Everything was a haze.
This is how it always should be, Jill thought.
One second passed.
Two more, marked by screaming in the background.
that would be too easy, the voice in her head finished for her.
She took another drink out of the glass in her fingers and it dribbled down her chin, snaking its way toward the collar of her shirt.
"Another."
The bartender stiffly took a bottle from the wretched shelf behind him and poured some foul-smelling alcohol into the empty glass. They frowned at each other. He left her to her own devices, limping to the back, past the swinging kitchen doors, into the obscure, grimy abyss of the kitchen. She drained half her glass in one go.
She didn't hear the bar's front doors slam.
"You can't still be here," The rough words were accompanied by a rougher scraping of chair legs upon weatherbeaten wooden flooring, the smell of cigarette smoke, and the slightly askew visual of Chris.
She sighed.
"It's 2:00."
"I know," she murmered.
"Let me drive you home. C'mon." He said.
But she was examining her glass.
There were marks. Her big blue eyes followed the minute cracks at the edges and corners; small, fragile spiderwebs, complicated little paths. One larger streak ran along the bottom, up the side, carving a pale line in its path.
"Look, Chris." She said, holding it up for him to see, sloshing liqiuid out the side.
"Jill, I really think you need some sleep-"
"No, no look, you don't understand-"
"Jill-"
"It's still holding all the water, look-"
"Jill-"
Chris reached for the glass held up before his face, fingers clasping its greasy surface for a moment.
It slipped.
Whiskey splattered them both.
Rivulets of liquid spread across the notched wood of the counter, forming a miniature ocean, chunks of glass and ice for islands and icebergs. Neither moved for a moment.
"Okay, Jill. You've seriously had enough for tonight," he grabbed her hand.
"you're coming home."
She pulled her fingers free of his strong grip with what was left of the strength in her thin arms, staring at the mess. A steady dripping prevailed over the silence, punctuating the sound of death. Chris made to grab her wrist.
"No," she said. His arm paused.
"I want a new glass."
"No, Jill."
"I need a new glass, Chris. Let me have another fucking glass."
"No more, Jill."
Something in her eyes faded a little more.
Slowly she let him take her by the shoulders and steer her out, one arm around her back, feet stumbing.
The little ocean of whiskey continued dripping toward a filthy puddle on the floor.
