SOUL TANGLE
He asks.
I take a bottle of John Walker whiskey that rests on my side. I don’t even know how or when it got here, but I appreciate that it is here. It’s as I would have loved it—icy. I put half a quarter glass down and gulped it down in one go, my eyes shutting as the coldness cut through my throat. And even as I close my eyes, her face is still so clear, staring at me with so much hatred and disgust. “I saw her,” I say as I rest the glass down. I would have opted for another shot, but something in me is resisting this thing. I look at Daniel, who is more lost than he was a while ago.
“Who?” He implores, leaning close, perhaps after gauging the intensity of my predicaments.
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