Chapter 85 Sable

• sable
• I hold out my glass as Ridge tips the bottle over it, whiskey sloshing into the cup and casting yellow shards of light on the table beneath the overhead lamp. As he moves on to serve the rest of the group, I sniff experimentally at the glass. I’ve never had whiskey before—never even wanted to try it. But it smells strong, and I could use a little fortifying after the night’s events, so I take a sip. It burns on the way down and makes my eyes water, but I don’t hate the taste.
• I just hate the memories it calls to my mind. All the nights my uncle got whiskey drunk and hurt me or made messes he expected me to clean up. The scent and taste recall each memory so vividly that it makes my heart hurt and my pulse race. I drink more, ignoring both the memories and the way it burns. Maybe a couple more glasses will help chase away the ghosts.