Friday 23 November 2018


By Susan A. Eames 

double shot vodka

'Why do you always argue with me?' Ruthie slumped, plucking at her bandaged throat. 'Why can't you just say, “yes”?' 
'Because I care,' said Timothy.
'I'm fresh out of hospital and fresh out of smokes. And where's my vodka?' She pushed herself straighter in her chair, staring at Timothy with narrowed eyes. 'Did you drink it while I was in hospital?'
'Don't be ridiculous.'
'Please, mate.'
'I'm not going to help you commit suicide, Ruthie.'
'Oh, for god's sake, stop being melodramatic.' Ruthie pouted.
'Don't you get it? You ended up in hospital because of your addictions and now you want to sabotage your recovery.'
'Please, Timmy. You don't understand. I need my babies.'
'Don't ask me to do this.'
'PLEASE.' Ruthie began to tear the bandage at her throat.
'Jesus, Ruthie.' Timothy pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and threw them on the coffee table in front of her. While she scrabbled to light a cigarette he went and snatched the vodka from under the kitchen sink. Wordless, he handed her the bottle.
'Thanks, mate.'
She grabbed a used, grubby glass from the coffee table and sloshed vodka into it.
He stared at her, expressionless. 'Knock yourself out, Ruthie.' 
Timothy left, feeling sick to his stomach.
Ruthie was too busy tipping the vodka down her damaged throat to mark his leaving.'Glorious,' she giggled, hugging the bottle while cigarette smoke curled overhead.

About the author

Susan A. Eames left England over twenty five years ago to explore the world and dive its oceans. She has had travel articles and short fiction published on three continents. After several fascinating years living in Fiji she has relocated to West Cork in Ireland .

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