This was the last straw

This was the last straw. She'd had enough of this and tonight, it was going to end.

"DAD!" She screamed as she stormed into the kitchen. Her father did not take well to the raised voice and angry tone.

"Young lady you-" he started but she cut him off.

"No Dad, shut up. And no, I'm not apologizing for telling you to shut up. You need to listen. You need to hear this." She grabbed the plastic cup of wine off the table, and dumped it down the sink "You need to stop drinking. Damn it! I've had it up to HERE with this. I'm not going to put up with another night of you getting plastered and starting fights with everyone in this house. I refuse to watch you throw away the family you wanted so badly and worked so hard for. So I swear to fucking god," she pulled a bottle at random out of the liquor cabinet "if you don't promise me right here and now that you're going to get help," she unscrewed the top of the bottle "I will down this entire bottle of… whatever this is, take 20 sleeping pills, get in my car, and drive until I die." She slammed the bottle down on the table so hard and fast that some of the liquid splashed over the rim and onto her arm but she didn't notice. She was too busy glaring daggers at her father. "So what's it going to be Dad? Me? Or your habit?" He was livid and she knew that she'd probably crossed several lines during her rant but she was way beyond caring about that right now. He spluttered rather incoherently for a few seconds before spitting out,

"HOW DARE YOU? I am a grown man! You should have more respect for me. My decisions are my own and it's not up to you decide-" she interrupted him again

"NO! Not how dare I, how dare you?" He opened his mouth to make a fuss about her interruption but she drowned him out "NO! To hell with that! TO HELL WITH YOU!How dare you be so self-centered as to assume that the only life that your choices affect is your own? You've screwed up my view of what a father is beyond repair with your drunken behavior! You think I've never seen you so piss drunk that you can't walk straight? You think that just because you can't remember your wedding night means that nobody else can? Forgetting all the words to 'Shout' and then falling off the stage? Or even your niece's wedding! Which was even more recent! Doing the EXACT SAME THING! Sitting down on and then falling backwards off of a brick wall? We can even set aside the innumerable arguments you've had only to forget them the next morning. But driving drunk? What the hell kind of example is that to set for your child? YOUR ONE AND ONLY CHILD!" She dug in her back pocket and pulled out a little plastic pill bottle. She flipped the top off and poured the contents into the bottle of alcohol on the table. Twenty pills clinked against the glass and plopped into the liquor. "I'm giving you a choice, Dad. It doesn't have to be like this. My life can end naturally at the age of a hundred and twenty. Or it can end now because of your addiction. It's up to you." She stared levelly at him with her hand gripped tightly around the neck of the bottle.

"Oh stop being so dramatic."

"Really? You think if I just told you 'Daddy, your drinking scares me' that you'd stop? You really think so? Because if you do, you're even more stupid than I thought. I've already told you that it scares the hell out of me when you drink and drive. I've already told you how much your fighting upsets me. I've asked you to stop before. But was my opinion EVER important to you? Of course not. I'm just a child. I should be seen and not heard. All that crap."

"HEY I-"

"But you don't believe you have a problem do you? I mean I know you believed it once. And then it was 'I have a problem but I just don't care' and now it seems to be complete denial. No. Of course you're not an alcoholic. You just get drunk every night, get angry every time someone suggests you lay off a little or stop completely. And you get very grouchy if deprived of your booze. No problem there, right?" She picked the bottle up off the table and swirled it around, listening to the pills sliding against the sides. "How far do you figure I'll get?" He huffed at her the way he did when he was trying to intimidate her.

"Am I supposed to be impressed or something?" She continued studying the bottle as though she hadn't heard him.

"I'm thinkin' I'll be gone by the time I get onto the highway. Though, I worked out this afternoon so I probably won't even get halfway down Conshy." She looked up at him, "What do you think? Will I make it to the highway before I die?" He didn't seem to have an answer for her. "Better question, what's gonna kill me? The drunk driving? Or the pills? Or alcohol poisoning? Or some combination of the three?" He crossed his arms.

"You'll never do it. You don't drink. You don't even like alcohol in pasta sauce!"

"For you daddy? I'll learn" She swished the "death cocktail" (as she'd mentally christened it) one more time. "Well. Bottoms up I guess!"

"Wait!"