Prompt: Avery Gets Drunk

A note from Zayne: This isn't necessarily part of the story. This was a prompt I received for some practice writing Avery.

I sat at the terribly lit bar, slowly sipping at my drink. The place was surprisingly empty for a Friday night, and very quiet, so I jumped slightly when a larger man plopped on top of the stool next to me. He ordered his drink, something strong, and I eyed him wearily as I finished mine and ordered another. Our glasses were set in front of us at the same time, and the man grinned. 

He lifted his drink to me in a silent toast and proceeded to down the entire thing at once and slam the glass back down on the wooden bar. Taking it as a challenge, I mirrored his actions, slamming my glass next to his. With a smirk, he ordered two new drinks and passed one to me. With another toast, we knocked them back as fast as we could, slamming them down at the same time and ordering yet another. After a few drinks, we were having trouble staying on our seats. I lost count of exactly how many drinks the two of us had in our silly challenge before the barkeep refused to give us more.

Since we could not have any more alcohol, we talked. We talked about many things, but not for very long, for nearly every word at this point had us in a fit of laughter. At one point, he dared me to go talk to the beautiful woman sitting a few seats down. In my dignity lacking state, I got up and did exactly that, very drunkenly hitting on the poor woman. It only lasted a few minutes before my face was sore and I was staring up at the ceiling. As I was previously unaware, the man next to her was her fiance. Her very big and very strong fiance.

I made the mistake of standing back up and looking him in the eyes. Faster than I could blink, I was back on the floor. This continued three or four more times before my new friend picked me up and hauled me away, laughing so hard his whole body was shaking. He carried me outside and I passed out a moment later.

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The next morning, I woke up in a room I did not recognize, and panic started to settle in. Where am I? What did I do last night? I rememberd the bar, drinking with the stranger. Did I tell him? Did I let my secret slip? Looking around, I saw nothing that indicated I was trapped or in danger, but the panic refused to lighten. 

A sound from another room startled me and, faster than I could thing, I shot off the couch I had been laying on and flew out the front door.