Antiheroes 11

Eric was already feeling pleasantly fuzzy around the edges when Neil texted him.

at the bar

Then a second later:

get here quick. many cute girls

Eric laughed, and sat up. Neil was a pretty terrible wingman, but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate his friend’s efforts to set him up.
He had worn a grubby old t-shirt to go see his mom, because, well, because he knew it would annoy her no end. But now he peeled that off, and replaced it with a much nicer button-up, fitted but not tight — he was wearing his binder, but he still never felt particularly safe in tight clothing. Old habits and all that.

The bar wasn’t too far from campus, thank god, since he wasn’t sure how far he could have made it without tripping over. He hadn’t had that much to drink — at least, he didn’t think he had — but it didn’t take much for him to start feeling a bit wobbly. He wasn’t really particularly steady on his feet anyway.
It was already crowded and loud and busy when he slipped through the door, and started looking around for Neil. He kind of hated being in here by himself. It was full of the closest thing Columbia had to frat boys, and they made him nervous every time they pushed past, in their polo shirts with their armfuls of overflowing beers.
He managed to make his way to the back corner, their usual table, where Neil and Jess were (unsurprisingly) making out. They looked up when he approached, and Neil at least had the decency to look embarrassed. Jess, on the other hand, flashed him a bright grin.

“Hiya, Eric. What’s up?”

He shrugged. “Not much. You?”

It was always like this with Jess. He liked her, he really did, but every time he saw her she was all tangled up in Neil, and that made even polite small talk really uncomfortable.
After a second she stood up, thank god.

“I’m going to get a beer. You boys want anything?”

“Of course!” Neil, who had clearly already had one too many, pulled Eric down into the chair next to him and threw an arm around his neck. “And one for my friend here. He needs a drink because in a minute, he’s going to go talk to girls.”

“Good for him,” Jess said, then disappeared into the crowd. Eric carefully extricated himself from Neil’s grip.

“I don’t think I am, actually,” he said quietly. Neil feigned horror.

“Are you kidding?” He said, much louder. “Look around you, dude. Girls everywhere. And any one of them would be lucky to have you.”

“I doubt they’d think so,” Eric muttered, but unfortunately Neil heard him.

“Don’t say that! Don’t… Don’t say things like that about yourself!” God, he was always so supportive when he got drunk, and it was so sweet but also so fucking annoying. “You’re such a great guy, Eric. Ask, ask Jess. She’ll tell you. She will. I promise.”

“I don’t know why you’re arguing this, I didn’t disagree with you.”

“Well, well, well, good, then. So go talk to her.” He pointed at a pretty brunette girl, standing at the bar.

“I just don’t know if I’m up for this right- Are you pushing me?”

Neil was trying desperately to push Eric up out of his chair, towards the girl. Fortunately, he was not only drunk, but also quite weak.

“Yes. Because you, you’re going to go talk to her. Right now.”

“Fine. Fine.” Eric stood up, almost causing Neil to fall over. He must have had a couple of drinks before arriving at the bar. Or he’d just been here a while, and had forgotten to text Eric until just now. Which was possible. He was great, but kind of flaky.

Eric walked over to the girl, and lent against the bar. He hated doing this — he always felt like such a creep. But still, he stood there, beside her, and smiled.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hey,” she said.

She didn’t look disgusted or scared or anything, which was good. But she did look kind of — confused, maybe, or just curious. She was studying his face in a way that a more secure person might have interpreted as interest. But he couldn’t help but think — did she know that there was something different about him? Was she going to figure it out, and then back away, leave him standing here, looking stupid and rejected and alone?
He felt a bit ill. He wanted to leave. He wanted a drink. He wanted to ask this girl out and date her and fall in love with her and fucking whatever else it was that normal people did. But he just shook his head, and looked down at the floor.

“I… Sorry, excuse me, I have to…”

Without even finishing his excuse, he turned around and walked back to Neil.

Jess was back there too, with their beers. Eric sat down and drained his in seconds, then grabbed Neil’s too.

“Hey!” Neil protested weakly.

“You don’t need it. You’re drunk,” Eric told him.

“Hey, just ‘cause you crashed and burned doesn’t mean you have to take it out on the rest of us.” Neil was laughing, but when he saw the look in Eric’s eyes, he stopped. “Sorry. It’ll be better next time, you just need to practice.”

“No worries.” Eric took a sip of the second beer. “I’m still keeping this, though.”

Five hours later, he’d only left their table to go to the bathroom and the bar, and hadn’t talked to anyone but Neil and Jess, and one or two of their friends that had stopped by. He’d been drinking steadily all night, and as a result, couldn’t feel his misery, or much of anything else, either. Except for the building nausea, which wasn’t something he’d had in a very long time.

“Imma go, now,” he said to Neil, leaning on his friend’s shoulder in order to stand up.

Neil didn’t respond. He was basically passed out on the table as it was.
The bar was quieter now, though there were still a number of people around. But he didn’t have to fight his way to the door, which was something Eric appreciated. The air outside was crisp and cool, as he stumbled down the sidewalk. Unfortunately, he didn’t get too far before his toe snagged on an uneven bit of concrete.
Eric went down like a sack of rocks, throwing his hands out in front of him to stop his face smacking into the ground. After the initial jolt, it didn’t seem to hurt too bad — but as he picked himself back up, he saw blood running from both knees.
Huh, he thought. I don’t think I’ve had a grazed knee in like, ten years. What an odd thing to get nostalgic about. But he was drunk, and tired, and sad. He started back towards his room, and every step sent a sharp twinge up his leg.