Lisa watched with disgust as her husband picked up the half-empty bottle of tequila. He over-tipped the bottle while trying to drink from it, and liquor spilled onto his face, soaking his thick mustache.
“Damn, guess I gotta watch what I’m doin’, huh?” he wiped at his mustache, giggling.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Drew? You’ve been drinking ever since you came home from work,” she said, as she tried to cajole him into agreeing with her.
“Nope, darlin’. I promised myself I’m gonna keep drinkin’ until I can swallow the little worm sittin’ at the bottom,” he said, as he tried pointing to the bottom of the bottle, missing it completely, and then laughing boisterously.
She sighed loudly in frustration as she observed his antics. She was getting awfully tired of the too-familiar scene.
“Hey!” Drew sounded loud and angry now. “What’s your problem?”
“Nothing.” Lisa’s voice was suddenly soft and nonconfrontational. The last thing she wanted was for Drew to become mean because then she knew he’d come after her and she’d get hurt.
“What do you mean, nothing, huh? I heard you makin’ those sounds, like you can’t stand to be around me. What’s the matter? Are you too good for me now, little Miss Perfect, huh?” Drew took some menacing steps towards her, with his hand balled up into a fist.
Lisa backed away, trying to get as far from Drew as she possibly could. When she stopped, she was trapped against the kitchen counter top, with nowhere else to go. She put her hand behind her, searching for something to defend herself with. Drew came hurtling towards her, his hands reaching out to grab her.
When it was all over, Lisa could not really believe she had used that kitchen knife.