"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.