She drinks one, then two, then so many that there are holes in her memory. One minute, she’s looking at him talking and laughing to a beautiful blonde. The next she’s on the balcony getting a call from him.
It’s too loud for either of them to hear each other. She is screaming into the phone but he doesn’t understand. A friend of his takes the phone from her goes outside and finds him.
He’s frantic, wondering why she left his side. The next thing she remembers is holding a roller skate and looking at a hole she just made in the wall. She drops it, walks away, and finds him sleeping in the bedroom.
Then she’s slamming her knees against the cabinet under the sink. The pain eases her of the guilt, but not enough. She’s angry, and she’s not sure why.
When she comes into the bedroom she remembers the beautiful girl with the biggest smile on her face as she talked to her boyfriend. She says something to him, something that stirs him and gets him to start yelling.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
So she repeats herself.
“Who are you talking about? What bitch did I talk to?”
And then she’s on the bed, and his hand is holding her down. He walks off after a pointless conversation, cursing under his breath.
She goes to sleep wondering why she even brought this up. Why couldn’t she leave it alone? Why did she let something this trivial affect her so much?
Jen's Journal 
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