Bottle Up

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“Hey, where’d you get that beer?”

Danny paused mid-sip and lifted the bottle, looking at the label. “Uhh.”

He leaned around her to squint at the table where drinks were piled up on the other side of the room. It was a little hazy by now, the geometric rug in the middle of the floor shrinking and expanding the space. Probably a sign he should cut back for the rest of the evening. 

“Off the table,” he said, look at the girl with a crooked smile. “I dunno, it was in the pile. I brought a six pack with me.”

She huffed, folding her arms over her chest and looking him dead in the eye, the same way his six-year-old niece did, and he stifled a chuckle. “Right, but that’s my beer,” she said, her voice pitching up into nasal. “It’s expensive. And I only bought four!”

“Hey, s’cool,” said Danny, waving his hand magnanimously. “Y’can nick what’s left of mine, I should probably cool it anyway, stick to punch y’know.”

Her eyes narrowed and she whisked around, skirt whipping behind her like the tail on a pissed off cat. 

His mate guffawed, shaking his head as he veered back. “You’re a brave man, Danno!”

Danny shrugged, polishing off the bottle in his hand. “S’just a beer, mate.”

“Rather you than me.” He laughed, disappearing into the crowd in the direction of the bathroom. 

Danny rolled his eyes and started towards the kitchen to get rid of the bottle in the overflowing recycling pile he’d seen before, but he’d barely made it halfway before someone grabbed his arm. 

“Hey, watch it!” he said, frowning up at the guy. 

He looked more tired than drunk or belligerent, and, weirdly enough, he was holding a breathalyser. The girl was back, nodding with a sharp glint in her eye he didn’t like the look of. “Yeah, that’s him, see, I toldya!”

“Seriously?” he snapped, yanking his arm back from the guy and giving him a hostile look. “I get it, you bought the beer or whatever, I’ll pay you back if you’re that pissed.”

“Just blow on it, mate,” said her buddy, rolling his eyes and holding up the breathalyser. 

“Will it make you fuck off and leave me alone?” said Danny, scowling as the girl snatched the empty bottle from his hand. “Christ, give it here then.”

He leaned forward and wrapped his lips around the plastic, frowning at the guy. 

Someone made a low oooh-ing noise, like a high schooler waiting for others to pick up the chorus. No one else joined in, and they scurried on. Danny rolled his eyes, waiting for the requisite ‘beep!’ of the device letting him know he could have his lungs back. 

The girl popped up on the balls of her feet, peering over his arm at the number blinking on the breathalyser. “See!” 

“Yeah, you got me, I’ve been drinking,” said Danny, gesturing with his empty bottle even as she reached out and snatched it from him. “Like everyone else here. What, you gonna confiscate my keys next? I don’t drive, I’m getting a fucking ride home—”

Her friend with the breathalyser sighed gustily and yanked his arm out, cutting Danny off. “Just shut up and wait it out,” he said, sounding way too annoyed for someone who’d just breathalysed him over a case of mistaken beer-dentity. 

“For what?” snapped Danny, and then something sharp plunged into his arm and he yelled, his knees buckling a little. “What the FUCK?”

“Just shut up!” snapped the guy again. 

“Busted!” someone yelled from behind them, but Danny couldn’t identify who based on the crowd. 

His eyes had drawn back to his arm like they were magnetised, where the annoying bitch with the problem had fucking stabbed his artery with a bottle opener.

He made a choked off gurgling noise, trying to swallow a combination of bile and pained moaning, tugging away to try and get free, but the cop-looking motherfucker just frowned and wrapped his bicep up in a tight arm lock. 

She scowled and propped the lip of the empty bottle next to his fresh wound, digging in the artery to make his blood spurt a little more, and Danny’s vision spotted with pain instead of alcohol this time. 

“Fuckin—what the hell?” he spluttered, kicking a foot out to try and push upright, jolt out of the hold, anything.

No one answered him, and his vision swam as he watched his own blood fill the bottle in front of his eyes. A couple of people crossed the room in front of him, some going for more drinks, a couple who met his eyes then sheepishly grinned and let their gazes skitter away—no one helped. No one stopped or asked what the hell was going on. 

By the time his blood reached the neck of the bottle there was a film of bile coating the inside of Danny’s mouth. The big guy dropped him, and he hit the floor, retching hard, grabbing at his arm where the blood was still spilling out, gripping it as tightly as he could. There was no sign of the girl or her fucked up bottle of his blood—

Thin, alcoholic vomit hit the carpet in front of him and a chorus of disgust rose around him. 

“Hey, what the fuck man—”

“Jesus, some people just can’t hold it.”

“Get him outside!”

“Fuckin’ oath.”

Hands gripped under his armpits, pulling him up, stumbling to his feet, half blind with the blood loss and fresh ache, and he was jostled outside, dumped unceremoniously on the porch. The cool night air hit his face and Danny blinked out into the suburban darkness, his only anchor back to reality the throbbing, sticky grasp of his hand around his arm. Fuck.

He needed to call a taxi.