She pushed herself up off the couch and looked around the room.
I knew what it looked like from her perspective.
It was perfect.
Not a thing out of place.
Our home was a museum.
I hated it.
"Am I interrupting anything?" She asked as she fingered the short glass of scotch that was on the coffee table.
My vice.
My strength.
My ticket to oblivion.
"No." I said as I stood and plucked the glass off the wooden surface tipping it back and draining it in one gulp.
Not very proper I know.
But at least I didn't burp.