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My hands shook and the bottle slipped and fell.
I didn't pick it up. I dug my nails into my skin, forcing myself to stay awake on the edge.
"Claire." "Claire!" Sophie shouted loudly. I came back to the present.
"Why don't you break up with him? You're only engaged."
I didn't respond.
"I know he was there for you before. I was grateful he helped you get better. But he cheated."
"Claire."
The intermittent lights of passing cars painted Sophie's face.
She said, with no room for argument: "Leave him."
The car fell into a coffin-quiet silence. After a long time I heard myself say: "No."
The car jerked to the curb and stopped. The seatbelt pressed into my chest.
Sophie slammed a fist on the steering wheel and turned toward me, but when she saw my face she was silent for a long time.
Finally she asked: "What's really trapping you?"
I didn't answer.
She stared at me, fierce, demanding a response.
What trapped me?
I closed my eyes. The stain on the table kept flowing in my mind.
What trapped me was similar sentences, and the same hand that'd once tried to pull me out.
What trapped me was the guilt I'd carried for two years. I had no sister left. I had no home.
I opened my eyes — they hurt but no tears fell. Red-rimmed, like a wounded animal — pathetic and ridiculous.
"Sophie." I whispered. "I have no home."
