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Sylvie grabbed me by the shoulders and forced me upright. The room spun. I was on the floor between my couch and coffee table.

Sylvie knelt down in front of me, her eyes full of fear and anger. She shook me again, then hooked her hands under my armpits and pulled me onto the couch.

“Don’t move!” she demanded. No chance of that. I had no bones. I listed sideways, reaching for the pillow.

“I said don’t move!” Sylvie yelled. She was at my kitchen sink, pouring water into the glass. The sound was harsh, violating. She came back and sat on the table. She hooked one hand behind my neck and brought the glass of water to my lips.

“Stop it,” I said, pushing her away.

“Drink it,” she demanded, then put two white pills in my palm. “Take them.”

Glaring at her, I downed the Tylenol tablets and gulped the water. Some of it dribbled down my chin and I wiped it with the back of my hand. She grabbed the glass from me before I could slam it down.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

She reared back. “It’s four o’clock.”

I looked around. In the morning?

“PM!” she shouted.

“What?”

Sylvie vaulted off the table and stood at the end of the couch, hands on her hips.

“You were supposed to be downstairs helping PJ open four hours ago.”

“So why are you here?”

“Are you serious with me right now? I don’t know what’s going on with you. No, that’s not even it. I know what’s going on with you.”

She reached down and picked up the bottle of vodka I’d grabbed from the gas station… yesterday, I guess. She turned it upside down and shook it. A single drop came out. Sylvie threw the bottle onto the chair in the corner.

“Was this full?” she asked, then answered her own question. There was a paper bag on the counter. She grabbed it and pulled out my receipt. When she turned back to me, her expression changed.

“Corrine,” she said. “What’s wrong with you this time?”

“Nothing.” I turned away from her and stared at my blank television.

“It’s never nothing with you. You think I don’t know what this is? PJ’s been covering for you for weeks. Every time I asked him if you were showing up on time, he’d find a way not to answer me.”

“That’s between PJ and me then.”

“Cor, please. Look at me.”

I wouldn’t.

“Look. At. Me.”

She forced the issue, sliding over to the table in front of me again.

“Just tell me,” she said. “Is it him?”

It felt like all my blood turned to acid.

Him.

“Are you seeing him again?” she asked. “Just tell me the truth.”