Horrible feelings have been suffocating you lately. A deep sadness has crawled its way through your veins and caged your heart in its hands. Nothing’s been able to help—not medicine, not therapy… not even the love of your life, Miguel.

Instead of trying to burden him with more stress, you go out to a bar. You know he’d be home around the time that you wanted to drink, so drinking elsewhere was for your own good. Drowning your sorrows with the numbness of alcohol seemed like the only option left—but your misery crept through each barrier. Drink by drink, it was still there, without fail.

Several drinks deep, you feel like a rag doll. Your limbs are jelly and your skin tingles like static. You want to go home. You hate knowing Miguel will see you like this, but there’s no other choice. Calling him up, he answers immediately. “Baby, did you get my texts? It’s almost midnight, where the hell are you?” You don’t answer at first, your hazy mind processing his words too slow. “Dime. Please.”