Disclaimer: I do not own the song or the Characters.

DRUNK GIRL

My foot tapped the hardwood floor, steady with the beat of a Chris Janson song, the Vodka and sprite in my hand growing dangerously low. Turning to order another, something caught my eye.

Someone.

The beauty stood in the middle of the floor, hands raised above her head as her hips swayed to the beat. The number of stamps on her hand said this wasn't her first stop. No doubt making the rounds to find a suitor for the night. My bet was either a bachelorette or fresh off a breakup.

At a quick glance, you would see a girl calling for a good time. Her voice was that of an angel, singing every word she never knew. Deep brown, almost black, hair flowed to her waist in soft waves. A black dress clung to her delicate curves, leaving nothing to the imagination of what lies beneath. Stopping just right below the curve of her bottom, and her breast falling out of the top, she drew the eye of every man in the room.

Including mine.

I watched her, mesmerized by her beauty. But when I caught her eyes, I saw the truth. No amount of alcohol or dancing like nobody's watching could hide the pain that flowed through the bottomless chocolate.

My drink long forgotten, I approached her. Without words, she reached out for me, calling me to her. I couldn't ignore her silent pleas, even if I wanted too. She is broken, that much I could tell, but she is desperate for someone to put her back together. I wanted to be that man.

We danced for half a song, and I took her home.

Her intentions were clear as she pulled at my belt, fumbling with the buckle. I led her to the couch, laying her down. Her hooded eyes met mine, lust, and desire swirling like a hurricane. But the underlying sorrow shone with unshed tears.

I stepped away, moving toward my stereo to put on some soft music, taking longer than needed to find a song. When I glanced back over my shoulder, she was out cold. I draped a quilt over her slim body, turned on the hall light, and left her keys on the counter. With my name and number next to it. And I left, locking the door behind me.

Pulling into the parking lot of the all-night Taco Joint, I ordered up and ate my meal behind the wheel of my truck. Thoughts of the woman on my couch filling my mind. Wondering who could have hurt her so badly that she felt the need to drink herself into oblivion. Going from bar to bar, and going home with a complete stranger. Who pushed her so far that she didn't care anymore?

I sat in the parking lot for three hours before returning back to my apartment. I watched couples stumble into cabs, no doubt headed to the closest hotel to spend the night with someone they wouldn't remember in the morning.

That could be me. I could be at home with a gorgeous woman, ravishing her body for my own pleasure. But I am not a boy anymore, but a man. A boy would take a drunk girl home and use her. A man would provide her with sanctuary. Protect her from making everlasting mistakes.

The sun was barely coming up, kissing the horizon with soft orange and purple colors. My footsteps heavy on the stairs, I needed sleep, but I didn't want to scare her. Opening the door as quietly as possible, I peeked in before walking through.

She was gone.

The quilt folded neatly on the arm of the couch. Her keys and phone no longer on the counter. I hope she went home, that she called a cab and made it safely. Scrubbing my hand over my face, I retreated to my room. Plugging in my phone and turning it back on.

A new voice message pinged.

Thank you, Dimitri. Thank you for showing me the difference between a boy and a man.

Chris Janson: Drunk Girl