Startled by the sound of her voice.  I turn around in surprise.

Helena: holding my hand over my chest  “Jesus Dylan, you scared the shit out of me!”

She’s leaning against the door frame of the entrance to my kitchen.  She looks awful.  Her hair is a mess.  Her shirt is half tucked in and half hanging out.  There are a few stains from her vomiting episode last night on it.  I can sense she thinks I’m angry with her because she won’t look at me.  Her eyes are focused on the floor and her hands are playing with end of her shirt.  I wish she would look at me.  If she would just look at me she would know I’m not angry.  I’m confused, not quite sure about everything, not quite sure about us.  But the one thing I’m not is angry. I want to tell her I’m not angry, but I can’t bring myself to say anything.

　

　

　

She’s mad.  She hates me.  I can’t blame her, look at me.  I’m disgusting and pathetic, with my drunken ass vomit stains on my shirt.  I can feel her staring at me right now.  I should just leave.  I should just leave now and save her the trouble of throwing my disgusting, pathetic, drunk ass out.

Dylan:  I continue to stare at the floor, trying to hold back the tears threatening to fall from my eyes  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything Helena. I’m uh, I’m going to call a cab and wait for it outside.  I’m going to leave.  I won’t bother you again.”

I turn and as quickly as I can and start heading for her front door.  I’m so embarrassed.  How can I ever expect her to forgive me or want to be with me now?  How can I ever expect her to love me after I wake up on her couch, hungover, not remembering how I got there.  She thinks I’m a pathetic, drunken ass.

　

　

With that said, she turns quickly and heads in the direction of my front door.  She’s going to leave?  She’s leaving?  I need to stop her.  I have to say something to stop her.  All that comes to my mind is calling her name.