Lightweight

The hinges creaked lightly as the apartment door opened. Staggering in, Miguel slapped at the wall twice, fumbling as he searched for the light switch.

“Ash, you have to walk!”

Leaning heavily against him, Ashlie laid her head on his shoulder. She adjusted her arm around his waist with a sigh.

“You’ve got to move your legs, sweetie,” Miguel said, struggling to steer her in the direction of her bedroom.

Ashlie was more than a touch drunk. Miguel had only barely managed to get her to cooperate in climbing the stairs to her flat, and they’d almost fallen twice during their ascent.

A smile touched Miguel’s pursed lips as he thought back on the events of the night. He had no idea how he’d convinced his friend, who never drank, to do a shot with him. In truth, she’d probably only agreed to the drink because he promised to take her home afterward.

He’d felt a surge of triumph when she’d consented, as he had been waiting his entire adult life to share a drink with her. Quickly, he ordered two shots of an Irish whiskey and chuckled at Ashlie’s expression when she lifted the shot glass to sniff its contents. He almost spit out his own drink as he watched her drop the empty shooter onto the table, face bright red, tears tumbling down her cheeks, and coughing at the burn in her throat.

That triumphant surge quickly deflated when shortly after the drink, it was clear that it had affected her heavily. She’d stumbled on their way to the parking lot and was almost asleep by the time they’d turned into the gate of her apartment complex.

Miguel stopped a few steps past the door, trying to decide if it would be easier to just lay Ashlie on the sofa, but decided against it, remembering her story about waking up there weeks before. He wanted to at least make her comfortable before he left.

“How much do you weigh, girl?” he said, struggling to move forward while supporting her.

“You’re mean…” Ashlie sighed sleepily.

“And you’re heavy.”

Miguel grunted as he got her to the doorway of the short passageway leading to her bedroom.

“I’m not fat…” Her eyes still closed, Ashlie pushed away from him and attempted feebly walk on her own.

“No, you’re drunk, though I don’t know how. You only had one drink.”

“I do- I don’t drink…”

Stepping behind her, Miguel smiled as he slipped his arms around her waist and guided her to the bed, where Ashlie fell forward onto the duvet-covered mattress, her feet still on the floor. She didn’t move and showed no sign of attempting to get on the bed properly.

Miguel lifted her feet onto the bed, rolling her onto her back and gently lifted her head enough to place a pillow under it. He then pulled off her shoes and socks, placing them on the floor, before standing and looking down at her fondly.

He really hoped that she wouldn’t feel too unwell in the morning.

“Good night, sweetie.” Miguel leaned forward and kissed his friend’s forehead.

Ashlie mumbled something incoherently in reply and sighed as she drifted off.