I must be drunker than I thought. If this same conversation were happening while I was sober, the sting of rejection would be gnawing at me from the inside out. As it is, it hasn't quite sunk in yet what she's saying, and instead of guilt, I feel anger. That'll change in a few hours time, I'm sure, when it finally hits me what a singularly bad idea all of this was in the first place, but for the moment I take comfort in it, using it as a crutch.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked. "Jesus Christ, Layla, I know cryptic is sort of your default state of being, but now isn't the time." Panting, he ran his fingers through his hair, pushing back the memories of her having done the same thing just a few moments prior. Overwhelmed, he took a couple of steps back. "You know what? Just... Just forget it. All of it. Never mind. This..." He let out a bitter laugh. "Just forget it."