Eye Drops (#2)

f l u t t e r

"I love your eyes, but I love mine more. Without my eyes, I can't see yours." – Unknown

P.S. Guess who wins the award for the lamest cliffhanger ever which makes no sense? *Points of self* this gal! Hope this chapter clears your confusion up.

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Tristan's POV

"But she says that it's your turn," Tristan said in a dramatic voice, as 'your turn' seemed like the most dramatic line in the history of unnecessarily dramatic lines.

Even though he had absolutely no flippin' idea what the hell was going on- hey, it seemed fitting to put his drama expertise to use. Though it made him seem like he and Retina had committed a crime together, maybe got rid of a few dead bodies, some James Bond kind of stuff going on, but they couldn't be heroes all the time, okay?

"My turn? What turn?" Retina asked dubiously, sounding just as mystified as Tristan felt. "I don't know what you're talking abo- oh." The pitch of her voice suddenly rose a full octave from nervousness; or being hit in her nonexistent balls.

It was probably the latter, to be honest.

Totally the latter.

"Retina? What are you suddenly so quiet?" Tristan asked slowly, mystified but also worried at the abrupt change in her tone.

The last thing he heard from Retina was a barely coherent blabber of the words, "gotta go, ciao!" before the familiar beep emitted from Westerden Optometrist's rather old-fashioned phone- telling him that she had proceeded to hang up.

He had roughly twenty seconds to collect his thoughts and regain his composure, before a melodic chime rang out through the store. Glancing up interestedly, he immediately noticed that behind the polished glass door stood none other than Fletcher Parker. And what was he doing?

Well, ladies and gents, he was doing the usual immature nearly-twenty-year-old thing to do- which was to watch himself pull grotesque faces in the reflection of the glass and burst into peals of laughter each time. It was normal for Fletcher to make fun of himself, but Tristan couldn't believe that Fletcher hadn't figured out that the door was not a mirror yet.

Tristan amusedly watched Fletcher push the tip of his nose upwards while crossing his chocolate brown irises, before waving his arm and shouting, "yo! Porkie Pie! Are you trying to show the whole planet the stuff that's currently up your nostrils?"

But he actually did appreciate Fletcher's childish behaviour, since he really needed some more fun in his life. Even a week and a half after the stupid business party, Tristan was still trying to recover from the excessive amounts of alcohol adults had offered him- and even though he protested that he was underage, adults didn't take no for an answer.

By the time stars were beautifully glimmering in the sky that night, he and Emily had had about twenty sips of different drinks and were just about ready to jump onto a preferably unsteady table, strip most of their clothing layers, and do an irish jig while singing the American Star-Spangled Banner national anthem.

And even though Tristan hated alcohol as much he hated people who continuously asked for free samples eye drops without buying the full product, he had had fun that night. Partially due to Emily's fun yet down-to-earth personality, but mostly the alcohol.

Here's a lesson, kids: you only live once, so when you're over the legal age, get drunk at least once and every struggle of yours fades away for a while. Live in the moment, bro!