They’ve gotten Lap drunk again. He’s huddled in the kitchen corner, a red solo cup clutched in his hand, his head rolling around on his neck like a bowling ball hot glued to a stick. Every few seconds a low moan escapes his lips, and liquid slushes out of his cup, forming a sticky puddle around him. It’s only 10:30. The house has a good number of people in it, none of whom I recognize and none of whom are paying any attention to Lap. I scan the crowd and find Shaina with her legs draped over Marcus, both sipping their drinks, completely oblivious to their wasted friend in the corner.
Shaina greets me with a syrupy-sweet hello that’s dripping with distain. I ignore her and hand Marcus a bag full of chips and pretzels. I narrow my eyes at him and cock my head towards Lap. He shrugs his shoulders at me with a what-can-you-do expression, then pulls Shaina closer to him. She starts nuzzling his neck and I turn away before my eyes burn out of their sockets.
I fill a cup with tap water and kneel before Lap.
“Hey Lap, how you doin’? He mumbles something unintelligible and continues to loll his head around his shoulders. “Let’s get you into bed, huh?” I try to lift him up but he has a good hundred pounds on me, all of it dead weight, so I grab a random guy by the arm and force him to help me drag Lap to his room. As we’re passing the bathroom, though, Lap has a moment of clarity and manages to spit out toilet toilet, before dive-bombing head first into the bowl. The lock on the door is broken, so I press myself up against it and cover my nose with my shirt trying not to think of vomit and puking and the horrible inhuman sounds coming from a foot away from me.
He must have eaten a lot today because he doesn’t. Stop. Puking. Every minute or so I flush the toilet because I’m afraid it’ll overflow, but with no end in sight I become convinced that I will spend the rest of my life holding this door closed as I listen to a boy puke up the entirely of his stomach.
Eventually, though, all good things come to an end, and Lap wipes his mouth and leans his forehead against the toilet seat. Beads of sweat roll down the back of his neck, and for one wild second I wonder if they taste like Vlad.
Just then the door is shoved open and I’m thrown off balance. Shaina walks in and barely bothers to look at Lap; just scoffs and makes her way to the shower. She closes the curtain, and after a few seconds we hear liquid on tile. She’s peeing.
She’s still peeing.
I think she’s going for the world record of longest pee ever.
She’s done. She walks out. She shuts the door behind her. Lap begins to cry.
“Hey now, it’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed,” I tell him. “It’s just me now.”
“I’m…not…embarrassed.” He blubbers, trying to gain some control. I rub his back and wait for the inevitable drunken confession.
“I love her” sniffle “so much” wheeze “and I just” hiccup “don’t understand” burp “why I’m not” sob “good enough for” complete breakdown “her.” Even from this angle—sitting on a sticky bathroom floor with the smell of Lap’s fresh vomit in the air, his hair stuck to his face, and his sobs bouncing off the walls—I truly don’t know why he’s not good enough for Shaina, either. She’s awful. And I tell him this, over and over again, weekend after weekend. But it always ends up the same way. Although sometimes he doesn’t puke as much.
Realistic Fiction
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This was very realistic and engaging, I can put a couple notes for constructive criticism however, if you’re interested. There are a couple places where quotations would work best, such as when Lap “spit out” the words, “Toilet. Toilet.” Making this his own quotation would better define the dialogue and help the natural flow between the speakers.
I also think your descriptors are very appropriate, in the right place, nearly too much so – they seem a little mechanical. A step-by-step narration of events can be spiced up in first person dialogue with internal POV shifts inside the narrator’s head. Let me know what you think about this “shower scene” edit:
I’m not drunk. I refused to surrender control this time. Don’t get me wrong, being drunk right now may have made taking care of Lap more tolerable. Just the same, I find my sober self unexpectedly plunging toward my good friend and all his raw humanity. I stagger for balance. Reflexes landing my hand on the slick and slimy toilet lid. I look back to find Shaina, scoffing and jeering at me from the door she had just barged through, nearly knocking my on my ass.
“Watch it.” she mutters from the side of her face, stumbling toward the shower. Not even a sideways glance at Lap. She just jerks open the curtain, drops trou, and after a few flailing swipes at the air eventually get the curtain closed again. This barley in time for the patter of dripping liquid on tile to echo so pleasantly through the bathroom.
“Perfect.” I said, only realizing that was out loud too late. She’s peeing.
It was one of those pees that displaces all else in reality, taking your entire focus to absorb just how out-of place the whole act is. How disgusting it is – and she is.
And for the love of God, how it never ends! She’s defying my best attempts to calculate the physical limits of what a human bladder is capable of!
She’s done. She walks out. The door shuts roughly behind her.
Lap begins to cry. I could almost join him.
“Hey, it’s okay. You’re good. I mean it, you’re good man. Nothing to be embarrassed about.” I quickly glance around, no one seems to be upstairs. “It’s just me now.”
Lap blubbers out between gasps and sobs, “I’m…not…embarrassed.”
I rub my hand on his back, and patiently wait for the inevitable drunken confession.