The Mistake

Jealousy and the First of The Switchblade Smiles

        Phil's heart pounded with the heady mix of bass and happiness. He was at a party with his best friend, Dan. Who he also happened to love with all his heart, and had done for almost six years.

    Phil wandered around his friend's house. The party was Bryony's annual summer break celebration, and Phil was being responsible. He had decided not to drink, otherwise him and Dan would be spending a fortune on a cab, again. So he was the designated driver for the night. Dan, on the other hand, was completely smashed. Stumbling round, having conversations about his job as a vulcanologist and jumping on people.

    Dan always was the funny drunk, whilst Phil was the random, crazy and slightly pervy drunk: hitting on anyone and slurring out random information that was usually incorrect. He was also a lightweight, two beers making his head spin. Dan though, could drink five bottles and still engage in coherent conversations. Unlike now. He'd had at least seven.

     Dan was having an animated conversation about penguins with the equally drunk PJ, flailing his arms and laughing at their feet. Phil watched from a distance, just to make sure Dan didn't do anything... bad. He was prone to bad things, whether he brought them on himself or not.

      Phil took his eyes off Dan to scan around the room, seeing others just as drunk as Dan. Not one other person was sober; everyone was in their own element.

     Phil remembered Dan's video on the five different kind of drunks, and compared everyone to it. Dan was very perceptive, as he'd deciphered the different types of drunks well. Dan was always very good with people.

     He saw Crabstickz dancing with a girl who I thought, and smiled. The drunkard's dancing was awful.

     Then he turned his gaze back to Dan and PJ, only to find them in a completely different position to before.

     Their hands were everywhere: in each others hair, on their shoulders, hips, anywhere they could reach. Dan was pushed up against the wall, PJ pressing on him. Their mouths were working faster than they had been when they were talking. Their lips ground against each other, looking like they were eating each other. The steamy make-out session struck Phil deep in the heart. The man who he had loved for six years was kissing another guy. PJ as well!

     As he continued to watch the men, anger swelled in Phil. He was angry at his nervousness, the fact that he had never confessed to Dan before. His awkwardness, because Dan obviously didn't like him, not  like he liked PJ anyway. He was also angry at PJ, for taking Dan away from him. At Bryony, for throwing this party. Even for Crabstickz, for not being with them when this happened.

      But he wasn't angry at Dan. How could he be? Dan was perfect, and this was not his fault.

    Phil headed outside, to get some air. Only then did he notice how many people there were together. That made him hurry, needing to get out of there as soon as possible. He'd been pining for Dan for so long, it hurt too much.

    Phil rushed into the garden, which was surprisingly abandoned. He leant against the wall and sighed a heavy breath.

    'I hate PJ. I hate him! Why did he have to kiss Dan?!'  He thought. 'He's ruined it all now! I'll never be able to tell him how I feel! Now PJ's there, I'll be nothing!' 

    Everything went so fast from there. Someone unknown to Phil stumbled round the corner into the garden, interrupting Phil's silence. The man was carrying a knife, and he was drunk. Seeing Phil, he held the knife up higher and staggered toward him.

    Phil, on a rush of adrenaline grabbed the knife and, channeling his fury, stabbed the carouser in the chest. Red liquid started to spread from the wound, the white t-shirt slowly turning a deep scarlett.

    Phil took a step back. He knew it was wrong but stabbing that guy had made him feel so much better. The hatred for PJ had gone for that spilt-second when he had taken his anger out on the man. A grin floated onto Phil's face. To anyone else, it would look evil; devilish. But Phil just felt happy that he'd found a way to channel his anger.

    He started forward, standing over the now-fallen man on the ground. The knife was lifted, and lodged back in the hole. It ground deeper and deeper, until the hilt of the switchblade could go no more. A pain-filled moan emitted itself from the man. Phil twisted the knife, and the moan drowned out into a gurgle, then stopped.

    Phil tugged the weapon out of the man's chest and stood. He then walked, slowly and surely, back into the house, the switchblade in his jacket.