"Cheap Vodka and Cheap Clubs"

"So do you love her?" Skye enquired over a jug of Long Island Iced Tea, on a night out.

"Well...um..." This was followed by even more 'umming' and 'awing' as I tried everything and anything to use everything and anything but the 'L' word. "It's a bit early to say. We've only been going out," I hate that term - I mean where exactly were we going? "for a little under a month."

"Noah...does she give you butterflies?"

"She does." I replied.

I couldn't help but think back to feeling like a 15 year-old again - which is exactly what Ella is.

Before I met up with Skye and her boyfriend Aidan, who was our designated driver for the evening, I'd spent the afternoon with Ella at a shopping centre, gathering presents for Christmas.

"We spent the afternoon holding hands and looking into each others eyes," I told Aspen while Skye and Aidan were at the bar. I failed to tell him about our "fragrance war" in the perfume shop, fearing it would sound too immature.

"Puppy love Noah, puppy love. You have to be careful, remember how girls at 15 got attached really easy?"

"You think? Ugh I honestly do not care - so what if she's younger - and an adolescent - I really like her; is a year and a few months really that big of a deal?"

"Just wait..."

Why had I resigned myself to using the world adolescent? What was I? A 75 year old man talking about "those pesky adolescents on the metro"?

I spent my train journey down to London the next day thinking about Ella. Why was I so scared of the word 'adolescent'? I mean, we'd all been there.

Hungover, with big dark glasses, and a bottle of water becoming a permanant fixture in my hand, I phoned her.

"Ugh Ella, I feel so bad!"

"I'm not surprised. Babe, when you phoned me you were slurring and shouting and everything!"

"Oh wow! I don't know what happened. I think it was the house treble vodkas," they were cheaper apparently, "Oh no. Oh no! Please tell me you didn't hear Wonderwall!" Oasis' classic had come on and Skye and I had phoned her.

"Yeah, it was if I was really there."

"I actually cannot believe it. I can't believe how drunk I got. I can't believe how hungover and sick I feel right now. Well, I'm gonna go, probably get some food. I'll see you babba!"

There were so many thing I felt like I need to say - like how I quite literally am disaster. I just wanted to try and warn her about me before things got anymore serious. For example, I'm a serial binge drinker who you'll quite possibly receive calls from at 2am, totally wasted from cheap vodka from a cheap club. But for now I wouldn't.

"I think I'm still drunk, " I thought to myself, "Oh God!"