When I finally walked away, years ago, I could hear her telling me all about her upcoming descent into hell; how it was all my fault.
If I turned my back, she said, I turned my back on any chance we’d ever meet again. But I knew it wasn’t true.
Even as I walked away, I could sense her reaching for the pint I know she always carries in her bag.
I wake up, years later.
The phone is still buzzing.