killer, m.clifford/a,irwin

9

PICTURE: DAN CARTER

"A TO THE LANTIS!" Someone cheered before throwing theirs arms around my neck. They were slick with sweat and that alone made me gag.

Everyone knew that hugging me almost always ended in near death experiences, and this didn't even have anything to do with my "killer lips". I was very anti-touching. This person had balls.

"You're my best friend," the person cooed and I rolled my eyes realising exactly who this was.

Only one person had the nerve to hug me. A drunken Sydney. I turned around and met the gaze of my best friend. Her grin was slanted and her eyes were unfocused. Apparently she was done for the night.

"Want to go home?" I sighed, glancing at the clock. It was nearly midnight.

I had been leaning against the wall, for almost two hours, just observing all the partygoers. Considering I was alone most of the night, I felt no need to drink but apparently Sydney was another case.

"I'm a bit tired," Sydney admitted, pouting her lower lip. "And if Tyler makes me dance with him one more time I'm going to puke."

I wrapped my arm around her shoulder protectively. Part of it was to make her feel safe and the other was a strategic strategy to make her remove her hands from my neck.

"We can catch a train home but I've got to call Dad first." I pulled out my phone and dialled the number I knew by heart. I tapped my feet, waiting for him to pick up. "Hey Dad," I said when the dial tone stopped ringing, "I'm just letting you know Sydney and I are catching the train home."

"No, it's fine. I'll pick you up." Dad said quickly and I frowned, wondering why he was so fast to come and get me.

"Okay, we'll be outside waiting." I hung up and groaned under the weight of Sydney.

I would have just walked to Sydney's house and crashed there considering it was only two blocks away, however not only were Sydney's parents extremely religious they were extremely conservative.

If I brought their second eldest daughter home drunk off her face I wouldn't see her until she was, like, 82. Strict parenting ruining friendships since 1996.

Michael walked over with a sheepish grin. He had been avidly avoiding me all night since I had gotten slightly defensive about Ashton.  I returned his gaze, letting him know that I would behave myself without jumping down his throat.

"Do you need a lift home?" I asked, as Sydney started to slur against my neck. I pushed my best friend away but continued to hold her up.

"Are you just offering to be polite because I can totally say 'no I have my own way home'." He shoved his hands in his pocket and I stifled a laugh.

"Usually that'd be exactly why I ask people but you're okay," I smiled softly before running my fingers through my hair absently.

"Score one for Michael." He joked.

"Don't worry," Sydney threw her hands up and let out a loud laugh, "you're on, like, score 100. Our little Atlantis has a crus-" I was quick to smack my hand over Sydney's mouth.

"It's okay though. I've got my own way home." Michael offered with a smile.

"She's a loud, obnoxious drunk just in case you were wondering." I muttered, my cheeks flaring up with embarrassment.

Michael merely let out a chuckle, looking amused with my flustered state. "I'm getting that vibe."

I grimaced when I felt Sydney try talk against my hand. I heard a muffled "um that's rude" escape her lips, and then just a lot of tongue. I blanched.