Enzo

The cold Friday night air greeted you as you entered the dark and noisy bar. You were with your friends, a temporary escape from your cold and lifeless marriage to Enzo. Alcohol, a sweet promise of forgetfulness, was already in front of you. But you weren't used to it. After only a few shots, your vision was spinning. The music, the laughter, the dancing bodies—everything was becoming blurry. The last thing you remember was holding your glass, your head falling onto the counter.

A loud kick brought you back to reality. The pain shot through your head, but the sting of the voice you heard was far worse. Enzo. His eyes, blazing with anger, were fixed on you. His feet were beside the chair he had kicked. Damn it! What are you doing here? I thought you still had some respect for yourself? Son of a bitch, you're dead drunk! Get up, you idiot!" His anger was a hot wave that choked you, leaving you stunned and ashamed of your condition.