Moribund.

Now, months later, I can only wonder what would happen if I'd said yes when he asked if I wanted a few beers or something.
The hours that would have been spent downing alcohol and feeling my mind slip and my motor control flicker. The inevitable touch of him against me, and what would have come of it.
The silent drive back, and the confrontation when I stumbled into the white bright kitchen from the darkness of the night, still half-drunk, with mussed up hair and rumpled clothes and beer on my breath.
The confrontation that would begin with denial and shouts and harsh physical contact, and that would end with tears and half-sobbed threats.