Guilt.

That's the strongest thing she feels. Because it was her fault, too. Because Ted should be mad at her, too. Because she was the one that cried on his shoulder. Because she invited him to her apartment. Because she was the one who put her hand on his knee. Because she was the first one who made a move, and kissed him.

But mostly, she feels guilty for not being there for him now.

She's too scared to look into his eyes, too scared to be reminded of what they had done. What she had done.

She's too scared to be around him, to let him know how much she wants him. She's too scared to let him in her personal space again, because who knows what she'll do then.

So instead she sits with the rest of them at the bar, drinking and trying to forget. Trying to forget the feeling of his lips on hers. Trying to forget his strong arms around her. Trying to forget the bright color of his eyes when he looks at her. Trying to forget his sweet words he whispered to her, words she knows he did not mean. He could not mean. Words he most definitely whispered to many girls before her.

When he first calls her, she doesn't answer. She can't hear his voice, his sly seductive voice, on the other side of the line.

When he calls the second time, she can't resist anymore, because it has been a week and she misses him. His voice is cocky as usual, when he's blackmailing her into coming to meet him, and she hates that she's jumping on the opportunity to go see him.

He looks the same, though something in his eyes is different. Defeated. Desperate. Abandoned. Betrayed.

He didn't see any of them for a week. She wonders how much that hurts him. And again the guilt starts to creep in.

"I'm sorry," she wants to say, but she can't.

Never sleep with friends, everyone has always told her. Well, they were right. She knows nothing would ever get back to normal after that.