Who's Texting Me? Oh, Just My Homicidal Stalker. boyxboy

Chapter 37: Boozin' at the Beach

"Psst! Hey Jake!" Matt called in a loud whisper yell.

"Yeah?"

I pulled out a blue water bottle and shook it. "Want some booze? Looks like you need it."

I frowned. Where the hell did he get booze? "What kind?"

He grinned. "Every kind. Gift from my brother."

I stared at the bottle and thought it over; I wasn't exactly a big fan of drinking since most alcohols tasted like piss to me— but fuck if getting drunk didn't sound like bliss after the shit I had gone through. I held out my hand to take the bottle.

Matt's smile faltered. "Wait, really?"

I raised my eyebrows at him and gestured for him to hand the bottle over. If I couldn't get peace at the beach, maybe I could find a good time wasted. Besides, I could be drunk and make sure Shawn didn't drown Las Vegas at the same time.

He leaned over Celeste and handed me the bottle. "Have at it, dude—just don't throw it up, or I might get in trouble."

"Thanks, Matt. And don't worry, I won't," I assured him. That being said, as soon as the burning liquid hit my tongue I had to suppress the urge to barf it up on the back of the seat in front of me. I screwed my eyes shut and gulped down a few swallows, then coughed violently as I screwed the cap back on. "Does anyone have a water bottle actually filled with water?" I rasped.

My friends all stared at me with gaping mouths. "Bro, that was sick!" Matt exclaimed.

"Are you feeling okay?' Celeste asked, studying me with a frown.

"Peachy—it's just been a rough semester... for all of us. I mean, our school got blown to the moon," I said. I could feel the alcohol warm in my gut and my head began to feel light.

Students were called off the bus in a painfully slow fashion as the soccer coach stopped every other student to lecture them on what they would and wouldn't be allowed to do on the beach. Eventually, my name got called and I began to shuffle to the front of the bus. It took active effort to keep a straight face and even steps.

The soccer coach stopped me before I could exit the bus. He scrutinized me closely and raised a brow. "You feeling alright there, son?" he asked.

Fuck. I must have looked pretty out of it. I clutched at my stomach. "I just—need to find a bathroom," I wheezed, attempting to make the best pitiful expression I could without bursting out in drunken laughter.

The man scrunched his nose. "Well, don't puke in here! Move out!" He pointed to the door.

I did as I was told and stepped outside the bus, waiting by it for my friends to come out. I may have been drunk, but I had enough sense to know that if I wandered off on my own I'd probably trip and fall the moment I tried to walk on the sand. As I waited, I swayed back and forth on my ankles and tried not to fall.

"Hey, Jake," a voice called from next to me.

I turned my head and saw Las Vegas stepping up to me. I paled and turned my head left and right to scan for Shawn. He couldn't see me talking to him—or we'd both be in deep shit!

Las Vegas must have noticed my panic, because he looked down at the pavement with a sad frown. "I just—I just wanted to say that I'm so sorry for what happened, and that you don't have to worry about it happening again. I made sure that you would never be put into that kind of situation again. I know that you're probably going through shit yourself... but, maybe we can talk later? I just want to know that you're alright," he muttered. He looked like shit. He had a huge black eye, accentuated by exhausted bags.