Jem was in the club. He was a familiar face to many of the patrons, often spending his time there, even when he really should be asleep. No one batted an eye, but for a change Jem didn’t want to be there.

The reason was glaring up at him. It felt like it was looking into him, and through him. A void on the back of his hand. The black spot.

He couldn’t count the number of times he’d scratched at it, or scraped at it hoping it was something like a permanent marker and would disappear if he rubbed hard enough. It didn’t.

His first introduction to the black spot was as a concept. He’d seen it on tv. A sign that a pirate was marked for death. It was happening to someone else, it was dramatic and fun. His second introduction was watching live television and seeing someone disappear. Although he hadn’t known at the time that that was the result of a black spot. It was only later that that was reported on. Jem’s third introduction to the black spot was when one appeared on the back of his hand.

At first, he was confused. Then he was scared. Was it cancer? Then he looked at it, a perfectly spherical black dot, one that seemed an empty void. Then he was scared for an entirely different reason. From then on his knowledge of the black spot, was less of an introduction and more of a frantic scurry for anything and everything that could help him.

It was decidedly lacking academic rigour. More conspiracy theories and 40% off pirate costumes. Mick looking over his shoulder at one of those moments felt like more of a curse than the spot itself.

His friends had joined him, all of them dressed in matching pirate costumes. As captain he had a cutlass strapped to his hip. His friends got together and made a rush order with a blacksmith. Before that, Jem hadn’t even known blacksmiths still existed. The cynic in him believed the blacksmith already had cutlasses prepared. Just in case. Jem didn’t know a thing about making weapons, but 290 hours felt too short a time.

A loud noise pulled Jem from his thoughts.

“Whooo, Jem come dance.” Mina grabbed his shirt and leaned into him, going on tiptoes. With her mouth level with his ear she yelled. “There’s lots of cute boys to dance with.”

Jem flinched back then let himself be led away.

“Whoo.” Jem whispered, too quiet for Mina to hear. He wanted a hug, not to flail his arms around himself in a room that smelled like sweat. He forced a smile onto his face. You’re going to die, here have a glorified knife. It felt wrong to think it, but he was also sorely aware that he didn’t fit the pirate look.

Jem yelled forward. “I’m going to get a drink.”

“Okay, remember to put it on the tab.” Mina turned her head.

Jem didn’t bother pointing out he wouldn’t have much use for money soon.

There wasn’t a line when he reached it. Wednesday typically wasn’t the biggest night out for students, and that hadn’t changed on account of Jem.

“Hello there handsome, what can I get for you.” The bartender flung a glass head over tail in a flourish. His eyes were dark and his hair was a rich caramel brown.

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“I would like a double vodka shot please.” Getting vodka instead of rum felt like a small victory.

“Coming right up.”

The bartender turned. His back muscles visibly flexed as he reached for a bottle hanging on the rack.

The shirt was tight. Jem’s eyes moved upwards and they met the bartender’s in a small mirror.

The bartender turned back around and poured the shot. “Like what you see?”

Jem gulped and felt his face flush. He grabbed the shot and gulped again. Burning hit the back of his throat. He gasped and slammed the glass back down.

“Another.”

“Aye captain.” The bartender winked and turned to grab the vodka again. Jem very studiously examined the counter.

.

Jem reached forward to grab the shot glass. Before he could the bartender’s hands darted forward and grabbed his.

“Dude that’s not cool. Wipe that off right now.” The bartender grabbed his cloth and wiped at the black spot on Jem’s hand.

Jem wrested his hand back.

“If I could, I would but I can’t.” Jem gritted his teeth.

“You can and should but wo–” The words died on the bartender’s lips.

Jem looked up at the bartender. The man’s eyes we’re locked on his hand, and the entirely pristine spot. The one that seemed to drag light into it. His expression changed from one of anger to one of sorrow.

“Ahh... sorry...”

Jem glared at the bartender, took the shot and threw it back.

“Another.”

The bartender didn’t bother replying.

Jem stared at the larger-than-usual shot glass.

What great fun.

Three double shots. No more thoughts.

Jem drove himself onto the dance floor. A remix of dance monkey was playing and the words ‘oh I feel alive’ pushed into his brain. Absolutely fucking great.

A frown creased itself on his face. He wanted to do something–

Mina glommed onto his arm and started dragging him over to his friends. Notably, it was before he could do anything stupid.

“Careful. If you stop drinking now you might even be able to walk tomorrow.”

Jem snorted weakly and coughed a laugh.

Tomorrow.

Strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him in for a hug. A hand started to stroke his hair.

“We love you, you know that right.” It was Mick talking. Jem just nodded.

A time passed like that. Songs changed and friends joined and left. After a while it was just Mina and Mick and he wasn’t exactly sure when he’d started to cry. But he was. The ugly snot-dribbling kind. Their last memory of you shouldn’t be like this. Pathetic and selfish, that’s what you’re being. He couldn’t make himself smile for them though.

___

After a time Jem fell asleep. Mina wiped at his face ineffectually.

She was on the last tissue when Jem finally disappeared.

A vacuum formed in his absence and Mina and Mick collided with each other. Mick started to cry.

“No time for that.” Mina commanded. “Let’s get smashed. Upsetting memories won’t forget themselves.”

It was Mick’s turn to choke out a laugh. Though neither Mina nor Mick drank much that night. They didn't want to forget. Even if it hurt.