Misery

By: Laura K.

I go past Ryan’s office on purpose that afternoon. My brain is spinning, my pulse thudding. I can’t stop reading the texts and the headlines, but I have to. This is the nightmare that just keeps going.

“Jesus, what happened to you?”

I exhale. “This is the worst day of my life.” (Not usually prone to hyperbole, I assess this statement years later. At that point in time, accurate.)

He says nothing else. Pulls out a drawer. One bottle of bourbon. Two glasses. He motions to the empty chair.

We drink. We sit. The world keeps turning. Good lessons, all.