Now You See Me

Eight: Hangover

"Ugh, look at that woman's dress. It's such bad taste, man."

"God, could you say that a little louder, Tori? I don't think she heard you." I look back at my drink, which has been sitting in front of me so long that there aren't even any bubbles left. I don't usually like beer, but I think tonight warrants one.

"But look at it. It's like she's wearing a rubbish bag." Tori leans over and says, but whispering this time. Just to get her to shut up, I turn to look; it isn't hard to find who she means. The stranger wasn't doing herself any favours in turning out like – as Tori had pointed out – she was wearing a bin-bag. Her eyes seem to glow and shift colours in the strobe lights of the nightclub, and I assume she's wearing some kind of contact lens. It's a strange night at the club if you don't run into any wackos. Fortunately for me, I came out with one.

Tori hoots as an electric guitar echoes through the room, and she spills half her mojito in her lap, making her jump and swear. It draws attention to us from what seems like all the dancers in the vicinity.

"Crap. I'm gonna go to the bathroom and clean up," she says over the music, only just audible. "Don't leave without me."

I nod, but she's gone before she can see it. I don't really care though; I only agreed to come because there's more to get intoxicated on here than there is at home.

"Is anyone sitting here?" someone asks on my other side, and turn to find a slightly blurry outline of a man standing there and pointing at the empty stool beside me. I shake my head, and down the last dregs of '64 from my glass. He sits down, and at closer range my alcohol-fuzzed vision can make him out clearer; it reveals a face, and it's a face that drove me to the bar to begin with. I scowl into my glass and pretend I haven't noticed, and hold it out for a refill when the bartender comes along to ask about it.

"We haven't talked in a while," Chris says, and I grunt. To say we hadn't talked in a while was an understatement. Last time he had deigned to talk to me was just before he got together with Hannah and conveniently forgot he even knew me.

The bartender returns with my drink, and I feel that I had the last one so long that it's strange to see it fizzing. I take a hasty sip so I don't have to say anything, and to buy myself time to pray for Tori's speedy return.

"Who's that girl you were with?" he asks. He's too interested. "Is she your girlfriend?"

"Just a friend," I reply, and can't help but make it a little pointed, just to see him squirm. He does. "Besides, if you don't know by now, you're probably the only one who doesn't."

"Don't know what?" He seems confused. Maybe he hasn't heard.

"I'm into blokes," I say, and take another drink. I can't help but watch anxiously for his reaction, even though I know he's not interested.

If he was confused before, he's downright shocked now. "I never knew that."

"No shit," I drawl. At that moment, Tori returns. Even in the blue gloom, the stain on her skirt is obvious. "What took you so long?"

But she's watching Chris, and she has that look on her face, the one that makes my gut churn and heart clench in anticipation of something truly horrible coming my way. It's the sort of expression pulled by a child after it farts in a badly ventilated room.

"Tori," I say, warning her against whatever she's plotting. She ignores me, as always.

"Hey there," she says. "I'm Tori. You're...Chris, right?"

She holds out a hand for him to shake and he takes it, clearly disturbed. I smirk; if Tori wants a conversation, she gets a conversation and there's no two ways about it. I have to give Chris credit for catching on quickly.