Title: That Fateful Day
Prompt: Take the first sentence out of a random page in a novel and use it to create a story.
Sentence: “His laughter followed me out into the night, like velvet rubbing along my spine.” – Club Vampyre, Laurell K Hamilton.
His laughter followed me out into the night, like velvet rubbing along my spine.
Even when he acted like this, my attraction to him still stood strong. That didn’t mean that I had to show it though, because he was always so obnoxious when he was drunk.
“Damnit, Damon! Could you shut up already?” I said.
He wrapped his arm around me, nuzzling his stubbled chin into the side of my neck. “Aww, I lub you too.”
Completely ignoring his mispronounced sentence, I shrugged him off of me. I hoped the blush that crawled up my face went unnoticed. “You’re a lightweight.”
“And you’re pretty,” he slurred.
I shook my head, taking a hold of his hand as I began to drag him down the street. His apartment building wasn’t too far off, but I didn’t want to drag this out any longer than necessary. “Come on. It’s time I get you into bed.”
“Aha!” he shouted, twisting out of my grasp so he could waggle his finger in my direction. “I always knew that you wanted me.”
I couldn’t help but to laugh, because I was sure that any other reaction would give me away. “Whatever you say.”
By the time I had gotten him inside of his apartment he had started singing; very loud, and very off key. I slapped my hand over his mouth to stifle the noise, all the while giving him another glare. “If you shut up, I’ll give you a cookie.” If I knew one thing about a drunk Damon, it was that he enjoyed sweets more than anything. Being able to manipulate my drunk friends was one of the plus sides to being able to hold my liquor. The downside was everything else.
“Do you want a cookie?” I asked. His head bobbled in my hand, so I took that as a yes. “Then go get in bed.”
I watched him stagger down the hall, occasionally running into walls, and constantly giggling. Once I was certain he did as I asked I scoured the kitchen for the promised cookie, knowing how angry he would be if I showed up empty handed. When I walked into his room, he was laying face down on top of his comforter, shoes still on. I really hated drunks.
“Alright, I have your cookie.” I came to sit on the edge of his bed, placing a half eaten Oreo on his pillow. Hey, I never said anything about it being a whole one.
He mumbled incoherently into his mattress, and I threaded my fingers through his hair as I moved closer in order to hear him. “What was that?” I prodded.
He didn’t respond right away, because he was too busy vomiting up what seemed to be everything he had eaten in the past week or so. I was not amused.
“I said ‘I don’t feel well’,” he mumbled finally. His head dropped down onto the pillow once more, and snores could be heard seconds later. At least he wasn’t dry-heaving.
That was the day my attraction for him ended, and it was also the last time I went out for a drink with anyone that I would have to later take care of.