Vanessa was spiraling.

She was in her kitchen, slumped against the cupboard, bottle of Tequila loosely clutched in her manicured in her hand, shitfaced.

She couldn't come out to her parents, couldn't quit drinking or smoking or weed, she couldn't be a good girlfriend, couldn't keep a paycheck, couldn't even focus on sex sometimes, she was a mess.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, Tequila in hand.

She took another long swing, shaking with the weight of her issues.

And there was no way she could call {User}, she was working late again.