Vodka Martini The Dua Brand 2017

He knocked cautiously on the bathroom door. A faint sobbing could be heard from inside. With a slight queasiness in his stomach, he opened the door a crack. An ominous, familiar waft of air rushed towards him. He could barely avoid turning his face away and took in the scene with one glance.

The last time he had seen her was about two hours ago. They had crossed paths in the hallway. "Dyeing my hair..." she had chirped happily, a long drink in her hand, and winked at him. Now she sat on the edge of the bathtub. The mood had shifted, the room conveyed exhaustion. With a vacant stare, she looked at the utensils scattered all over the sink: smeared plastic gloves, a thickened brush, numerous squeezed tubes and plastic bottles. On the tiles below, he spotted two small towels whose days were numbered. Crumpled up, full of color stains. The streaks around her on the floor had been hastily wiped up with bathroom cleaner. Behind her lay the children's pine needle shampoo, upside down in the tub. The contents sluggishly poured into the drain.

Weary, she looked up at him. The glass of vodka tonic in her hand was not the first one. At her neck, he noticed small dark droplets running from her hair down her nape, slowly drying there. "Stupid stuff, something just isn't working," she mumbled, "I've already tried it twice."

The air was thick. A biting, chlorinated stench of ammonia and hydrogen peroxide hung in the bathroom, mingling with the green of bathroom cleaner and shampoo. Over it all, the sharp fumes of the consumed alcohol hovered.

"Should I give it a try?" He took a deep breath and smiled. She thought for a moment, nodded, and walked towards him. "If you think so."