It saddened me whenever I thought of how long it would be until I got my escape. It was ironic, since I technically could not drink the stuff. Yet, I loved the unrefined, unglamorous taste of whiskey.
My father had introduced me to the stuff when I was younger. It was an innocent taste; nothing more than a few drops at most. Since then it had grown to my addiction. My escape from reality and this prison called rich living.
Every Friday I would send Tabatha into the tavern SnowStyle and get me a flask. I would then spend my Holiday—after church, of course—drinking whiskey and soaking in a private pool warmed by water from the bathhouse in the cold months and cooled by the ocean water in the hotter seasons. Either way, at least I would get to forget about my troubles for a while.
But this Friday was a different story. This Friday I went myself. My week had been hard to bear, and with that as my resolve I stepped through the open doors of the tavern only to meet the confused gazes of Rita, Turner, and Ganesha. Rita stopped polished a glass and stared at me for a long time. "Miss Bianca….?"
"Shot of whiskey. Now." I slammed my fist on the counter. My eyes were wide, my expression daft and my hair wild (I had taken it out of the ribbons and insanely delicate curls). "Ah, please."
Rita took no time in taking my order. I quickly downed the glass and asked for another. Before I knew it, it was refilled. Soon I was drowning in the pit of self-pity and depression as I lost myself in the liquor.
That week had all started when I joined Tabatha in the daily trip to the general store. I knew that by the way Danny was staring at me, I should've run at that moment. But I didn't. He approached, we talked, and now he doesn't STOP talking to me.
I took another swig of the whiskey. "More," I rasped, dragging my nails through my hair.
Later, I saw that double-crosser Raguna with Selphy. I couldn't believe what he did to me. It's as if our engagement in Kardia never existed! It was hard looking at him, but even more maddening since he had gotten it into his head that I was a horrible person.
Yet another gulp found its way down my throat.
I stared a hole into the counter of which I sat at. How my life had changed. It was impossible. How on earth could I keep this up? What was I amounting to? Drinking whiskey in private to escape the idiocy and drama of my life?
I thought of my cousin Rosalind. She'd think me a disgrace to the de Sainte-Coquille name. Max, Father, and Uncle Jasper wouldn't care. But Rosalind… I'd never hear the end of it from her.
"Bianca, Tabatha's here. To take you home." Rita's voice cut into my thoughts.
"No!" I wanted to shout, "No! It's not time yet! It's too soon!" Instead I stood, pushed the glass away, and nodded. "Of course. Tabatha, let's go home."
She laid a firm hand on my shoulder and guided me back to the villa. Once there, I went straight to my room and locked the door, keeping her out and myself in for the night at least. I changed quickly and slid in my overly comfy bed.
Seven days… Seven more days until my escape… I felt like crying. The pain of waiting was getting to me. Something would need to change, and fast. I couldn't rely on this forever.
But for now, whiskey was my escape. My everlasting blissful escape from my rich frivolous life that I despised.