I was on Deb's couch. I was whisky drunk and I had just pissed her off. She was in the kitchen, slamming cabinet doors and bitching about the pile of dishes in her sink.
"Yeah, that's what you need," she said. "Fucking asshole." Another cabinet slammed and I didn't know who the asshole was, me or the cabinet.
She stomped out into the living room and threw a bottle at me. It hit me in the chest and by morning I'd have a large bruise.
"Sarsparilla fucking whiskey. Drink up," she said. Back into the kitchen. "Maybe you'll finally pass out and I won't have to fucking listen to you."
I unscrewed the whiskey and took a large swallow. It, besides the normal whisky experience, was sweet and tasted a bit like root beer and I could see myself throwing up any time, and swallowed more. I laid back against the couch and couldn't remember driving to Deb's in the first place. My eyes were heavy and my head was a landfill.
"Why are you pissed at me?" I said.
"What?" she asked from the kitchen. "I can't fucking hear you. You're a goddamned mumbler. Fuck. Just fall asleep already."
"I said," I cleared my throat. "Why are you pissed at me?!"
"Why... Why am I pissed at you?!" She swept into the living room like a hurricane. "Oh, maybe because... hmmm, I have to find out you're fucking my friends? BY MY FRIENDS. Oh, and you, mister prince goddamned charming, decide 'hey, now's a great time for more whisky!' and then proceed to fucking berate me in front of a bar full of my friends! Why?! Why am I fucking mad?"
I stood and took a long and hard swallow, screwed the top on and tossed the bottle onto the couch. "I didn't berate you," I said.
"No? No, you didn't launch into a goddamn tirade of seventeen reasons why you aren't fucking tied down, and how you wouldn't be tied down to me anyway, and how ohhhhh, poor James your life is so fucked up that jesus christ we should all just let you do whatever the fuck you want?! Fuck you. Yeah. I'm not your fucking girlfriend. I'm not fucking dating you. I don't own you or have any goddamned claim to you, but you know, a little fucking honesty could go a long way you stupid selfish piece of shit."
"You told me we were done. You made it very goddamn clear."
"Fuck you. You knew what I meant."
"Knew what you meant?! How the fuck am I going to know what you meant? You said we were done! That should have been what you fucking meant! Don't goddamn run around and tell me one thing and expect me to understand your goddamn code! Say what you fucking mean!"
"You want me to say what I mean?!"
"Yes! For christ sake!"
"Fine. I'm done."
"Oh, this time?"
"Yeah. That's it. Lay down. Sober up. Leave in the morning. I'm done. Enjoy fucking your goddamned skanks."
"They're your friends," I said.
Her fist, rings and all, connected with my jaw and already drunk I fell onto the couch and I wiped blood from the outside of my face and tasted it inside.
"You fucking hit me?"
"Fuck you. Go to bed." She walked to her bedroom, slammed the door and the copper taste in my mouth was fine and not unfamiliar, though I imagined my jaw would be fairly sore later.
After sitting and letting the world slow a bit, I stood, took the whisky and left, shutting the door quiet behind me. I sat in my car, sipped from the whisky and fell asleep in the passenger seat.
In the morning I went upstairs and she made eggs and I thought I'd try to write later.
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