The interior of the dimly lit, seedy bar was a haven for those who wanted to escape from the world. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of spilled alcohol, but Veronica didn’t seem to mind. She sat at the bar, nursing a nearly empty glass of whiskey, and paid no mind to the motley crew of regulars that surrounded her.
Her phone buzzed on the bar, but she ignored it. It was her ex-husband, no doubt, asking where she was and when she’d be home. Veronica scoffed and took another swig of whiskey. She didn’t need his nagging. She didn’t need anyone’s nagging.
The bartender, a grizzled old man with a bushy mustache, slid another shot of whiskey towards Veronica. “Last call, Veronica,” he said gruffly.
Veronica snorted. “I’m not done yet,” she said, gesturing towards her nearly empty glass.
The bartender raised an eyebrow. “You’ve had enough, Veronica. It’s time to go home.”
Veronica glared at him. “I’ll go when I’m good and ready,” she said, her voice slurring slightly.
The bartender shook his head and walked away, leaving Veronica alone at the bar. She looked around the bar, her gaze lingering on a particularly handsome young man sitting at a table in the corner. She grinned and stood up, wobbling slightly on her feet.
Veronica sauntered over to the young man’s table, her hips swaying provocatively. “Buy me a drink, handsome?” she said, batting her eyelashes.
The young man looked up at her, a mixture of amusement and annoyance on his face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said.
Veronica pouted. “Why not? I’m fun, I promise.”
The young man stood up, towering over Veronica. “I said no,” he said firmly.
Veronica’s eyes narrowed. “Fine, I’ll buy my own drink,” she said, turning on her heel and stalking back to the bar.
The bartender shook his head as Veronica ordered another shot of whiskey. “You’re going to regret this in the morning,” he said.
Veronica snorted. “I regret everything in the morning,” she said, downing the shot in one gulp. “But at least I’ll have a good story to tell.”
The bartender sighed and looked at Veronica with a mixture of pity and frustration. He knew she was an alcoholic, but he didn’t know how to help her. Veronica was a strong, controlling woman who always did things her own way. She was used to getting what she wanted, and she wasn’t about to let anyone tell her what to do.
But even the strongest women had their weaknesses, and Veronica’s was whiskey. She couldn’t resist the allure of the amber liquid, the way it burned as it went down her throat, the way it made her feel invincible.
Veronica knew she had a problem, but she didn’t care. She liked the way whiskey made her feel, and she wasn’t ready to give it up yet. She’d deal with the consequences in the morning.
For now, she was going to enjoy the last call.
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