Angelica hissed as she sank back into the single-seater sofa, the worn leather creaking beneath her weight.
"Sorry," Lana murmured, though her tone lacked any real remorse as she pressed an alcohol-damp cloth against Angelica's scraped knee again.
The sting made Angelica's fingers curl into the armrest. She swallowed and forced herself to stay still, her gaze looking down at the woman kneeling between her legs.
She wasn't sure whether she should feel relieved that she'd finally found her car… or terrified over where she'd found it.
Her eyes flicked past Lana's shoulder. Bottles upon bottles lying everywhere, the table, the floor—even the bed wasn't spared. But all were empty, as Lana had turned nearly a dozen of them upside down just to bring out enough to damp the cloth.
The air was thick with alcohol layered over cigarette smoke and the greasy, stale smell of fast food.
Angelica cried without tears.
