Little Bobby's Drunk Again Novels & Stories

“Waiting for a taxi. It was raining. She took my cab.” “What did she look like?” “I don’t remember.” “How old was she?” “I don’t know.” “You said she took your cab. Did you say anything to her?” “I don’t think so.” “What did you do?” He flinched again. “Was she with anyone?” He hesitated, glancing at me. “What do you mean?” “Who was she with?” “A boy.” “How old?” “Five… maybe six.” “Where was he?” “She was dragging him along by the hand,” Bobby said, his voice tightening. “He was screaming. Not just crying. Proper screaming. And she was ignoring him. He went limp and she had to drag him. And he kept screaming…”

he slurred, immediately placing his hand on my shoulder. The stench of alcohol engulfed me. Not answering him, I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. He looked displeased. “Hey!! Why do you look so uncomfortable? It's me Bobby, I can get you anything you want here sweetheart. Come to daddy.” he yelled at the top of his voice. A shadow towered above and I looked up to see Alex glaring at that drunk man. “Leave,” he murmured in a calm tone. The idiot laughed, “who the hell is this punk?”

“Looks like he drummed his little heart out.” I rolled my eyes and turned away. When I entered the studio, Johnny had successfully roused Bobby from unconsciousness. He snapped his fingers in front of Bobby’s face. “You with us, Bobby?” Hank walked around the kit and knelt beside him. “You all right, broth—oh fuck.” Blood oozed from Bobby’s left nostril, splattering in dark floral patterns on the carpet. He put his finger to his face and then stared at the blood, incredulous that something so warm and dark could be pouring out of him.