Letters To The Dead

Chapter 6: Shots, shots, shots.

It only took a couple days before Shawn was completely moved in. It felt good to have human company, but at the same time I was slightly uncomfortable. That was suppose to be Danny.

I had to move on, to at least be able to step forward without the thought of Danny pulling me back down again. I was thinking too much about this, he wanted me to live my life, that's what I need to do. He wanted me to be happy, that's what I need to be.

But if he wanted me to be happy, why would he leave?

"Let's drink." Shawn stated, once we got the last of the boxes unpacked. He didn't take absolutely everything of his. He'd still be visiting his parents, so a lot of his things are still there.

"Why?" I questioned the sudden statement.

"Why else would you drink? To get drunk."

To not feel.

I just laughed and agreed. What's been up with me lately? I've been sad all the time, ever since Danny's box. It's like he just died all over again.

"Hey V?" Shawn interrupted my thoughts with his gentle tone. I looked up at him with tears trying to escape my eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I whispered.

Shawn walked away for a moment then returned with a bottle of vodka. "We're going to drink until the world is up side down."

I forced a smile, but I was completely ready to drink as much as my heart desired.

Our night began, at four in the fucking evening.

One shot, two shots, three.

We egged each other on, pushing us to drink more and more.

Six shots, seven shots, eight.

"Come on you pussy, drink up," Shawn hollered into my ear. I drank it down in one gulp, my face cringing from the taste that burning my throat like acid.

Between shots, we occasionally had some conversations, each time getting more and more random.

"You're really fucking hot, you know that?" Shawn smiled, swaying a bit in his chair.

I burped in response.

"Your turn, bitch," I teased, pouring him another shot.

"Fuck, I don't think I can."

"What are you, a bitch?" I mocked, shoving the glass closer to him.

Nine shots, ten shots, eleven.

"We should have sex," Shawn suggested. "But like, with a condom. It would be fun, though we wouldn't remember it tomorrow."

"I don't do one night stands."

"What a shame."

Twelve shots, thirteen-

"Fuck I'm going to throw up!" Shawn yelled, covering his mouth with one hand.

I wanted to throw up too, but I didn't have anything to throw up. I wanted to cry though.

I wanted to smoke a cigarette, I don't smoke often, only when emotions overwhelm me too much. Like right now.

I cringed as I heard Shawn coughing his lungs out in the bathroom. The room became smaller and more stuffy.

Fuck, I need cigarettes.

I don't think Shawn smokes, does he? No, I would've seen him do it at least once. I stumbled helplessly into my room, but for some reason the floor decided to fight with my feet and the floor was winning. My legs wobbled vigorously. I don't think it's suppose to do that.