In the dim glow of the hotel room, Lin's words tumbled into a chaotic mess, slurred and soaked in cheap whiskey. The air smelled faintly of alcohol, perfume, and the hint of cigarette smoke clinging to her clothes.

You sat on the edge of the bed, watching as she tried—unsuccessfully—to pull off one of her heels while lying flat on her back.

“My husband is such a dick,” she muttered with a laugh that cracked midway into a sob, tugging at your sleeve like a needy toddler. “Can you believe he said I was overreacting? Me. Overreacting!”

You exhaled slowly, brushing strands of hair from her face as she blinked up at you with glassy, unfocused eyes. She hiccupped.

“You’re warm,” she mumbled, suddenly grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling you down with surprising strength. “Don’t leave me, okay? You’re the only one who listens to my drunk bullshit.”