She looked down. “We were both drunk.”
She tried to pull the door closed, but I wedged my foot against the frame. “Oh no. We’re doing this face-to-face. Or rather, face-to-foggy-glass.” What followed was the most raw, uncomfortable, and yet cathartic exchange of my life.
“Don’t bother getting out,” I said. “You wanted to be the center of attention. Here you are. Naked. Cornered. No towel. No phone. No exit.” cornering my homewrecking roomie in the shower exclusive
I knew the green dress. She borrowed it from me.
“It only happened twice,” she whispered, water dripping from her chin. “The first time was after your birthday party. You passed out early. He stayed to help me clean up.” She looked down
The water stopped. “Yeah? I’m in the shower—”
As for me? I’m sleeping in the middle of the bed now. The apartment is quiet. The bathroom still smells like coconut, but that fades. What remains is this: sometimes you have to corner the wreckage to see it clearly. We’re doing this face-to-face
“And ‘helping clean up’ involves his hands on your hips?”