"Honestly, Queenie, I never expected you to be so calm about this I… I guess I didn't give you enough credit." Batter admitted, finally looking up from his third near-empty glass. Her face still looked the same; glad and in control. At first this was frightening, a sign she'd snapped. However, after he had agreed to the drink, she had just as smoothly left and brought back two glasses. They both drank what appeared to be orange juice and vodka, screwdrivers were nothing new, as Batter divulged what had happened over the school year so far; how he first met Sugar and Zacharie, how he began to drift away from his old life, from her, and so on.
He was understandably shocked by how well she handled the information. Once he was comfortable, whether this was from her attitude or the alcohol he wasn't sure, he spared no detail. Even as Batter told of how his love for Zacharie grew, and continued to grow, Queenie's behavior remained static.
A sort of light heartedness settled in as he spoke. Batter never felt like he could talk about these feelings. The part of him that loved Queenie was excited that he could confide in her and that things seemed to be ending on a good note.
However, the part of him that knew Queenie knew better than that. Any normal person that had to hear this after a breakup would be furious and hurt, so why wasn't Queenie expressing anything beyond complacency? He tried to ignore these thoughts; Queenie was sick, but she wasn't a nutcase. Perhaps he truly wasn't giving her enough credit.
At this point, Queenie held the bottle of vodka in her lap, ready to supply another refill upon Batter's next sip. She'd moved him onto shot glasses, entirely bypassing the orange juice in favor of him getting more easily intoxicated. She watched him carefully, having been ignoring his words for a while; it wasn't what he was saying that she cared about, but rather what he sounded like, what he moved like. Was his tone getting looser? Was he smiling more than usual?
Batter returned the glass to his lips and Queenie returned the spout to the shot promptly after, "Are you sure you're okay with this?" Batter asked with a noticeable slur and Queenie quickly felt bile crawl up her throat. The more he spoke, the angrier she grew, but a question like that? It was as if he smashed his glass over her head then asked her the same thing.
Queenie poured some vodka into her own glass for the first time in a while and raised it, "Let's toast to it." She spoke grandly and Batter raised his as well, clicking the shots together then knocking back his portion. Queenie didn't even bother to touch the rim to her lips, instead pouring the contents into Batter's wobbling glass. It took only moments for him to droop over onto the bed and Queenie watched with a particular rush as his eyelids fluttered in his semi-conscious state.
"Batter?" She questioned without an ounce of genuine concern in her voice, "Batter, why did you stop talking, huh? I really wanted to hear more about your fucking relationship really keep telling me more." She asked sarcastically as she pulled her shirt over the top of her head, "You are so goddamn stupid." She tossed it aside before straddling Batter's waist, gripping his shirt and tearing it upwards and off the bed.
She looked down on him, her bitterness growing as she looked over his body. She felt a certain disconnect at how this used to be a happy sight, but now it was as if she was looking down on a large slab of meat; one of those bisections of a cow you see hanging in a butcher's shop.
Queenie removed her phone and leaned down, aiming the camera at herself and Batter and taking the first picture; her lips planted emotionlessly on his own.