The contents of the bottle taunted Sara as they sloshed around in their container. She wanted to succumb to the alcohol's call, aware of the relief she knew it brought, but scared of the pain that she knew came too. Sitting alone at the table, she knew what she wanted to do, and what she needed to do. The problem was, what she wanted and what she needed were two separate things.
Sighing, she snatched the bottle off the table, its weight familiar in her hand. She unscrewed the cap, the strong smell hitting her in the face. Tipping the bottle, she watched the clear contents swirl around.
Without even looking up, she felt his accusing eyes on her. He was watching her and waiting for her to make a decision from where he stood in the doorway. She wanted to tell him not to judge her, but she knew he only wanted the best for her. She looked up at him, "I can't."
He walked over to her. "Don't be so dramatic dear. It doesn't suit you." He picked up the bottle. "Gimme your hand." He let some of the liquid soak into a cotton ball as she grudgingly gave him her hand.
She whined as the alcohol stung the cut he was cleaning, a battle wound from making dinner.
"Why don't we go out tonight."