"Okay. Remember. The rules are, you have to kiss whoever the bottle lands on, on the lips, or you both take a shot from this here bottle of whiskey."

I licked my lips, readying myself for a game full of swings from a bottle of whiskey. Taylor glanced my way, and I looked back at her in a reassuring way, hoping that would be enough for the both of us.

I truly did not know how this game was going to go, and I definitely didn't know what I was going to do if the bottle I spun would land on a specific someone.

Would I drink, or put all these thoughts into a trash can and drag them down to the dumps and just act on what I wanted to do?

What were the odds, though?

I focused back into the circle, where Mandy Hartfield was spinning the bottle. It landed on a girl dressed as Charlie from Supernatural. The two girls stared, then they decided to take a swig from the bottle. Next was Derick Hawkins - a certafied genius. He spun the bottle, and it landed on Taylor. I immediately locked my eyes on his, finding that I only did it for show when in reality I couldn't have cared any less if they kissed. I found it disturbing.

That's how you used to be.

Derick eyed Taylor for a moment, but I could just see he felt my false glare, thought better of it, and drank the nasty substance. Taylor followed suit, giggling into the bottle.

And then the game went on, with people either drinking from the bottle - which was a biohazard at this point - or stealing kisses from a random boy or girl. I, on the other hand, sat there, wondering why I even joined the game if I couldn't kiss others, then realized I didn't want to kiss anyone.

So that's what I did not do: kiss a single person. The bottle landed on me a few times, but I obviously declined. That, I could only say for myself.

When it came down to one girl's turn, Allison's, she spun the bottle and it landed on Andrew. My wasted self perked up, leaning forward on the edge of my seat in this movie, watching the cat-like girl crawl her way over to Andrew in unwonted suspicion. I knew they were going to kiss; it was so obvious, yet I so badly wanted Allison to sit her little butt down back where she came from and not kiss Andrew at all.

She kneeled in front of Andrew for a long time, her sultry smile filling me up with unwanted jealousy - I'd rarely been jealous with Taylor in the past - to the point where I almost got up and left. Taylor's hand sticking out and taking hold of my arm stopped me. She wasn't looking at me, but deep down, I think she knew.

She knows everything about me, even the things I don't want her to know.

"Don't," Taylor whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear amongst the loud hollaring of the others around. She was running her hand vigorously across my forearm, an act that was surprisingly soothing; and it made me reluctantly look away from the pair.

I needed to stay focused. Stay focused Zachary.

So to offset her ascending anger, I calmly spoke to her, "I won't. . .," but being completely smashed, I could barely figure the words out myself. Trying to understand what I had just said was like picking all the hairs off your body with tweezers. It was obvious I had drank a little too much, more than last Sunday, and that was bad. So bad. I hadn't even noticed the amount of booze I had gulped down in the last three hours - or wait, it had been longer than three hours.

How?!

Taylor swiftly turned to give me a look of panic. "What?" I blinked in response, taking my arm away from her hold. The little force I used made me fall over a bit, but I caught myself. She, too, caught me, and I didn't brush her off this time, letting her hold me steady for a little while, like she'd been doing this whole time I've known her.

"I've been so focused on the game that I hadn't noticed the amount you've been drinking. Jesus, Zach, I think you should step out for a while." I shrugged. Now she wanted me to leave.

Next to me, having overheard our little debacle, Walker obnoxiously protested. "Nah, Tay, he's good! He's fine! I haven't seen Zach this drunk since like the end of Freshman year! He sure can hold his fuckin' liquor!" I unknowingly started laughing out loud at how excited he was. It made me - the drunk me - happy! It made me smile and drive my mind away from Andrew.

Only when my turn came, did I stop smiling and did Taylor, after noticing her still attached to my arm, let go.

I twisted the bottle and watched it as I hoped and prayed the glass wouldn't land on who I thought it would.

But by some twisted hand of God or sick fate, the bottle slowly stopped dead on Andrew Parsley. It landed on the last person I wanted it to. It landed on the one person I wouldn't drink for, even if I was sober; because every part of me, every fiber in turmoil and shard broken from the past even. The bottle landed on Andrew, and half of me was dreading the choosing, while the other half was overjoyed.

I was dividing at the seems, and at the worst time in my life - drunk and stuck back in the past.

The whole circle of people burst out in chaotic joy, finding that the two biggest twats in school who seemingly hated each other yet didn't at the same time, were maybe going to kiss.

Looking over at Andrew, I saw that same dang face he always made when he was angry. I saw the Andrew from summer time. He looked like he was mentally cursing every one of us and the Man above to Hell and back. He looked so... himself.

How ironic. I was breaking, while he was healing when it started completely opposite of such. My facade was crumbling, while his was mending.

I shook my head, and I inhaled to maybe speed up what I was about to do. Then, while he was preoccupied with glaring at Donalds, I glided forward, trying my hardest to not seem to affected by the alcohol sliding through my veins.

Andrew angrily sighed, still not noticing me, and started spitting out fiery words, "Alright guys, very funny. We're not kis -"

I was just close enough to get his attention, and right before I wrangled in his full attention, I clasped my hands against his cheeks. Turning his heads towards me, I stared into his dark blue eyes, finding my reflection among his pupils. All around me, the enablers and the cheerers were practically worshipping me as they called out mine and Andrew's name. Although, I was sure that the red head behind me was glaring at me, the oh so innocent witch Mandy Hartfield whining that she wanted to kiss Andrew and Gretchen loudly yelling 'Gay Fucks, I love it!'

As I was about to actually kiss Andrew, I could faintly see the absolute confusion etched into the creases in his face. Finding it funny, and how eager everyone was to see two guys kiss, I winked. If I was sober, I probably wouldn't have done that. But hey, actually finally realizing the state I was in, I could have cared less. I was drunk.

I can do anything when I'm Drunk!

So, drunk me leaned in fairly quickly, and just barely clapped my lips against the dark haired boy's in front of me. It barely lasted a half a second before I was pulling away and sitting back next to my girlfriend. Taylor was laughing with everyone, but I could feel the utter negativity flowing out of her in crushing blows. She was faking for the crowd. I didn't laugh along because sober me trapped inside was having a mental break down. I was going insane inside of myself. I kissed Andrew. I kissed him! It didn't feel anything like how when I had kissed Owen, though. It felt new. It felt soft. His lips were softer than the blankets you get from your parents on Christmas.

Owen's were always hard edged, tensely clasped together or ridged at his cupid's bow.

"Are you okay, Zach?" I heard Taylor start talking, but I didn't reply. I kept quiet as the game kept going and even as Andrew's turn came. I stayed silent as he spun the bottle, and didn't say a word when it landed on Mandy.

Mandy Hartfield chuckled to herself when she saw it was her who was kissing Andrew, and I swear I saw her smiling so impishly. I wanted him to take a drink, but he didn't. He still kissed that wicked witch.

They kissed and Mandy clamped one of her hands on the back of his neck, and the other on his cheek in the same place my hand had been before.

The kiss lasted I don't know long, but when it was over a few seconds later, I was already getting up. I should have left a lot longer ago.

I walked out, and didn't even stay to listen to Taylor calling out my name.

My legs were half asleep, and paired with how wasted I was, I could barely walk. Getting down the stairs was a hassle, and I wanted to throw up maybe three times on my journey away from this house. When I finally did get down the stairs, I ran into Corbett's cousin, Terrance.

"Woah, Zachary, are you okay? You look a little more shittier than you did a few hours ago." I glared at him.

"Yes, tha -" a wet hiccup jumped from the bottom of my throat, "- ank you. You look more gay-er than you did a few hours ago." I mean it was true. He was shirtless, his ninja costume gone, and in its place about a billion glow stick necklaces of all different colors.

Terrence took too big of a step forward and braced his hands against my shoulders to steady my unconscious stumble. As he spoke, he had a gleam in his eyes and he didn't mention what I had said. "But seriously. Did you get drunk because of what I said early? I didn't mean to be so blun -" I clumsily taped my hand to his lips to make him shut up. His lips were rough and his chin sturdy beneath my clammy palm, a complete difference from Andrew's soft features and angular jaw.

He felt like Owen.

"Uh - no. I had to -" I hiccupped again, "I had to drink to please my girlfriend. And to not break down." I licked my lips, pausing to recap my composure into its cozy, little bottle. "Plus I have more fun when I'm drunk." No you don't, you idiot.

Terrance, breathing a laugh, dropped his head and his hand dipped from around my shoulders to rest against my rib cage. I tensed. "Ohkay. Sure. But really, do you need any help? I have a friend back in California who likes to get black out drunk like you are now; so I'm used to it." I clicked my tongue, and blinking a few times, clutched onto his wrists. His hands were hot.

"I'm good," I spewed out, trying to release his grip from around me. He let go, but I didn't and drunkenly fell face first forward onto his bare chest, taking a face full of glow stick necklaces.

"Aw fuck," and I was gone. The curse word flowed out of my mouth like honey, and that's how I knew I was gone.

Terrance was laughing heavily now. I knew because I could feel the vibrations bouncing around in his chest. As he kept spamming my ears with his boisterous laughter - it was almost louder than the music - he pushed me up and off his chest so that I was standing up once more. I could feel how hot my face was getting, and Terrance staring at me in a way someone stares at a close friend, or a loved one, or like I was someone he has known for so long, was not helping.

"You're more smashed than I thought."

I coughed out in awkwardness, finding his comments too intrusive and annoying. "Yeah, well, thanks and good bye."

I'm not sure if Terrance actually understood what I had said, my words were like jumbled and linked together in a slur, but I didn't care. I was already walking out of the house and into the cool outside. All around me, a few ghost and ghouls were hanging out. Rodriguez was sitting on a porch swing next to two girls that looked like middle schoolers, and out in the yard, Ashton was laying face down in the grass trying to do what looked to be the worm. His failing dance moves made me chuckle a little bit, but also almost face plant into the stairs as I tried getting down the porch.

"Hey big boy!" Out of no-freaking-where, a guy I remember seeing in the spin-the-bottle circle pops up next to me, his face puckered mockingly and hands grabbing at my waist. It took everything in me not to sucker punch him in the gut.

"Get the heck off me, Sawyer!" I weakly shoved the idiot off of me, but he let go anyway, annoyingly laughing away as he swooped back into the house, allowing me to stumble even further away.

My drunk legs led me down a wobbly path to the side of the house. It was a complete workout with the heavy breathing and that subtle prospect of maybe puking my guts out. I had to use Corbett's house for moral support. I was a mess.

My life had gotten so jumbled and mixed up, bits and pieces were circling around me like broken up sentences that didn't make any kind of sense. This and that, then here and there, all everywhere and some kind of nothing all at once.

It was confusing me, and I hated to admit it but it had been this way since I realized that Andrew made me feel something at that hospital. It was something I hated to think about, even try to fix, because it was entirely my own fault that I had dislocated my life from its jointed attachment to some fairytale land of lies.

Nothing connected anymore. The past uprooted my present, making me hate the future.

But by God almighty, deep down I knew one thing that could glue all these broken pieces, but it made me hurt. The idea of it made me hurt, or rather the memories of something I once thought was a good idea made me ache.

When I had barely started to sort through these confusing thoughts and a drunken haze, I felt the voice of Andrew Parsley stabbing and twisting and turning my body. "Rogers!" It flung my body around with how harsh it was,  causing me to wince in pain when my noodle-like arms clipped the side of the house. Why did I let myself get so drunk? I was supposed to be the sober guy who watched people get drunk.

"Andy." My voice just came out up out of nowhere, and it made Andy - Andy - cringe in obvious disgust. He came closer, though, turning his eyes into balls of fire. The bruise on the side of my face suddenly started aching from his strong gaze; he was probably beating me in his mind, that's why.

After a slight drop of silence fell, Andy - Andrew - ground out, "Don't 'Andy' me, asshole. Where've you been this past week, Rogers? Why were you avoiding me?" Even though he was obviously angry - and for a very good reason - his voice was low and calm. To me, that spoke volumes. My idiot-self, my complete and oh so terrible self had hurt him and all because I couldn't get over something that happened almost four years before or however long ago it was. I just couldn't because it was hard. It's hard getting over a virtually cynical junior high experience, a time when young teenagers are discovering themselves. It's hard.

It's making me lose my mind!

And to be honest, I didn't know why I truly did it; why I avoided Andrew. Something like feelings shouldn't force someone to do anything, now should they?

But I should have had an answer, though, right? At least a perfectly acceptable answer as to why I, Zachary Rogers, avoided Andrew, whom I could call a best friend, someone I could rely on and had shared a multitude of information with, right? But of course, drunk me is a stupid me.

"I wasn't," my hiccups magically appeared once more, "I wasn't avoiding you. I'm busy."

Andrew vehemently shook his head. His face was doing that thing again that he never seemed to notice. "No you're not. You've been fucking around this past week, literally so you didn't have to hang out with me. I thought we were friends. Zach," I immediately straightened up when Andrew called me by my preferred name. He truly wasn't my enemy anymore. He really wanted this to work... and to think I was ruining it. "Lola missed you at her birthday party. I was all alone at Lunch the whole week. For fucks sake, I have no other friends but you in this god damn town and you left me! You left me." He pointed an accusing finger right at my chest, causing me to tip back against the wall.

I was weak in that moment. I was weaker than I had ever allowed myself to be, than I've ever been.

I wouldn't let it go, though. This parasite living inside of me called jealousy, who had been dormant this past week, was waking up. It was alive and it created all these scenarios in my head of what Andrew could have been doing without me. It sent the image of him kissing Mandy down my spine and into my fists. "Why didn't you get Mandy to sit with you? Or Gretchen? Or literally any other girl. You can obviously get any girl you want that gladly would have kept you company." My voice was bitter as I slurred my words out.  "But I didn't leave you. I'd never leave you." And I had said that before I could properly close my mouth.

Andrew, however, shook his head again and almost shouted out in confusion.  "What the hell are you going on about?"

"I'm saying," I closed my eyes for a second to compose myself, trying to keep up with these snippets and pieces of what my life had become. I was digressing, this was completely for sure. "I'm saying... you obviously don't always need me around. I can't be around you all the time. It's too much." It is too much. Him standing right in front of me was too much. Him standing there accusing me of things I've obviously done, but don't feel great about doing, was too much. Him. Him

Everything goes back to him, but Andrew wasn't Owen. No. He is nothing like Owen. He could never be. I had to keep telling myself this. Andrew was different. He's Andrew Parsley.

He's my glue; which was a complete and utter paradox in and of itself. Andrew, the boy who broke my life apart, but could mend it back together. How even?

"What the Hell are you saying? That you can't handle me? Am I not good enough to be your friend? Was I ever good enough?" My eyes watched on through blurry vision as his face slackened with some type of realization. "I was just some charity case all along, wasn't I? I knew it! We were never friends, were we? You only hung out with me because you felt sorry. Well, newsflash, Rogers, I don't need your fucking pi -" before he could finish his speech, before he could tell me something that wasn't true, but rather a belief I had aided in him buying into, I did something, the only thing, my irrational and emotional self could think to do. I pushed against the wall and crashed my lips against his.

And I kissed Andrew Parsley.

◇

Here's a Shite chapter I'm sorry.

(I always seem to be apologizing)

Anyway, Zachary is a very complex character to be honest. Andrew... is well Andrew if you understand what I'm saying, but Zachary... oh boy. Zachary is a whole new level of hard-to-freaking write when he is drunk. He's hard to write (period)

He's so like... idk. He's a jumpy person, and you will soon realize as we get into a more developed stage of my book. Which, by the way, it had been about a year and a half since I started writing STRAIGHT BOYS.

...

WOah.
That's danke.

But yeah. I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter of