[she tilts her head back and clunks it against the stone. there's a much deeper sigh, one that shakes her bones; she uncrosses her arms and plants her palms flat against the wall, but doesn't push off yet.]

It just feels fucking pathetic, man. I know you're right, but it's just like, really? I couldn't make it a month before hitting the bottle again? [and it's all tied up in the idea of whether she ever actually kicked the habit properly or if she just stopped being able to get drunk and called that good enough. she didn't do this right.]

And now I'm here after the worst night since my heart disappeared and spilling all my bullshit on you when you definitely didn't ask for it. So that's cool, too. Fucking god.