Sleeping on Couches with Women
It would be silly to pretend that there are couches or women in this story. This is simply because there is no point in assuming that there was ever more than one couch or more than one woman…
At two hours ‘til midnight on New Year’s Eve, in a modestly furnished apartment living room, a seventeen year old girl was on the verge of succumbing to alcohol poisoning. Her friends – Veronica and Jessica (also seventeen) – were sitting next to her, laughing while failing to notice that she was blackout drunk from five too many shots of rum. She couldn’t have weighed more than one hundred pounds. And then she puked.
Shane, Veronica’s brother, was in college and should be held responsible for the presence of Veronica and her underage friends at the apartment that night.
“Erica. Hey, Eri- fuck. Okay. It’s on the couch. Babe, get me a towel from the kitchen.”
Shane was holding on to the passed-out minor by her shoulder and looking over at his girlfriend, Miranda, who was just as responsive as Erica at that point.
“Right. Yeah, no. Towel. I’m getting it. Christ.”
As he tended to his sister’s sick friend, Andrew – Shane’s friend (also in college) – had been dealing with the other two drunken children.
Andrew was a well-dressed, good-looking, charming young man who – where first impressions are concerned – was often thought to be gay. But Andrew wasn’t gay, though he used this common misunderstanding as a means of disarming female prey. He was a womanizer, and – where drunken high-schoolers are concerned – was apparently irresistible.
“Ha-uh, girls. Please,” Andrew chuckled uncomfortably as Veronica and Jessica chortled away, clinging to him and touching him and –
“Andy, stop touching my sister. I’m gonna ask you to get up and stop touching my sister.”
“Shane, my hands are up here,” Andrew waved his hands above either of the girls’ heads. “You need to get them off of me because – Christ. Shane. Seriously.”
Veronica had just tried to grab hold of Andrew’s crotch.
“Well that’s fuckin’ perfect.”
Peter, Shane’s roommate, had started drinking as soon as he had come home from a long day of work only to find a lawsuit covered in vomit asleep on his couch.
“Shane, I want these kids out of my apartment. At this point? I don’t fuckin’ care. Get them out,” Peter said before downing a glass of cheap scotch. “And Andrew, quit molesting the fuckin’ minors, I swear to God.”
Andy’s eyes went wide with disbelief, his hands still in the air. “Seriously?!”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it Pete. My bad.” Shane was putting empty beer cans in a trash bag while Miranda held a cold, wet towel to Erica’s head. “A couple of their friends are coming to take them home.”
“Good. I want them gone.” Peter walked away to the kitchen for another drink. As he returned to the living room, Amber, his girlfriend, had just walked in from a long day at work to find – as Peter had before her – a lawsuit covered in vomit passed out on their couch.
“Peter? What the fuck is this shit?” she looked at him. He replied by polishing off his drink, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head, all in a very frustrated manner. “Shane, why are there drunk high school sluts on our couch?”
The little girls were laughing and still clinging to Andrew as Shane began to defend himself.
“Save it,” Amber cut him off. “It’s New Year’s Eve, I got stiffed at work – fuck waitressing, fuck drunk bitches at my apartment, and Andrew, stop touching the minors.”
“Seriously!?”Andrew raised his hands higher in the air. Veronica and Jessica – giggling at nothing special - took this as an invitation to cling to his chest.
On the other end of the couch, Miranda was nursing Erica who was now moaning the way a sick cow moans in the hot summer sun after it’s been shot in the hip. The sober part of the room took this as a good sign that she wasn’t going to die.
After, Amber had gone to Peter’s bedroom to change out of her work clothes and reemerged in a black party dress and heels. Peter was following her towards the door looking very distraught.
“Babe,” he begged. “It’s New Year’s Eve. You’re not really leaving, are you?”
“My whole day sucked and I’m not ringing in twenty-twelve by babysitting a bunch of drunk prosti-tots,” she said as she put on her coat. “Sammy and Brit are having a party at their place and I’m invited. Have fun dealing with… this.” And she walked out.
From across the room, Erica let out another sickly, dehydrated groan.
“Erica?” Miranda was trying to get her attention. “Erica, sweetie, what do you want?”
Shane walked over and knelt down next to his girlfriend.
“Erica?” he tried. “Hey. Freshman. What do you want? Hmm? You wanna sleep?”
“Do you want to throw up?” Miranda offered.
There was a long moment and several weak groans before Erica managed to roll her eyes open.
“…I just want to be loved!” the rum-soaked girl cried.