200 ml. The amount in a little juice box she’d promised to down. A gift, he says, but what a strange gift indeed.
We had promised: meet at the hot dog stand. But now, she regretted the decision. As the two strode briskly towards his apartment, she felt a sense of unease build up within her. She felt nervous – but not in the good way – at the possible consequences.
He showed her to the door, and she timidly stepped into his home. She narrowly glanced at the bottle containing her regrets. There was no going back now.
The boy pulled out a knife; it was 6 inches in length, and razor sharp. For a brief moment, she wanted to use it to control him, but then immediately – horrified that she had even thought of the idea – dismissed it.
He took his sweet time popping the lid off much to the annoyance of the girl. Finally, with one last twist, the cap came loose. It was time.
“You have to sit on the right, it’s only tradition.” Tradition? Who does he think I am? Some weak, isolated, child? I can sit down by myself thank you very much. But of course, she said none of this, and only faked a smile and sat down.
The two glasses were filled: 100mL each. She let out a soft sigh of relief. This amount wasn’t so bad.
“We must drink it together.” Again with the tradition. Does he have any idea how obsessive and controlling he sounds?
“Alright.”
The first sip was fine. But each sip afterwards became increasingly difficult to swallow. Her head began to feel light and dizziness overwhelmed her.
She saw him drinking merrily and to her chagrin, he looked back. After a moment, she broke the gaze and tried to finish the liquid.
A smirk. A smile. Then a chuckle and a giggle rang out from his lips. Disgusting. I hate men who easily let their inhibitions loose, she thought.
“How do you like it?” Did he honestly expect me to like this? She wasn’t sure why she had ever agreed to this in the first place. However, she’ll indulge him today.
A moment of awkwardness.
“I love it” she lied.
Silence.
“This isn’t a trashy, undignified drinking session,” he sputtered. “This is quality drink, not the cheap homemade kind.” He spoke as if to reassure himself as much as her.
Classy, not trashy. Was there even a difference?
As time passed, the volume of the boy’s drink seemed to decrease exponentially as compared to the girl’s.
“I must leave soon.” She hoped she could escape soon.
“Stay a little longer.”
The girl paused a moment. Why must he torture me like this? Surely he can see that I’m not enjoying this.
“Alright, but only a little bit.”
“I think I may have more in the fridge.” Oh God. The girl’s heart dropped. The boy cheerfully skipped to the kitchen and the girl quickly seized the moment to open her water bottle and spit a mouthful of alcohol in it.
The glasses were filled again. And so they drank.
She hated how her mind began to fog up.
She felt the want to place her head on something and sleep. But not in here. Never. Not when he’s here at least.
Was more to come?
But at last, time freed the the girl’s chains and unbounded her from the leash. The girl finally had a chance to leave. The boy prepared to bid her goodbye.
The boy had loved every moment of it. He was in ecstasy. But for the girl, the feeling was reciprocated. Unwanted and unneeded.
As she left, she thought she heard the shattering of glass along with a cacophony of noise mixed in with a scream.
She smiled.
Or was it just her imagination?