So he had thought about it. And he thought I looked good. I was flush with success. More time passed. More pitchers were consumed. More people came. The party moved to a dive bar down the street. It was after midnight when my phone buzzed again. In the spirit of honesty... how averse to being self-destructive are you?
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I made a beeline for the grimy two-stall bathroom, checked to make sure I was alone, and then stared at myself in the mirror. The florescent overhead light should have washed me out, but there was color in my cheeks, fire in my eyes. I looked my reflection straight in the eye. "Anna. Don't do this. There will be consequences." (Bathroom-mirror pep talks are common for me when I've been drinking.) My reflection didn't flinch. Intellectually, I understood that the decision I was about to make was a bad one, but I was tired of fighting the past, tired of inoculating myself against life. I locked myself in a stall and waved the white flag. Not that averse. Give me a few hours.
I only told one other person about my decision, a friend who had made plenty of her own mistakes and would not judge mine. She was on her way home, but told me to wake her up if I needed to crash on her couch. I assured her I wouldn't, and texted him. You still up?
Come pick me up?
I weaved my way to a street corner a discrete distance from the bar, and soon saw his green Honda Civic (formerly our green Honda Civic) slowing as it came toward me. I took a deep breath and climbed in. We kissed awkwardly. "Is this a terrible idea?" I asked.
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"Maybe," he said.