She knew what his intentions were, and that groping her under a table in a drunken stupor was not among them, but it didn't abate the rage that consumed her. He had removed his hand the moment he had felt the fabric of her jeans, and proceeded to pull out another can without so much as a blink of an eye to acknowledge that he'd touched her. She stood abruptly, grasping the arm of the couch to steady herself when her head spun.

"Whas wrong? You're not gonna be sick are you? Means I win," he yelled triumphantly, flopping back to lay on the floor as she moved out of his line of vision.

She had no rebuttal as she roughly shoved her arms through the sleeves of her jacket.

"Where're you goin'?" He asked when he turned his head to see her stalk toward the door.

She turned when she heard him stumble in her direction, growing more frustrated when she saw him struggling to catch up with her on his hands and knees because standing was too difficult.

But it was enough to make her slow her pace.