The Minister's Daughter
Becky was on her fifth Smirnoff Black
Ice. Pant Remover. That’s what they
called it. Take two, and you want to drop your pants for anything that
qualifies to be male, or that would make that waltzing in your pants go away –
even if it’s a dildo.
“Ain’t that guy
cute?” Becky asked her cousin, Linnet, in a drunken stupor.
“Becky, you need
to slow down,” Linnet said, “seriously.”
“Leave me alone,
bitch.”
Linnet said
nothing. She knew that the alcohol was beginning to take toll on Becky. She had
better do something before it was late.
A loud shriek of
laughter pierced the din in the club drawing blank stares from every table,
even from the dance floor.
It was Becky.
She was taking it to the floor, bottle in one hand, glass in the other.
Seriously, she
needed to slow down.
Linnet always
took care of Becky. Talk of being her cousin’s keeper, as in your brother’s
keeper.
Halfway to where
Becky was she saw her wobble, stagger and start going down.
A wave of nausea
swept through Becky like a tsunami. She felt everything that had been churning
in her stomach jump up to the throat as dizziness invaded her.
In slow motion,
Becky felt all her bones melt away and she started going down. She groped for
an invisible wall to lever herself only to find nothing. As if it was on cue,
the contents in her stomach forced their way through her small mouth.
“I’ve got her,”
a male voice said as strong arms caught her before she could hit the hard
floor. She was led to a room she recognized by the pungent smell that emanated
from there.
“Don’t mind us,
ladies,” the voice said. “We’re fine.”
She was bending
over at the bowl of the toilet where she emptied all the contents of her
stomach. God, she hated herself for letting her cousin down.
Of all people,
it was Linnet who didn’t preach to her. Her father, pastor and a
self-proclaimed prophet of doom, was the strictest father in the world and her
mother came in second with her Draconian rules and her primitive disciplinary
mechanisms.
She was
regaining her consciousness now, and the nice guy who was attending to her was
wiping her face with a soft piece of cloth after splashing cold water on her.
“You shouldn’t
be drinking that kind of stuff if you’re not used to, you know.”
Go
to hell… what?
She’d heard that
voice a million and one times.
“Dad!” Becky
said before fading into consciousness again.
Copyright ©Vincent de Paul, 2012.
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