Cheers | Gabriel Ivors

     She grabbed the bottle out of my hand and poured its contents down her neck. Whisky leaked down from her mouth onto her dress and her eyes began to water. Bottle finished, she tossed it aside and fell backwards onto the sofa.'My head hurts', she said, delicately weaving her fingers over her belly. 'That's not where your head is', I said.'I'm pregnant. I think if I drink enough I'll poison the fucker, right? If that doesn't work I'll be drunk enough that I won't mind you kicking me in the cunt. Maybe a little bit up, mind.'

     She motioned vaguely towards an area barely upwards of her belt.I was struck dumb. She got up and fetched a beer from the fridge, 'Cheers' she said, and drained the bottle. She shivered and went for another.'Couldn't you just go for an abortion?' I asked. She opened another bottle with her teeth, 'Aroo gon' bay', she spat out the bottle cap - 'Are you going to pay for a trip to England? Because I can't fuckin' afford it, Buddy.'She always called me Buddy when she was angry, my nom the guerre, I let her go on - 'Fuck me, I can't even afford half my books for college and you expect me to splash a few hundred euro that I don't have just so some wonky toothed British fuck can plunge a parasite from my womb in some dingy backstreet veterinary clinic on the banks of the Mersey? You're off your rocker, boy.''Do your parents - ' I stopped dead. She had pursed her lips so tight that they'd lost all colour and gave me a look that wouldn't have been out of place on a 400 pound bull who's just seen a flash of red. I'm no matador and I kept my mouth shut.She returned to the sofa. I grabbed a beer and joined her. 'What if I want to keep it? It might have my eyes' I said. 'Your brown shitpeepers?', she said, 'Don't make me fuckin' laugh.'We looked at each other and laughed, gallows humour.I could tell she was pretty drunk already. I clinked my bottle against hers, 'Cheers', and drank up.