Closer (Part III)

“Uh…” she said. Their stare never broke even when he took her glass.
“You’ve had enough,” he said wrenching it from her. She took a long drag and blew the smoke in his face.
“I’m fine, it’s you that has had too much.” He retracted slightly to avoid the blast and burning his eyes and nose.
“I told you that you never listen to me.”
“Fuck you.”
“No thanks.” He grinned impishly. Oh, he thought he was so funny. She shoved him lightly, sneered at him jokingly and turned to find other people leaving him behind her to do the same. She sauntered over to another group of people and stood quietly listening to the conversation only speaking when being spoken to. She laughed and cracked jokes where she could; it was what she did best. Her breathing was getting shorter as she realized just how much she was smoking and drinking. They had barely been here two hours and she already felt a little sick. For some reason, this was not the happy kind of conversational drinking she normally engaged in. she swaggered a bit then regained footing before she fell over completely. She was not afraid to fall though, he would be behind her; he always was. He would hold her hand and take care of her, he always did. She appreciated that. Where was he now? Impossible to find him in the throng of drunkards. She looked past the clear glasses of gin and tonic and the colored ones of the Cuba libres. She needed the bathroom, now. She politely excused herself from the group and made her way towards the restrooms. It seemed as if the doors were getting further and further away as she tried to get closer. Closer. She reached out for the handle as she almost fell through the door. She looked around to make sure nobody was watching and pushed into the bathroom without even bothering to knock. Thank god, nobody was in there. She stopped before the toilet and turned to look at herself in the mirror.
Her eyes were red from lack of sleep, booze and the cigarette smoke that stung her eyes. Her favorite black shirt was (surprisingly) clean of stains of any sort and her beige pants were clinging to her waist. She had been losing weight recently from her irregular eating habits. Not that she was anorexic or bulimic, she just could not find much time to eat; there was almost never any food in his house. She touched her cheeks to feel the warmth radiating from it, nervous sweat was forming in her freshly-shaven armpits and she could feel her head spinning with the lights. Damn, he was right…way too much to drink.