The Whiskey Monologues

“I’m not drunk.”

“You know that by just pointing out that you are not drunk it means that you are definitely drunk.”

She sighed.

“Damn vodka.” She put the half empty bottle of crystalline obsession on the coffee table to her right, where she would be picking it up and putting it down in the one-hour lapse.

“You have now more Russian in your system than I do,” he chuckled.

“Oh damn, Tommy,” she giggled while tousling her dirty blond hair. “The only way I will have more Russian in my system is if I fuck a Russian guy and have his pale babies.”

“What about me?” Tom asked and at that exact second he expected her drunkenness made her deaf.

She smirked and got closer as if the sofa had shrunk and the only option was to get skin against skin, breast against arm. Vodka against whiskey.

“You may be Russian honey, but you still are Tommy to me,” she smiled apologetically to burst out laughing three seconds later. Tom put his arms around her, pretending to laugh too. Then there was silence, cutting sharp as her gardenia perfume. “You are just too good for me,” she whispered. “Too good you’re like… like poison.”

Pause. Maybe there is hope.

“So far I haven’t killed you yet.”

“Oh, but you will.”

Somehow he knew that was the absolute truth.

“It’s not that soon I’ll be walking down the street and poof! I’m dead,” she said before chugging down her throat some more good ol’ Russian venom. “You are that amazing that you are killing me gradually.”

He sat up straight. She was making less and less sense.

“Maybe you’re drinking too much.”

She looked at him in the eye, which wandered from time to time. No, the bottle was not half empty but half full.

“Maybe you’re not drinking enough.”

He sighed.

She left the bottle again on the coffee table and went back to her original position. He became marble and still couldn’t find the strength to push her away and tell her to leave.

“I tell you: you’re killing me,” she whispered and kissed him on the cheek before getting up and disappearing as fast as she had arrived.

“You’re killing me, too.”