[ WP ] A taste of evil ... Just enough to whet the lips

Mark took a sip from his tumbler, the whiskey burning into his throat as it cascaded to his stomach. He stared at the eviction notice in his hand. It had been months since he received any income, but his wife was working. He had n't expected this. 
 
 He took another sip. He hated whiskey, but the jaded, masochistic alcoholism he inherited from his father drove the glass back to his mouth. 
 
 `` What is that?'' Amy asked. The whiskey mixed with anger and Mark turned, launching the glass into the wall beside him. The sound of shattering glass was overpowered by the silence that followed it, heavy with years of similar reaction. 
 
 He was spiraling, and she could see it. She quickly removed the red envelope from the waistline of her pants and tucked it under the rest of the mail. 
 
 She turned, as she did each time, and fished the car keys out of the bowl on the counter. They were down to one car by now, and as she headed for the door she knew he could n't leave in this state. He would n't be able to hurt anyone else. 
 
 Mark heard the door slam as he had so many times before. He walked to the table and brushed the shards of glass from the seat. Tears mixed with the tiny fragments, and he poured himself another drink. Sitting, the glass met his lips once more. A red corner caught his eye under the mail. This was n't a past due notice. 
 
 Amy stepped off the porch, glancing once behind her. Mark had a glass in one hand and a red envelope in the other. 
 
 She smiled, walking quickly to the curb where a running car was waiting. She opened the door and sat inside. The driver turned the music down. 
 
 `` This is it.'' Amy said, shutting the door. She and the driver sat quietly, watching the house. 
 
 Amy sighed heavily, waiting. After several minutes, a muffled pop and flash of light rattled her to her core. She sat, statuesque, her breath caught in her throat. 
 
 Finally, she turned, tossing the keys in the backseat as the driver pulled away from the curb, her emotions battling in the pit of her stomach. She was too shocked to speak. 
 
 The radio sent a melancholy melody through the car. The keys slid toward the seat back, resting against a pile of papers. Fake past due notices from nonexistent creditors, some of them riddled with typos, betrayed by inked streaks from a home copier. Piles of photos, the faces of men poorly superimposed next to Amy. Red envelopes containing different notes, hand-written, describing false accounts of lustfully unfaithful trysts. 
 
 Just enough to bring Mark to the edge. Just enough to push him over it. 
 
 As the car turned onto the freeway, Amy suddenly realized she was starving. She had n't eaten all day. 

