It burned, but the sting of the ***** burning her throat felt better than the burning realization that she meant nothing to the boy she loved.

Nostalgia kicked in. She wanted to feel wanted. So for the night, she drunkenly cling to the closest person to her. Hoping, praying, longing that for the night she could feel again. Love, lust, hope, faith: anything.

She knew she didn't want to, but she forced herself to anyway.
She knew he was no different, but she let his spineless words spark a hope.
She knew the feeling wouldn't last, but she closed her eyes and relieved the memories it resurfaced.
She knew it wasn't love, but she uttered the words right back to him, regardless.

In his arms, she lay. His voice formed words for hours, but she wasn't quite sure of what he was saying. She laughed when it felt right, but as of then, nothing felt right.

The sun began to peak through the shade, and the girl was unaware of with whom she lay. The memories of his name and his touch, his voice had left with the night.

Quietly she rose quietly out of bed, hoping not to wake him so he couldn't **** anymore with her head.

She stumbled to get dressed and drowsily he spoke "where you going babe" and silently she shuddered.

She uttered words that could be understood and abruptly ran out of the house. She left everything she could trying to escape the confrontation.
Instead she was confronted with her loneliness and deep dark depression.