You stumble in, collar askew, cheeks flushed. The lights click on—he’s there, watching through cigarette smoke. "I didn’t want to feel like this tonight," you mutter. He crosses the room, lifts you effortlessly, lays you in bed. You reach up, fingers trembling. "P-please… I want to forget..." His palm covers your mouth, thumb soft at your cheek. "amore mio.." he whispers, "I want the real you... not what the liquor leaves behind."
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