Tap Water

He stared longingly at the bottles in front of him. They were speaking to him in the way that only forbidden things can, soft, sibilant, seductive. Then man broke out into a sweat, despite the relative cool of the bar in which he sat. He wasn’t sure what unknown being brought him to this temple to all things forbidden. He wasn’t even sure what bar he was in. All he did know was the sight and smell of the alcohol mocking him from the shelf in front of him.

He slumped his shoulders and sipped the ice water being held in a right hand that shook ever so slightly. It was a poor attempt at fulfilling a base need. He swallowed more of the water, metallic, from-the-tap taste doing nothing to sate his growing thirst. He wiped some condensation from the glass across his face, seeking to cool his warming brow.

The bartender eyed him strangely, but not without compassion. She’d seen men like him before, on their way to falling off the wagon, at the end of their ropes. This man’s rumpled off-white polo and faded khakis spoke volumes about his life. She almost felt bad for profiting from them, almost.

He watched as she ambled over to him, all hips and a confident swagger. Her voice was light, tinged with just the right amount of temptation “You just going to sip water all night or did you want something stronger?”

The man gulped, swallowing hard. It had nothing to do with the water topped with aging lemon. His right hand shook harder, fingers twitching, seeming to grasp for a bottle of their own accord.

“Ummm.”

She let the word hang, letting him suffer in his darkening thoughts for a few more moments. Finally, she broke the silence, “You look like a man who knows his bourbon.” A slight, involuntary nod from the man was all she needed. In a frenzy of practiced activity, she had a glass, ice sphere and a generous quantity of golden brown temptation sitting in front of him.

“You looked a little warm sitting there, so I thought on the rocks would do.”

The man said nothing, just offered another involuntary nod.

His eyes flickered flicked from the glass to the bartender and back, the sense of betrayal written large across his face. The moment stretched for an age; breaking man, the thing that broke him, and the woman that was simply looking for a profit from desperate men, locked into some sort of purgatory.

His hand went to the glass, cradling it gently as it rested on the bar top, the ice sphere cooling the liquid down without diluting the golden brown drink.

That’s when she knew she had him.

The man sniffed, desperately seeking to find any other way to enjoy the liquor without drinking it, committing the sin for which he’d spent the last five years atoning. The walls of his resolve cracked one by one as he took in the heady aroma of expensive bourbon.

He stared back at the vile temptress standing before him smiling. Platinum blonde hair and a low cut black top, seeming so innocent. To him, she was standing before the gates of hell, beckoning him onward, and like a fool, he took his first step.

“This one’s on the house.” Her smile hid fangs beneath cherry red lips, and her words, pushed him further down the path to hell.

He cursed her silently as he fell, right hand taking a stronger hold of the glass, lifting it to his opening mouth. He tossed back the liquor with a practiced ease and signaled for another. Taking more fervent steps towards the gates that stood open before him.

“Should I start a tab?” The question carried with it the end of all things for this man.

“Yeah, I guess you should.” He foisted over the one virgin credit card left in his wallet, the final sacrifice to the altar of his demise. The bartender smiled as she took the card, pouring him another bourbon as she did.

Inside, the final uncorrupted piece of a broken man; the piece that had kept him sober these last five years, died.