Annabelle couldn't stop the tears. Every time those cruel words rang in her head—words she never expected to hear from him—her chest tightened until she could barely breathe. She sniffled relentlessly, ignoring the smeared mascara that left dark tracks down her cheeks.
"He didn't mean it… did he?" she whispered to the empty air, her voice trembling as she wandered deeper into the secluded corners of the hotel.
She glanced at the plastic cup in her hand, the amber liquid shimmering under the dim lights. With a disheartened sigh, she drained the alcohol in one gulp, seeking a numbness that wouldn't come.
As she lifted her gaze, she spotted a young man across the way. He was standing at the very edge of the pool, one hand pressed heavily against his hip while the other raked through his hair in a gesture of pure agony. His back was to her, his broad shoulders tensed like a pulled rock.
