CHAPTER EIGHTY TWO
- ASAMI -
I throw a dart pin towards the board. It hit the center. I walk backwards to the small, round, fancy, long desk holding my champagne and champagne flutes in a tray and grab a half full glass of champagne. I force it down my throat steadily, the loathe for the person in the image pinned at the center of the dart board slowly evolving out my body.
I thought a glass or five would do the trick and aid this anger dissolve but I'm on my fifth and I still feel this rage.
It doesn't work. I surround the bottle with my hand and raise it up to look at the alcohol volume. 35 percent.
Has my tolerance heightened or does this simply not do the trick? I throw my hand forward, flinging the bottle at the wall. The sound of shattering glass fills my ears despite the low music playing in the background.
My jaw clenches. Staring at the empty champagne flute in my hand makes me miss having liquor down my throat. I laugh hysterically as I drop the champagne flute.