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Aug. 31st, 2015 09:41 pmIt was meant to be easy as pie.
Bonnie had always told herself, and anyone else, that she could give up drinking any time she wanted. After all, she didn't drink every day. So when Guppy told her that she needed to cut down to at least the recommended amount for a woman, she thought it would be easy.
It was easy on a good day.
It was easy to slip out of sheer habit. There wasn't a shortage of French wine in the house, or the ridiculously strong current wine that she brewed a few summers ago. And with Lucy in the house, it wasn't impossible for her to go out with the bikers on occasion either.
Going out with the bikers and not drinking so much turned to be much more difficult. She'd managed to get through a whole week without touching one, but whatever it was they gave her at the bikers' hideout was just strong enough to weaken her resolve not to have another one.
Three drinks later, not feeling the least drunk, she sits down on a log and stares miserably at the group. How is she supposed to tell them? For years she's been able to convince them not to worry about her, that she was as much a man as anyone there, well known for drinking big hairy men under the table. How does she even start to explain that... it's not even that she's ill, he said it would get better if she cut down, just that her liver is showing signs that she can't put eight pints through it any more.
"Hey." Turtle comes to sit down next to her. "You're quiet tonight. You feelin' okay?"
Bonnie smiles at him. She knows she ought to tell him. Hell, he's someone she's known nearly thirty years. But where to start? He won't criticise, but he'll fuss, and then all the other bikers will know...
"Not sure what we drank tonight agreed with me." she says. Maybe admitting she can't hold it like she used to is better than admitting liver damage. "What was it?"
"Sidecar. Someone got a job lot of brandy." Turtle nods.
Uh oh. That has to be way more alcohol for the volume than she thought. Bonnie finds herself trying to work out what it comes to in the 'units' thing Guppy was talking about. But that assumes a standard size of cup, rather than the random collection of drinking objects the bikers have in their hangout. The tankard she was using probably counts as a double when it comes to cocktails.
Turtle is peering at her again. "Well you don't look drunk. You want a ride home?"
"You sober enough to drive?" Bonnie asks, smiling slightly at the offer.
"Yeah, I don't drink as much any more." Turtle says, checking if she can stand. "Someone has to keep an eye on you guys."
She says goodbye to the others, and gets in the passenger seat.
She wants to tell him, but she doesn't know how.
Bonnie had always told herself, and anyone else, that she could give up drinking any time she wanted. After all, she didn't drink every day. So when Guppy told her that she needed to cut down to at least the recommended amount for a woman, she thought it would be easy.
It was easy on a good day.
It was easy to slip out of sheer habit. There wasn't a shortage of French wine in the house, or the ridiculously strong current wine that she brewed a few summers ago. And with Lucy in the house, it wasn't impossible for her to go out with the bikers on occasion either.
Going out with the bikers and not drinking so much turned to be much more difficult. She'd managed to get through a whole week without touching one, but whatever it was they gave her at the bikers' hideout was just strong enough to weaken her resolve not to have another one.
Three drinks later, not feeling the least drunk, she sits down on a log and stares miserably at the group. How is she supposed to tell them? For years she's been able to convince them not to worry about her, that she was as much a man as anyone there, well known for drinking big hairy men under the table. How does she even start to explain that... it's not even that she's ill, he said it would get better if she cut down, just that her liver is showing signs that she can't put eight pints through it any more.
"Hey." Turtle comes to sit down next to her. "You're quiet tonight. You feelin' okay?"
Bonnie smiles at him. She knows she ought to tell him. Hell, he's someone she's known nearly thirty years. But where to start? He won't criticise, but he'll fuss, and then all the other bikers will know...
"Not sure what we drank tonight agreed with me." she says. Maybe admitting she can't hold it like she used to is better than admitting liver damage. "What was it?"
"Sidecar. Someone got a job lot of brandy." Turtle nods.
Uh oh. That has to be way more alcohol for the volume than she thought. Bonnie finds herself trying to work out what it comes to in the 'units' thing Guppy was talking about. But that assumes a standard size of cup, rather than the random collection of drinking objects the bikers have in their hangout. The tankard she was using probably counts as a double when it comes to cocktails.
Turtle is peering at her again. "Well you don't look drunk. You want a ride home?"
"You sober enough to drive?" Bonnie asks, smiling slightly at the offer.
"Yeah, I don't drink as much any more." Turtle says, checking if she can stand. "Someone has to keep an eye on you guys."
She says goodbye to the others, and gets in the passenger seat.
She wants to tell him, but she doesn't know how.
