The bottle slips from his hands, shattering upon impact. Her breath reeks of alcohol, obvious smell in the distance. She is an acupuncturist, a little bit shallow and superficial, most people would look at her with disgust or side-eyes, yet she didn't really know about that. Ignorant as she was, people's reactions tended to escape her eye. Bleary, a bit more angry and drunk than accustomed, she stumbles her way to the bathroom. She turns on the shower, and grabs a new bar of soap from the cabinet.
Once, she thinks, she'd won the lottery. Now she has next to nothing. Her husband, one man she once had loved, left her for a nice guy, a bank clerk by the name Ronald that, as he said, had been nicer, better than her. Maybe a bit childish, but not a 'psycothic bitch.' Humiliated, she had filled the divorce papers.
Now, as she is in the bath, no one to save her, she sleeps.
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