Your Dad's Perfect
I let her words twist around me, sinking into every doubt, every hurt.
The night blurs as I pour drink after drink, numbing the pain with Cleo’s quiet laughter and the burn of whiskey. I lose myself in the club, the music, and the oblivion of dancing with a stranger, feeling his hands slide over my body, his lips on my neck. The thoughts of Zade fade as I let myself disappear, drowning in the numbness I crave. I stumble back to the table, grabbing my phone.
“You’re too drunk to text,” Cleo laughs, catching my arm before I can send something reckless. “Trust me, drunk texting is never a good idea.”