Late night party monster

It's late. The party's waning. But there's still some rum left. I think I'll by safe as long as there's some rum left.

Steve's angry. Steve's pissed. Steve's glassy-eyed mad. He's a drunken pitbull wielding a chainsaw, all teeth and fleas.

I try not to look directly at him. He's an eclipse, a tsunami, a razor-wired black hole motherfucker.

Lick it Up revs out the radio and I know I'm screwed. Rob's distracted, bouncing to the music and reaching for the bottle out of habit. I start to reach out, try to stop the bottle from tipping, but Steve starts growling, a guttural thing full of malicious promise.

My bowels tighten up. Steve stares at me. He's Loch Ness dangerous, a YetiSasquatchBigfoot psycho crazy animal fuck.

I'm scared.

The last of the rum dribbles from the end of the bottle, a sad no-hope-for-the-future-cause-there-ain't-one senior citizen spittle.

God help me.