One Shots

Drunk Confidence (PG-13)

A/N: I haven't written anything for a good few weeks so I'm a little rusty.

                                             Drunk Confidence

    “What are we doing here, David?” I poked his back continuously, trudging along behind him. The sun was setting, disappearing behind the rooftop of the run down, abandoned building we were closing in on.

    It was built on the outskirts of town, surrounded by trees, said to be haunted. Been stood here for over eighty years. I knew it was only a matter of time before Dave dragged me out here, considering he was obsessed with all things creepy.

    “Well, for one, we're here to get away from the evil clutches of my idiotic foster parents, and also,” he raised the stolen bottle of vodka he held by the neck, in his right hand. “We're here to get utterly shitfaced and speak to dead people.”

   The way he spoke sounded like he was disappointed, like something had happened that he wasn't telling me about. Maybe once he'd got a bit of alcohol in his system, he'd open up. It probably had something to do with his foster-shites. They were always pissing him off. 

    I followed him up the old wooden steps, onto the porch. The floorboards creaked under our weight, looking about ready to fall apart any second. Thankfully, they stayed in tact.

    “You know you're so gonna get reemed for stealing that vodka.” I stated, the corners of my lips just short of a smile. Dave laughed.

    “Yeah, I know. S'gonna be funny. He looks like an inflated balloon when he gets angry.”

    “You'll give him a heart attack one of these days, if you're not careful.”

   “Don't give me ideas, Matt.” He looked over his shoulder at me, smirking. “Don't plan to be with 'em that long, anyway.” He turned his attention to the door, pulling at the banners that read 'KEEP OUT', taped across the frame.

    Dave took a small step back, giving him enough space to kick the door in. It made a loud crack as the middle of the door broke from the impact, leaving a jagged hole for us to sneak in through. He grabbed me by the sleeve of my jacket, forcing me to follow him in and causing me to stumble over his feet, due to the fact that I couldn't see a fucking thing.

    “Jesus, Matt, you just– my fucking shoe, dude,” he whispered through the darkness. The only light source we had at the moment, was the sun streaming through the cracks of the boarded windows.

    “It's not my fault I stood on you. Where is it?”

    “Where's what?”

    “Your fucking shoe!”

    “On my foot, you twat. Where else would it be?”

    I shoved him out of irritation, muttering under my breath, “I thought you lost it.”

    “Don't shove me, I can't see anything. I don't wanna fall over and get impaled on a pole.”

    “Why the fuck would you get impaled on a pole?”

   “I don't know, Matt, anything could be in here. Seriously?” I could make out the movement of his body as he turned to face me, throwing his arms up and tensing his shoulders. “Stop freaking out, just cause you're afraid of the dark.”

    “I'm not freaking out.”

    “Dude, there's no point lying. You get argumentative when you're freaking out.”