“Can’t you show up on time for once?”
She stepped through the slightly crooked doorway and saw the group of friends already gathered on a blanket on the floor of the less than luxurious studio flat, the curtains drawn and barely a flicker of light in the open, empty room, setting the scene for what already felt like a nightmare in the making.
“I was at work.”
She felt something sharp jab her thigh as she crouched down to join them. She reached beneath the frayed and faded blanket and discovered the weathered lid of a beer bottle, the sight of which triggering a flashback to the previous weekend. The fresh, aching memory of her friend pulling up the driveway, drunk and entirely too fast, killing her dog upon impact.
“They said he shot himself in the front seat of his truck last night around six-thirty.” One of the friends uttered quietly, staring blankly at nothing and putting his hand to his head like a gun.
She unlocked her phone and opened her texts, the conversation she’d had with him yesterday already open. A shudder rolled through her very existence as she noticed what time she sent him the message “Kill yourself” in an emotional rage.



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