Katherine struggled in James's grasp, fighting the liquor that clung to him. "You're worn out, James! Let me go!" she demanded, her voice tight with panic. Yet his grip on her wrist and waist was firm and unyielding, as though her limbs were bound by chains.
She tried to push away, to climb off his lap, but he simply shifted his weight, twisting her until she was forced to face him directly. His eyes, though bleary with drink, held a desperate, confused intensity. "What have I done?" he slurred, the question laced with pathetic self-pity. "What did I do to you Katherine?"
"Something terrible," Katherine spat back. "Now let me go! It's my fault for even coming here to help you!"
James ignored her. He pulled her closer. "I missed you, Kath," he muttered. "It was the slut with brown hair that made me want to lose you."
