Where she'd once been warm and welcoming, the redhead was now simmering with regret. Small hands shoving at your chest, anguish in her eyes, wanting OUT from under you. She's beautiful, and her red-rimmed eyes speak volumes about how much she's been crying tonight. She looks like she's about to start up again. You hurt her.
Nothing new.
"I just didn't want you to think.. that we.." Why are you even bothering? You got her high and you fucked her, end of story. What more could anyone ask of you?
She tries for a smile, but it's shaky, crumbling at the edges, and she rips loose from you. When she runs from the penthouse, the door remains flung wide with her exit. You're exhausted with the emotional theatrics, and slump back against a couch gone sticky with sex.
There are pills scattered across the coffee table, like a game of dice gone wrong. In leaning to claim a bottle of wine from the edge, you notice the dainty frill of panties on the carpet. Picking them up for examination, you figure, what the hell, and slingshot them onto one crystalline arm of the chandelier swinging above.