She doesn’t make sense of what’s happening even when Wendy drags her out the hole in the wall diner. The sudden movement meshed with the amount of alcohol in her system tips her off balance and Wendy waits for her to keep up.

Walking forward, Irene finds her now unoccupied hand tucked in Wendy’s own. She hates how strange it feels yet still so familiar like unearthing a deeply hidden memory.

Growing up, she was made to believe in the value of firsts. You only get one first. First dance. First kiss. First love.

Wendy is Irene’s first regret.

They walk in silence at 11 o’clock on a dark and almost deserted highway, save for a few shop owners closing in for the night.

Wendy stops in her tracks but Irene doesn’t notice until there’s a tug on her arm. The look on her face, determined and unrestrained, roots Irene in place.

The warning signs are there, loud and blearing at the back of her head. She ignores her rapid-beating heart and voice of reason whispering a slew of truths in her ears.

She isn’t sure if Wendy initiates it or if she meets her halfway. All she sees is the diminishing distance, slow and fleeting like a cliché movie suddenly playing out to life.

Wendy pulls away first and they start walking again, much slower this time as they approach the corner where they would separate. Wendy speaks as she looks ahead, avoiding Irene’