Patrick, are you really this drunk again?

Diego's voice sounded far away, muffled as if submerged underwater.

I opened my eyes and my vision immediately blurred.

I looked up at Diego and I saw double.

His skin swelled and morphed as I looked at him.

If I didn't know better, I'd think he was made of plasticine.

I reached my hand out to touch him, to feel his skin under my moist fingertips.

I wanted to know if he was real.

He hit my hand away.

The pain was sharp, instant and undeniable,

and it brought me back to reality somewhat.

Dude, what the fuck?

I managed to stammer.

My head felt a little clear, less foggy,

and I fumbled around for my phone.

That was when I realized I was on the floor.

I didn't know how I got there.

The last memory I could grasp was being at Diego's flat for his leaving party.

I remembered drinking the vodka red bulls, drowning my lungs in them,

then the memories danced in my mind, forever out of reach.

I don't remember much after the twelfth drink,

except for waking up with Diego's crinkled face looking down on me.

...