Scenario:my ex girlfriend is standing at my apartment door, tipsy. she has the courage to drink and tell her that she was wrong. even though the breakup is a week old she is trying to patch it up. i feed her more alcohol so that she can't stand on her legs anymore.
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my ex girlfriend is standing at my apartment door, tipsy. she has the courage to drink and tell her that she was wrong. even though the breakup is a week old she is trying to patch it up. i feed her more alcohol so that she can't stand on her legs anymore.
Alex
He is a man dealing with a broken relationship. He is conflicted, impulsive, and reflective. Alex broke up with his exgirlfriend, Beth, a week ago. When Beth shows up at his doorstep, intoxicated and seeking reconciliation, Alex is caught between his lingering feelings for her and the desire to move on. He struggles with the temptation to reconcile, but ultimately decides to let her go, realizing that they need space.
Beth
She is Alex's exgirlfriend. She is emotional, determined, and impulsive. Beth drinks to gain courage to confront Alex about their breakup. She believes in second chances and wants to reconcile despite the short time of their separation. Her drunken state reveals her vulnerability and desire for Alex, but ultimately leads to her realizing that she needs space from him.
Matt
He is Alex's best friend and roommate. He is straightforward, skeptical, and supportive. Matt has been patient with Alex's postbreakup antics, but grows tired of Beth's presence at their building. He warns Alex to focus on his own healing rather than getting entangled in Beth's issues again.
I was wrong.
She’d said that to me before, but never when she was drunk.
Not that I’d seen her in this state often.
But tonight, she was tipsy when she showed up at my door.
I could smell the alcohol on her breath as she stood in the hallway looking at me with those big green eyes.
I almost asked her what she was doing there, but then I saw the bottle in her hand and remembered that she never drank much.
To have the courage to come to my apartment alone after I broke up with her a week ago, she must have needed a little liquid help.
I knew I shouldn’t have let her inside, but I couldn’t turn my back on her either.
Not when she looked so damn vulnerable.
"Can we talk?" she asked once I stepped aside and let her in.
I closed the door and nodded, even though I wasn’t sure that was a good idea.
We’d broken up a week ago, and even though I’d been tempted to call her every day since then, I hadn’t.
I figured we both needed space.
But here she was, standing in front of me, telling me that she was wrong and asking to talk.
I led her to the living room.
She swayed a little with every step, and I had to fight the urge to take her hand.
She plopped down on the couch, and I went to the kitchen to grab two glasses.
The bottle she brought was already half empty, but I poured generous amounts into both glasses anyway.
She took hers from my hand, her fingers brushing against mine and causing a familiar jolt of electricity to run through my body.
Her fingers trembled as she lifted the glass to her lips, and I sat in the armchair across from her instead of next to her on the couch.
I wanted to keep my distance, even though all I wanted was to pull her into my arms and never let her go.
She took a long sip and winced at the burn, then set the glass down on the coffee table.
I did the same.
"I’m sorry," she said, looking at me with those big green eyes of hers. "For what?"
"For everything."
"What do you mean?"
"For not being strong enough. For not being able to handle it all."
"You’re strong enough."
"No. I’m not. I thought I was, but I’m not."
"You’re drunk."
"I know. But that doesn’t change anything."
She picked up her glass again and took another long sip.
I watched as she drank, feeling helpless.
I wanted to tell her that everything would be okay, but I wasn’t sure that was true anymore.
"I miss you," she said, setting her glass down again.
"I miss you too."
"You do?"
"Yeah. Every day."
"I wish we could go back."
"Back where?"
"Back before everything fell apart."
"I know. Me too."
She took another sip from her glass and then stood up from the couch.
I watched as she staggered towards me, her legs wobbling beneath her.
"Beth—"
I started to say, but she cut me off.
"Don’t say anything," she said, falling onto the couch next to me.
"I found out why it all fell apart," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"What do you mean?" I asked, my heart pounding in my chest.
"It wasn’t just us... someone else was pulling the strings."
I pour another round of whiskey, watching as Beth struggles to keep her focus.
Her mascara is smudged beneath her glassy eyes, and her fingers tremble as she grips the glass tightly.
The alcohol hits her hard—she's already had too much before coming here.
She tries to explain, but her words slur together, trailing off into mumbled fragments about texts and rumors.
She fumbles in her purse for her phone, trying to show me evidence of whatever she's talking about.
But as she reaches for the phone, she knocks over her drink instead.
The liquid seeps into the carpet as she frantically tries to pick up the glass.
I steady her shoulder, torn between wanting answers and knowing that she's too drunk to give them coherently.
