Читать книгу Mine - S.A Partridge - Страница 11

We’re all scrunched into Bones’ Citi Golf on our way to the city. I made sure Jules got the front seat so she couldn’t press herself against me in the back. I keep my gaze outside so there’s no chance of our eyes meeting. There’s nothing but the usual stuff to see – bright lights, wet streets, homeless people who appear at every stop, huddled inside their ragged blankets. Bones doesn’t even make eye contact – he turns up the music so we don’t hear them beg through the window. Nothing kills the buzz more than people with even less than you. Me, I’d rather steal than beg.

When we get to the club, the first thing I do is make use of the artist tab. Brendan and Bones know the drill – we do two shots, then chase them down with Black Label. When we’re done I have that buzz that comes just before full-blown drunkenness. I’m at that wonderful stage of fuzzy happiness, my boys’ arms slung across my shoulders, the club starting to fill up, when the music starts to call. We start bouncing together, not stopping until we’re on the dance floor, bumping into people we can’t see through the smoke.

This is what I live for. Music. Friends. Oblivion.

We divide our time between the bar and the dance floor, detouring only for Bones to chat up some girl. Someone shoves a shot in my hand and I don’t even look to see who it’s from before throwing it back.

Brendan grabs me by the back of my shirt. “We’re about to go on, bro. Come on.”

I stagger forward, tripping over an amp cable on the stage as Brendan shoves a microphone into my hand and suddenly it’s like I’m holding Mjölnir, Thor’s hammer.

“What are we playing first?” I ask, swinging my cap the right way round.

“ ‘Ghetto fabulous’,” he mouths.

I move my head from side to side and wait for Bones to start looping the track. As soon as the music starts, it all comes back. Instinct takes care of the rest, and I transform into Thor:

“This the city of dreams,

bad decisions, iron ray-gimes;

Lost souls tryin’ to redeem, goin’ extreme;

Don’t give in to excess, the city ain’t got you yet;

Don’t give in to regret, live your life in large-ess.

Possess yourself, don’t repress yourself;

This ain’t the end of success;

Don’t look at me but at yourself;

This city got nothing on us;

’Coz we ghetto fabulous.”

The words stream out of my mouth like magic. It’s like I’m a god and the music is my power – it flows through me like lightning. Next thing I know, I’m tossing the mic over my shoulder so feedback screams over the monitors.

The crowds don’t mind. They love it when you don’t care, when you show you’re not interested in them. There are a lot of people out there, jumping. Out the corner of my eye I notice the next band waiting, looking panicked.

That’s right. You got nothing on us.

We play a couple more tracks before stumbling back down the stairs to the bar. We’ve run out of money and bar tab, so Brendan starts trying to convince some guys from the crowd to buy us drinks.

I throw my arm around his neck and fall on his shoulder. “You’ll have more luck with girls, buddy – you’re not that attractive.”

“Yeah, yeah, why don’t you try?”

“Where is Bones? He’s the one who knows how to pull chicks.” I stand on the rungs of a barstool to look for the curly-haired bastard.

He’s talking to a group of girls. One of them, Kenna, plays bass guitar in a rock band called The Nightjars. Bones has been after her for months.

“There are our free drinks,” I say, pointing to the group.

We squeeze through the crowd to get there. Brendan immediately latches on to a blonde and gives her his best drunken grin.

“I’m in Dark Father,” he says with a cheeky smile.

She giggles and bites down on her bottom lip. “Yeah, I know who you are. I love you guys.”

“If you buy me and my friend a drink, I’ll name my next song after you.”

This always works. The girls giggle and soon their wallets are out and drinks are starting to appear on the wet counter.

A couple of shots later I leave Brendan and Bones and head back to the dance floor.

My defences are down, so when a beer is slipped into my hand and someone’s arm is linked through mine, I realise too late that it’s Jules. That part of me that wanted to avoid this situation is lying drunk somewhere at the back of my mind. So what do I do? I lean down so she can say something in my ear.

“Want to come get some air outside?”

I down the beer as she leads me through the crowd. I leave the bottle on top of a speaker because I need both hands to get down the stairs.

Once we’re outside, I pull up my hood to shield my face from the cold, and lean back against the wall to stop the world from spinning. I can’t see properly.

Jules is standing in front me with her head lifted towards mine, hair blowing all around her face. Except there’s two of her, not one.

“Shit, Jules, I’m trashed.”

“What?” she asks, coming closer.

I tip my head to the side to listen. She slinks forward, slipping herself into my arms. I’m hit with the smell of candyfloss-flavoured shampoo. My vision is blurred by flying tendrils of brown hair and shining eyes rimmed with glitter.

I’m too drunk to push her away, to think.

My arm falls heavily to my side. She gives me that look girls use when they expect you to kiss them. I’m too trashed to stop it.

She leans forward, and her lips find mine.