Chapter 1
"Okay, easy, buddy, easy," Saracen's voice soothes, just before I feel his hands reaching out for me to steady me, keep me upright.
I try to shake him off — I won't admit I most likely do need his help to make it back to the school. Not yet, anyway.
"I got this covered, I'm fine," I try to say but the words are toppling over on my tongue, melting into each other, breaking apart at the wrong spots, resulting in an unintelligible slur. Saracen still gets it. At least he knows what I attempt to say, probably.
"Dexter, I won't let go off you, you hear me? Your eyes don't focus and you can't even walk two bloody steps straight!"
He sounds exasperated and, to be fair, he has every right to do so. I promised him I wouldn't act out on this and drink myself into oblivion. It wasn't even a straight lie. I really didn't act out on this. I didn't cry, I didn't scream, I didn't make a scene, I didn't hole up in my dorm like a heartbroken loser. I did do the drinking, though, and I think that was the part of my promise Saracen wanted me to stick to more than to the other. Probably.
"I'm perfectly fine," I insist. I have a feeling this one was even harder to understand than the first. Saracen's grip around my arm tightens like a vice. I can feel how worried he is.
Fair point, vice versa, I'd be worried as hell. And, well, pretty mad, I reckon.
Still, I try to free myself, shoving my best friend away with all the strength I can focus on using, and Saracen gasps in surprise and his grip loosens and I break free just to stumble and fall.
There's a burning spreading from my palms and kneecaps and the night sky and street lamps are spinning around and the wave of sickness splashes through my stomach and then it splashes out. I throw up into the small patch of grass between pavement and street, drops of vomit splattering up my sleeves.
My stomach knots and churns and my throat burns from the alcohol and stomach acid.
I let myself drop to the side, roll onto my back, laughing and crying and hiccuping all at the same time.
Someone kneels beside my head, brushing my hair away from my sweaty forehead.
"Ah, shit, man," Saracen groans. His fingers, though, tenderly caress my cheek.
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