Without his usual confidence and her smile of approval, he found it difficult to tell her what really needed to be said. He walked towards her, his feet slipping from underneath him. He sank to the floor, but his ambition remained solid. He let out a sigh before glancing up at her disappointed, disgraceful, caring face. She stooped to his side, and she was immediately struck with the overpowering stench of alcohol.
"I need to... I need... to tell you something..."
"Shhh," she abruptly but gently halted his slurring. It's not that she didn't care. She knew they needed to get this out in the open. But not now. She embraced him and together they rose to their feet.
"I'm sorry," he said in an almost unnaturally raspy voice. His bloodshot eyes searched her expression for a glimmer of hope. Then he cut off their eye contact with a blink and a shake of his head.
"I know." Her voice revealed a hint of an "it's going to be okay" kind of tone. Her face, however, remained stone.
He clutched his stomach and drunkenly bobbed his head back up to look at her once more. Even though he was intoxicated and disoriented, the two made a mental connection for a brief moment. A sense of understanding brushed his conscience. There was more he wanted to tell her, but if he opened his mouth he felt he would vomit.
She was more aware of his discomfort than he had realized. She took his sweaty hand in hers and repeated, "I know."
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