232425
2627282930  

By The Month

By The Category

Tweets

%d bloggers like this: