She was drunk.

And her fingers played over the keypad of her phone, contemplating the next recipient of one of her inebriated phone calls.

There was only one person she really wanted to speak to, though.

She wanted to tell him she missed him and she loved him and she still wanted him and she still needed him. She wanted him to be there with her, beside her, against her. She wanted to him to hear her say so. She never called.

She wasn’t that drunk.

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