D and I sat on the couch binge-watching Sons of Anarchy. I looked over at the fridge. It sat, mocking.
“Mehh!” I groaned, longingly, fingers outstretched toward the refrigerator.
D nodded, sleepily. He batted the air in the direction of the fridge.
“I think we deserve superpowers,” D decided.
I curled up further into the corner of the couch. “Mhm.”
“Because,” he continued, “we wouldn’t abuse it, you know.”
He flicked his finger at the refrigerator. “You know, I’d just open that fridge and make a beer come to me, that’s it. I wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
The thought of beer made my stomach turn on itself.
“I’m too hungover for beer.”
D sighed. “Well, we could use it for water too, that wouldn’t be an abuse of power?”
Someone just shot someone in Sons of Anarchy. I watched, unblinking. “Mhm, but it’s a slippery slope. First water, then” I waved at the TV, “murder and stuff.”
D groaned, lit a cigarette.
“Well,” he said, “what about just liquids?”
For some reason the word liquid made my hangover hate itself even more. I closed my eyes.
“Hm,” D thought for a moment. “Okay, well I wouldn’t use it for blood.”
“Me either,” I agreed, almost asleep.
The episode ended. The screen went black, a message appeared: PLAY NEXT EPISODE?
I looked around. The remote sat beside the TV. I waved my hand at it. I looked over at D, he was nodding slowly.
“A slippery slope,” he mumbled. We both closed our eyes, resigned.