"Why did you drink so much tonight?" He asks me.
"I…," I gesture wildly, drunkenly. "I don't know."
"You don't know?" He snorts disbelievingly.
"Ok, so why did you call me?"
And I don't want to tell him I was jealous when I saw him kissing the blonde in the elevator earlier.
I don't want to tell him that I got drunk to try and forget what I saw.
I can't tell him that I called him because I love him.
Not now.
Not like this.
So I tell him again. "I don't know."
And he knows it's a lie.
