"Vodka. Hit me." She tapped her fingers on the bar, ignoring the disapproving glance the bartender sent her, and downed the first shot.

"More." As he poured another, she kept up a rapid pace, until five shots had disappeared down her throat.

"More."

"Not yet." He placed a glass of Coke in front of her. "Give it twenty minutes or so. You need to slow down, Stel."

"No. Come on, James, just one more?"

Shaking his head, he poured another shot and placed it in front of her. "That's your last one. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks." She downed it, then the Coke, and dug her wallet out of her pocket, pulling out a fifty and leaving it on the bar.

Another bar, another disapproving barkeep, another six shots - tequila, this time - and another fifty dollars. So she stumbled outside, doing her best to set her churning stomach straight without ending up puking in the gutter. Finding another quiet place, she sat on a stool, ordering a Jack and coke, watching the other patrons quietly.

They'd buried him yesterday. Her best friend. Michael. He was really gone.

As the tears welled up, and she did her best to cuff them away, she felt the emptiness within her threating to engulf her small frame. Not caring about the people scattered around her, she thumped her hand onto the wooden counter, wincing slightly, and then sobbed.

"Oh, honey." She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up into the wrinkled visage of the bar owner. "Give me your phone, I'll call someone."

Not arguing, Stella dug out the requested item, and handed it over before resting her head on the bar top. She registered the clinking of a glass placed in front of her. Looking up, a shot of bourbon awaited her. So she downed it, and it was instantly replaced.

"You look like you need it." The lady passed her phone back. "I called a lady named Shannon. She was on your most called list. I hope that's okay."

"It's fine. It's great, actually." Stella smiled, her first smile in what felt like forever. "Thank you."

"It's okay. Now, drink up."

Stella pulled out her wallet. "Here."

The lady waved her money away. "No. It's on the house. Just come back sometime, okay? Bring some friends."

"With pleasure." Stella drank. And drank some more.

In the twenty minutes it took Shannon to find the tiny bar - she had no idea how Stella found it - Stella was lying flat out on the floor, alternating between singing and hysterically weeping.

"Stel? Come on, let's get you home." Shannon effortlessly picked her up.

As they walked out the door, the last lines of the song playing on the radio drifted out the door with them.

"So if by the time the bar closes, and you feel like falling down, I'll carry you home tonight."