Turning Point [ONC 2022]

05. Blackouts & Drinking Buddies

I'm faced with a conundrum.

On the one hand 3B is the absolute worse and allowing her in would be the equivalent of inviting a vampire into my home. I should just close the door in her face and allow her to sit in her apartment in the dark.

On the other, she has whiskey and I'm bored.

I step back and allow her entry, even though I know I will probably regret it. It's the second bad decision I've made based on alcohol in one week. 3B is proving to be bad for my liver as well as my work ethic.

"It's Morgan."

"What?" She brushes past me and sets the bottle down on my kitchen counter.

"My name is Morgan," I tell her, finding it funny that she referred to me by my apartment number, the same way I think of her. "Not 3A."

She nods once, twisting the top off the whiskey with a satisfying crackle. "Gabriella. Though everyone calls me Gabby."

I pull out two glasses and place them on the counter in between us. "I don't have any ice."

"It's cold, for now." She shrugs, pouring a hefty shot in each. "I have ice in my freezer, but I don't want to open it unless I have to. I've just gone shopping and who knows how long the electricity's going to be off."

I think about my freezer, a sad wasteland of abandoned icicles and the obligatory bag of frozen peas and carrots that have been there for close to two years. "For sure," I agree, like I'm facing the same problem and don't live off take out and instant noodles.

She nods again and we both take a sip of our whiskey. It's strong and burns its way down my throat, lighting it on fire. I do my best not to cough as my eyes tear up and instead pretend to survey my glass with interest, as though the amber liquid fascinates me.

An awkward silence stretches between us. Gabby finishes her whiskey quickly and pours another, offering me the bottle which I wave off quickly. She's clearly more accustomed to it than I am, sipping the strong spirit with relish while I nurse it slowly.

I'm not sure how tense silence beats drinking alone in the dark, but each to their own I guess. Gabby pulls up one of the stools by my kitchen counter, parking her bum on it comfortably as though we're close personal friends instead of occasional enemies.

Please do make yourself at home.

I fiddle with the sleeves of my white sweater, pulling on a loose thread in between sips of my drink. The burn slowly disappears with each small taste and I find myself enjoying it. I've never been a whiskey drinker. Rhett used to love bourbon, but I'd always stayed clear of it.

"You know," she says conversationally after about ten minutes. "If you had a problem with my music, you should have come to me on the first day. I had no idea it was so loud."

I bristle, but there's no anger in her voice. "I'm sorry," I apologize again. "I'm not very good at that."

"Good at what?"

"Standing up for myself, I guess."

"You seem alright to me." She chuckles loudly, a musical laugh that sounds much happier than the cold one I heard yesterday. "You've told me off three times in one week."

"The first time I was drunk, so it doesn't count."

"Oh I noticed, lady."

For some reason, this seems incredibly funny and I start giggling uncontrollably. She joins in, making me laugh harder. Pretty soon we are both doubled over, clutching our sides, with tears running down our faces.