by Alicia Aitken
The club is full, a lot of us are celebrating the end of University, the end of a chapter. Our happy shiny faces go from green to pink to blue from the flashing lights around us. I grab the shot glass from the sticky metal tray and grin at my friends before me.
“Cheers!” I scream and slam my fourth or fifth tequila shot into the middle and then as the liquid hits my mouth, my eyes squint shut and I shake my head side to side to help it go down quickly. I may regret that shot in the morning. The icky feeling passes within seconds and I carry on dancing allowing my body to sway to the rhythm, the music vibrating beneath my feet, enjoying these moments of pleasure.
I spot Sam leaning at the bar by himself and I walk over to talk to him and even though a little voice in me says you’ve had enough, I ignore it. I say that dangerous word “Shot?” Another won’t hurt, I think to myself.
“Yes!” He shouts back at me excitedly.
We clink our glasses together and toast to our future and down another tequila slides. I struggle with the sour taste, it catches in the back of my throat and I regret it instantly. Sam downs his with ease and asks if I’m alright, I force a smile to say I’m fine.
We chat some more while waiting for the barman to come back round to us, I’m hoping he’ll take his time I don’t think I could handle another drink. He looks into my eyes for a few moments, I playfully hit his arm and he pretends to be hurt. I want to kiss him, he leans his head slightly towards me, so I start to lean a little more but I stop.
I take a shaky breath, I can feel it coming and Sam throws me a hurt look. I’ve no time to run before the contents of the evening projectile before me.
Horrified I look up, Sam is frantically wiping his shoes and stares at me in disgust. I regret every single shot.