Oh Tequila, how you have brought me to oblivion so many times before. A great stage of euphoria, leaving me feeling afloat. No troubles; you made it all seem perfect.
You helped me relax when I was tense.
You helped me get through many occasions I would have rather skipped.
You and I had an agreement. You would give me only what I needed and never would you overstay your welcome. You would not invade my life and leave me to regret your presence. You would be known only in the best kind of way.
But for the first time, Tequila, you failed me.
You left me in a terrible haze, and I can’t find my god damn wallet. Or my left shoe.
How the hell does one lose their shoe, you might ask?
My answer: I have no fucking clue.
I know at one point I was fully dressed, including two shoes, pants, and a shirt.
Well, let’s just say that now my zipper in my jeans is broken, my shirt is missing a sleeve, and I feel a slight breeze through the large hole in the left side of my boxer briefs.
And only one fucking shoe.
I have a pounding headache, Tequila, which tells me you obviously overused me. My mouth tastes like how I imagine ass would taste. And I feel sick, like really sick.
But I can’t blame only you; I have to include my brothers too.
Those fuckers insisted I let loose.
They insisted that for me to get over Britney, I needed to get under another chick. Apparently my moping ass had gotten on their nerves and it was time to relocate my balls. Their words, not mine.
My fraternity brothers are rowdy and fearless. Those dicks don’t care. They took college life to the extreme, and up until now I have managed to keep my head on straight.
That has come to an end, I’m afraid. For one night at least I lowered myself to their level.
Those assholes taunted me and pushed me until I finally gave in and just went with the flow. Drink after drink, shot after shot.
“You need a wild night to forget all about what’s her name,” they said.
“You need to relax and have a good time,” they said. “Forget all your troubles and enjoy life.”
Can I just say at this point I can’t remember shit? I’m not enjoying the after effects of my night of living it up.
You would think by now I’d listen to the voice ringing in my head, saying, “They always get into trouble. Stay clear of their chaos and destruction.”
Every single time.
But no, I went along with their plans for a night of partying, and let’s just say I am now fucked—literally.
The worst part about it is I don’t remember how I got where I am now. I have absolutely no memory of the events that took place once I arrived.
And the person staring back at me with a gleam in their eye is freaking me out. I don’t care much for their smirk, either. It gives my already rolling stomach more reasons to twist.