Re: [Evans & Peel: Jack & Holly]
All things considered, Holly was proud of himself. He hadn't fallen over or puked yet, and these were the things he associated with his dad's early drinking days. Dad had never quite stopped falling over, but the puking had stopped, at least until the end, and then it had been a completely different type of affair. But Holly was wasted enough that the unbidden memories of cleaning up bloodied vomit weren't bobbing near the surface of his subconscious at all. In fact, everything was kinda submerged. His current trauma was a submarine in a vast ocean of plastic-bottle booze, and he didn't mind it one little bit. It meant he could talk without interruption by hiccups or tears or rages, and that was kinda nice, since he'd kinda been in all of those places in the past 48 hours.
He nodded, his split lip barely noticeable in the bar's low light, and he didn't mind talking about this stuff that made no sense whatsoever. The Twilight Zone and he was boldly going where no one had gone before, and everyone had kinda denounced him as being nuts, with the exception of Noah, but he did want to talk about it. It was a need that bubbled force on booze-breath, right? A need for people to get it, to understand just how magnificently messed up this all was. "It wasn't a round-trip ticket. One way, and all the seats are taken in reverse," he said, even though he wasn't absolutely sure that was true. That was part of the problem, wasn't it? The not knowing. "I don't know anything about magic or science," he admit in a slur, booze sloshing in his belly. "Options? Okay, hit me with options, because I can't find an option anywhere." Holly came from a simple place without weird stuff. He didn't know about options. For him, this was seriously not-normal.
"It's great money," he ascertained shamelessly. There was no sign of the kid that had been bullied and outed, not in this booze-splendor state. "On a good night, I can make five or six hundred bucks. He paid me a grand for sex," he added. A grand sounded impressive, he knew. "Why does it make a difference if I think he's hot?" he asked, and he was deliberately down-selling, so he sighed, because, okay, honesty. "I like him, but he kinda ruined my life back home, and I see him and see that, and I won't date closeted guys anymore. It's bad news, you know? Like, it's just waiting for heartbreak, and he says he doesn't pay anyone but me, but he has a lot of anonymous sex with guys, and IDK." IDK, that was where he ended his clear and concise telling of events.
"Glenfiddich." He'd never heard of it. His knowledge was limited to those plastic bottles and some generic beer that tasted way terrible. The new drinks came, and Holly took a long swallow. "I don't think Dad intended to die either. It kinda just happens," he informed Jack helpfully. "It's not pretty, so maybe pick another way to go, you know, if you do decide to intend to die from it." He was helpful, and he took another sip to keep the maelstrom at bay. Windows locked, and the storm was currently raging out there, beyond the booze-pane in his head.