[align=center][fancypost bgcolor=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=transparent; width: 425px;text-transform: lowercase][justify]★ ★ ★[size=3pt]--[/size] [size=9pt] She remembered the cacophony of country music, raucous laughter, and NBA highlights on the overhead TVs. Dim lighting. Shelves displaying dozens of glass bottles glowing green, amber, and black.
Black.
Ev had asked for a drink from that bottle, because it made her dizzy in a good way. A steady hand had poured the liquor into her glass a moment before she'd thrown it back.
"Another one,” she'd rasped, plonking the empty glass down on the bar.
She remembered swaying on the cowboy's hip, slow dancing. She stole his cowboy hat; it looked better on her. A black Stetson to match her itsy-bitsy black dress, her black drink, and her foul, black mood-which, mercifully, was hard to hang on to in a tacky dive like this, a rare gem of a bar in the noses-up, la-di-da world of Jackson Hole, Wyoming, where she was vacationing with her family. She'd sneaked out and her parents would never find her here. The thought was a bright light on the horizon. Soon she'd be so tipsy, she wouldn't remember what they looked like. Already their judgmental frowns streaked in her memory, like wet paint running down canvas.
Paint. Color. Art. Ev had tried to escape there, to a world of splattered jeans and stained fingers and soul enlightenment, but they had yanked her back, shut her down. They didn't want a free-spirited artist in the family. They wanted a daughter with a diploma from Stanford. If they would just love her. Then she wouldn't wear tight, cheap dresses that infuriated her mother or throw her passion into causes that offended her father's egoism and stiff, aristocratic morals.
She almost wished her mother were here to see her dancing, see her slinking down the cowboy's leg. Grinding hip-to-hip. Murmuring the wickedest things she could think of into his ear. They only paused dancing when he went to the bar to get her a fresh drink. She could have sworn it tasted different from the others. Or maybe she was so drunk, she imagined the bitter taste.
He asked if she wanted to go somewhere private. It was enough to send her flying off the handle, a snarl appearing on her lips as she pushed him off her, her vision sort of hazy as she did so. Why was the taste of the drink still lingering in Ev’s mouth? She tried to turn, to get away from the man but he grabbed her wrist, grinning slyly. That’s when she broke it, with a cold, calculating smile to match her merciless fingers. It was really just a flick of her own wrist and his was pretty much useless.
Although she had taken care of him, sent him spiraling away with a cry of pain, she still felt angry and would then approach another man, her grin cunning. She was ready for the next round, ready to inflict more pain.
// yikes her drink may or may not have been drugged
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