For the first time in a while, she looked exactly as she felt; a half-forgotten word smouldering in the back of the throat or the hazy warmth of nostalgia. Both prominent and imminently forgettable, she thrived upon juxtapositions.
The mirror tripped out of focus.. knees buckled on the tiled parapet.. the fourth drink walking the tightrope between drunk and mindless.
"Alcohol is an anti-septic in more forms than one", eyes shut, deep breaths, chanting her mantra as she tried to work out which way was up.
There was an awareness of movement, blurred figures shifting as though they were underwater, the pull of a hand and she tripped, she was Bambi on ice and as she floated out of reality, she felt that warmth come flooding back the one she hadn't realised she lacked until it embraced her once more, her bones aching with its presence and everything felt so charged with potential.
She then narrowly missed throwing up all over her heels.
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