Gulp

    "Let's go for something to eat," she suggests, wide-eyed.
After hearing of my recent drama, she has not yet uttered a judgemental word. She hops up from her spot beside me on the sofa, announces that she needs to have a shower and saunters out of the room, bare feet padding on the uncarpeted stairs as she makes her way to the bathroom. I breathe a long sigh, exhaling any tension from my chest. I take another gulp from the near-empty bottle of wine and catch a glimpse of myself in the old mirror Emily has leant against the wall, too lazy to hang it. My eyes sit limply in my head, not adorned with any make-up bar the remnants of mascara that now lay on my cheeks beneath bloodshot eyes. My cheeks burn in the aftermath of my breakdown, conscience racked with guilt, I bite my lip to gain control of my trembling chin and blurry eyes. She reappears downstairs, short hair still damp from her shower, but fully-dressed. 
   "Ready?" she asks, smiling before slipping on her aviators and walking toward the front door.