Chapter 17 Seventeen

The inside of Arla s bedroom is almost identical to mine; plain white walls, a single bed, a bedside table, a chair and dresser. It smells of her perfume—a citrus and vanilla concoction—and a strong bleaching agent. She has a diffuser and decorative candles lined on her dresser and plastic flowers in a plastic vase on her bedside table.

"Do have a seat," she says to me with a stoic expression on her face. She places the tray of apples and a sandwich on the dresser then opens one of the drawers and rummages inside it. She comes to sit beside my feet on the floor bearing two glasses and a bottle of vodka. Then she proceeds to pour out the liquids into the two shot glasses.

"I do not drink alcohol," I say to her, repeating myself.

She gives me a blank look. "Who says I want to give you any? These two glasses are for me." She throws her head back and swallows the vodka one shot glass at a time then she fills both of them up again.