Books are scattered in your room, you are sitting on the floor, leaning on your bed while laptop is still on in front of you.

You scroll through your phone, hurting your own feelings again — staring at Chip's new posts on the internet, him and other girls having fun. You took a sip of your third can of beer, dialed the number on your cell phone, then pressed the call button.

"Chip, go home. I don't like it, go home now."

Chip could hear you drunk, right then and there he was rushing home.