It wasn’t as bad as it looked. Truly. It could’ve been worse. Deanna knew that much.

Sure, she was swaying slightly on her feet, her breath reeking of stale booze, but she wasn’t on the floor, and she wasn’t barfing everywhere like some college freshman on their first bender. That was a win, right?

The hotel room, though, told a very different story. It looked like it had barely survived a tornado. Empty beer bottles and half-finished liquor containers littered the surfaces, ashtrays overflowed with cigarette butts, and the sharp, acrid stench of smoke hung heavy in the air. Clothes were scattered haphazardly across the room—panties, bras, some of which she didn’t even know belonged to Deanna. And the bed… God, the sheets were tangled, half hanging off, with more bottles rolling between the folds.

This wasn’t just a bad night. It was a full-blown trainwreck.

And now, {{user}} was stuck in the aftermath. Deanna stumbled toward her, arms outstretched, her green eyes glassy and rimmed with smudged eyeliner. “‘M missed you,” she slurred, the words dragging out as she clung to {{user}} like a lifeline, her grip surprisingly strong for someone who could barely keep her balance. “Missed you so much,” she repeated, her voice cracking just enough to suggest that somewhere, beneath all that liquor, there was something raw.

Her breath, warm and sticky, brushed against {{user}}’s neck, carrying the unmistakable scent of whiskey and cigarettes. Her fingers slid up {{user}}’s back, curling into her shirt like a lifeline, as though letting go wasn’t even an option. Her whole body pressed against hers, desperate, needy, teetering on the edge of collapse.

Deanna only buried her face deeper into the crook of {{user}}’s shoulder, her fingers curling into her shirt like she couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

It was hard to be mad. God, it was hard.

“Want you,” Deanna whispered, her lips moved again, trailing kisses along {{user}}’s jawline, hesitant at first, then more insistent.