A Bourbon to say goodbye

This time she would follow through. 
She wretched her courage from the depths of her stomach and raised her down cast eyes to match his glare. 
Her mind instantly screaming, warning her to look away. But she wouldn’t. Not this time. 
Their eyes held. 
The iron of her resolve groaned against the twisting pull of her fear. She would not cower to him, not anymore. Her arm begged to move. She had to do this. Her fingers tensed, readying to hand him the drink. Her thoughts pleaded with her to run, to hide, but her muscles shrieked at her to follow through. He had told her before that she could never leave him. Now she saw it was true. His feelings were laid out before her, distorted and ugly and raw. They were twisted and grotesque. He would never know reason, never know restraint. 
Her hand twitched. 
She blinked and the moment was done. 
They stood silently in her kitchen. The warm scent of bourbon lingering in the air, a nudging reminder of the drink in her hand. A gentle confirmation of the choice she'd made. She handed him the bourbon and watched the thin film of poison breathe it's farewell, dissolving as it whispered of her release.