Acquiescence

six: March 3, 2011

S I X

March 3, 2011

Marley's first sip of alcohol burned the back of her throat. The second ignited a fire in the pit of her stomach. The third may as well have been a stream of lava from a recently erupted volcano. The liquid was smooth, but it was painful-nothing that even remotely resembled the champagne Marley once had at New Year's Eve. Jude had his fist pressed over his mouth, fighting back laughter at his date's expression of absolute disgust.

"Oh my god," Marley gasped, tears in her eyes. "How do you drink this?"

Smiling softly, Jude snatched the flask from her hand and poured a stream of alcohol into his mouth without so much as a wince. Marley narrowed her eyes, and he chuckled. "Tolerance. I grew up with a lot of Italians, so they had me drinking Chianti by the time I was twelve. Still, sweetheart, you'll fare a lot better if you just brace yourself and take an actual drink. Don't be afraid of it."

"Aren't you supposed to have a chaser, or something?" Marley offered quietly, pulling the term from the handful of parties she'd attended in the past.

Jude shrugged, "That's more of a teenage thing."

"Well, I'm a teenager, if you didn't know." Where she got the confidence to even consider blurting such a sarcastic remark, Marley couldn't say; surely, the alcohol couldn't have tampered with her self-control so quickly. And she'd had a grand total of three tiny sips. If she truly were that much of a lightweight, an "actual drink," as Jude had dubbed it, would probably send her reeling and charging for the nearest bathroom stall within a matter of seconds. Her stomach flipped.

Jude only laughed, his eyes flashing for a moment. "I guess you are. Listen, do what I just did, and I promise you'll be fine."

"What if I'm not?"

"Just do it." There was a hint of impatience in his voice-like an afterthought, in the way his last word was cut off with an abrupt sigh, when his guise of patience had fallen short.

Marley looked at the flask, cradled in her sweaty palms, and took a deep breath, letting the musky air cool her mouth before it was scorched with flames. With one more exasperated exhale, she raised the poison to her lips, tilted her head, and let all hell break loose in the back of her throat. Marley felt something odd right then, as she leapt in the air on one foot to distract herself from the agony: underneath the layer of discomfort provided by the vodka was a jolt of energy. She wanted to whip her hair back and sprint down the steps five at a time. She also wanted another drink.

'Hello, alcoholism,' she thought carelessly.

Jude smiled, as if to broadcast his approval, and copied her with another swig of his own. Two more trade-offs and ten minutes later, and Marley could already feel her fingertips grow warm, her vision stained with a hazy, red-orange blur. The lights were pretty. How long did it take to get drunk? She laughed, the sound mixed with a quiet hiccup, and silently chided herself for never paying attention to such vital details when she had observed intoxicated friends. How much did they drink? Two shots? Three? Was a gulp from Jude's flask the same as a shot? What was she even drinking, exactly?

Questions came and passed like tufts of clouds on a windy day, breezing in front of Marley's eyes as she acknowledged but then dismissed them; worrying seemed like a tremendous waste of effort, and a wave of peace washed over her like a playful ocean wave. She let herself fall backwards into the relaxation, suddenly enveloped in a perfect little bubble of clouds and pretty lights.

"Ready to go back?" Jude asked.

"Your voice is beautiful."

Had she said that out loud? Oh well.