Bloody Mary on the Rocks
Fragments of ripped black tights clung onto her fumbling legs. Down the hallway she swayed side to side, with her legs criss crossing every step of the way. It was fair to say that Annya had drank a fair bit too much more than she could handle. Although it was not a long journey to the bathroom from the kitchen she sat alone in, she was desperate to make it to the toilet in time. She didn’t want her dignity to sink any lower than it already was. The remnants of a bloody mary awaited at the bottom of a glass for when she came back. Yet, it would be a wise decision if Annya chose to dump the rest of the drink down the sink and tuck herself into bed for the night once she was done.
She grabbed onto her skirt and the tights underneath them, pulling them down as she sat on the cool porcelain. More tears appeared where her fingers had just been from her hastiness. When she was finished she plopped herself on the ground, lifted up the toilet seat, and vomited out a violent array of red. Her esophagus constricted in resistance from the mixture of burning alcohol and stomach acid, but she could not help herself.
In between retches she groaned in regret, “Ugh… bloody mary”.
Having nothing left to rid herself of, she steadied herself enough to make it to the sink. A perfume bottle was knocked to the ground as she moved to turn on the water. Annya scooped up the water into her mouth and gargled, relieving the back of her throat from the painful aftermath of her endeavors.
As she spat out the water, she spat out the name of her drink once more in disgust, “Fucking bloody mary”.
Her eyes met herself in the mirror and she lifted a hand towel to pat the corners of her mouth dry. The very little left of her lipstick had smudged onto the coarse fabric. A hiccup escaped her mouth and a self-pitied laugh followed soon after.
Annya thought aloud, “Who the hell even drinks bloody marys anymore?”
And with that, the room grew cold. Unbelievably cold. An unnervingly pale figure emerged in the mirror before Annya. Long dark hair swooped over the figure’s shoulders. Annya’s mouth dropped in awe and she could not help the shiver that shook her spine. She looked behind her, but there was nothing except for a towel hanging on a rack. Her droopy eyes turned back towards the glass, and she cautiously brought her hand forward.
Smooth, cold tile met her fingertips. The figure in the mirror, the woman, was silent. She did not have to introduce herself for Annya to know who she was.
Maybe it was liquid courage, but Bloody Mary did not look so scary to Annya. The look in her eyes betrayed her mysterious demeanour. There was no anger. No rage. Only a deep sense of pity. The darkness of her sunken hollow eyes intrigued Annya. She wanted to test the legend.
Her voice a quiver, Annya asked, “Who will I marry?”
The woman did not answer at first. She slowly shook her head from side to side as a sad smile appeared on her lips, “There is no future I can tell that will comfort you”.
The edges of her being began to fade away, and within moments her entire apparatus was gone. Annya sunk to the hard tile, and she folded in on herself, knees pushed up against her chest. She tried to cry, but she could not. Instead, dry heaves crowded the tiny bathroom and reverberated off the walls. Her face turned an ugly red as she gasped for breath.
Nothing but bad news had ever come her way as of lately. Earlier she drank to forget the end of yet another relationship. Her third serious boyfriend, who like the other two, could not remain committed to only her. It was all so stupid, and now she might as well delete her half finished dating profile. Why even bother, if she was going to die before marriage anyways?
Reaching her limit of self pity, Annya got up from the floor and staggered back to the kitchen. Her eyes squinted and her forehead scrunched at the sight remains of her drink. In anger, she threw the rest of the bloody mary down the sink and turned on the garbage disposal for further satisfaction, wishing that she could grind up the real Bloody Mary into bits and pieces.
Determined to drink into delusion, as if she didn’t feel delusional enough from the entire ordeal, she decided on another drink. Annya mixed orange juice and vodka before continuing to drink herself into an ignorant bliss.
Author Bio: Isabella “Isa” Abril is an undergraduate student at Cal State San Marcos. She enjoys writing poetry and short stories. Although she does not entirely believe in the supernatural, she would like any and all spirits who happen to stumble across her to respectfully leave her alone. Unless they can do something really cool.