Short Stories That Have No Fandom

Whiskey's Supposed to Drown a Memory

Glasses clinking all around. Laughter and loud music fade into a collective background noise. Cool whiskey swirled in a shot glass, not the first and not the last. 

She leaned her arms onto the wooden bar, darkened where drinks spilled over the course of the night. The whiskey continued to swirl as she contemplated drinking it. She felt the buzz in her veins but it did nothing to the images in her thoughts that she so desperately wanted to fade.

"Thought I'd find you here." A man slipped into the bar stool next to her. Her friend. "Heard what happened," He said by way of explanation. She hummed in response. Her eyes stayed locked on the shot glass. He didn't say anything, keeping his gaze dancing around the bar at the dew patrons. 

It was a slow night, not the thrumming crowd one would expect. It suited her just fine. She never did like loud environments. The argument flashed in her mind, the words spit back and forth at an unacceptable volume feeling as if it were happening all over again. 

She tossed back the whiskey, feeling the burn fade the memory out of focus but it was still sat there, just out of reach. Whiskey was supposed to drown the memories.

"Why are you here, Peter?" She asked, finally looking up at him. His eyes found her's, wanting nothing more than to protect her. That's what best friends did, right?

"I wanted a drink. You seem to know a thing or two. Tell me, what's the best thing here?" He leaned an arm against the bar, body facing her. She knew his tactics. This was a distraction. A way to get her mind off of the world and focused on something else. 

Isn't that what she was trying to do with the drinks?

She shook her head. His tactics always worked. Much better than her's, in any case.

"The whiskey." She responded, holding up her empty shot glass as an example. He reached for the bottle before she could, examining it. She sighed. He wasn't going to give it back now.

"I see," He leaned forward, trying to get the bartender's attention. "Excuse me, could I get a shot of this? And one for my friend here." 

A second glass clinked onto the bar. The whiskey, cold and sweet, poured into both glasses. Peter held his up.

"What are we drinking to, Vee?" He used her nickname. The one from when they were kids, playing in the backyard. Using sticks as lightsabers or blankets as capes and paper cut and colored to be a super hero mask. 

"Everette's too long for a superhero name." She sighed, adjusting the paper mask so it didn't poke her in the eye.

"Hmm," Peter placed a finger to his chin, deep in thought. "How about Ev? Evie? Vee?"

"I like Vee." She had said, placing her fists on her hips. "Super Vee!" She proclaimed.

"I like the sound of that." Peter said, "And I'll be the Evil Peter, sworn to destroy the city. And once I do, I'll destroy the world!" He laughed like a villain, loud and manically.

"Memories." Everette decided, holding her glass up and clinking it against his. "The good and the bad."

Peter chuckled, "I'll drink to that." They both downed their glasses, the clink of both hitting the bar was in sync. Everette smiled at Peter's grimace and cough. "How do you keep a straight face?" His voice, usually smooth and quiet, rasped from the burning liquid.

Everette shrugged. "Don't know. Maybe I'm just tougher than you." That earned her a scoff.

"As if. I always won our lightsaber fights." Peter said, slicing through the air as if his arm was the lightsaber.

"And I always saved the city." She slow motion punched at him, giving him time to block. She would never forget that argument. That would always be a bad memory. But good memories drown the bad. Much better than whiskey ever did for her. 

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Disclaimer: I have never had nor am old enough to legally drink whiskey. All my knowledge comes from country songs and a quick google search. 

Title comes from the song Drowns the Whiskey (feat. Miranda Lambert) by Jason Aldean