By Susan A. Eames
double shot vodka
'Why do
you always argue with me?' Ruthie slumped, plucking at her bandaged throat. 'Why
can't you just say, “yes”?'
'Because
I care,' said Timothy.
'I'm
fresh out of hospital and fresh out of smokes. And where's my vodka?' She pushed
herself straighter in her chair, staring at Timothy with narrowed eyes. 'Did you
drink it while I was in hospital?'
'Don't
be ridiculous.'
'Please, mate.'
'I'm not
going to help you commit suicide, Ruthie.'
'Oh, for
god's sake, stop being melodramatic.' Ruthie pouted.
'Don't
you get it? You ended up in hospital because of your addictions and now you want
to sabotage your recovery.'
'Please, Timmy. You don't understand.
I need my babies.'
'Don't
ask me to do this.'
'PLEASE.' Ruthie began to tear the
bandage at her throat.
'Jesus,
Ruthie.' Timothy pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and threw them on
the coffee table in front of her. While she scrabbled to light a cigarette he
went and snatched the vodka from under the kitchen sink. Wordless, he handed her
the bottle.
'Thanks,
mate.'
She
grabbed a used, grubby glass from the coffee table and sloshed vodka into
it.
He
stared at her, expressionless. 'Knock yourself out, Ruthie.'
Timothy
left, feeling sick to his stomach.
Ruthie
was too busy tipping the vodka down her damaged throat to mark his
leaving.'Glorious,' she giggled, hugging the
bottle while cigarette smoke curled overhead.
About the author
Susan A. Eames left England over twenty five years ago to explore the world and
dive its oceans. She has had travel articles and short fiction published on
three continents. After several fascinating years living in Fiji she has
relocated to West Cork in Ireland .
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