The music is too loud, the air is too thick, and you're too drunk to care.

You're standing in line for the bathroom, swaying a little, holding the phone like you have all the answers.

You tell yourself you won't check it again, you won't give in to the stupid hope that still simmers in your chest.

But you do.

Just one more time.

But nothing.

You stare at the screen anyway, as if you look long enough, the text will come.

That he's changed his mind, that he wants you.

But deep down you know better.

You take a deep breath, put your phone on the sink and look at yourself in the mirror.

You straighten your hair, wipe the smeared mascara from under your eyes, press your lips together and leave the bathroom.

Someone hands you a drink. A warm, crappy beer that you don't want, but you take it anyway.

Your fingers wrap around the cup like it's the only thing keeping you grounded.

People dance, laugh, scream over the music, and for a second you almost think you could be like them.

That you can keep going.

But you're not at this party.

You're sitting with him in the back of his car, where you always end up.

The engine is off, the air is filled with unspoken words, his Lips crashing on yours and his hands are gripping your waist like it's the only thing holding him together.

"You know I love you, right?"

His voice is low, rough, the kind that makes your chest tighten.

You close your eyes.

You can still hear him.

Feel him.

You take a sip of the beer, forcing it down with everything else.

And then, before you can stop yourself, before logic can catch up with emotion, you put your hand in your pocket and grab your phone.

This is definitely the last time.

In case he hits you with a un-goodbye.

You snort.

You put your phone back in your pocket and head to the bar.

"Tequila, please!" The bartender nods.

A young man with a Cap on his Head next to you laughs. He looks somehow familiar, but you can't quite place him. "Rough night?"