Tears Dry on their Own
SIENNA
I knew I needed my head examined when Don Julio seemed to be the only man who understood me. I drank him in, feeling the familiar burn of his bitter taste on my tongue. I swallowed every drop of him, and as I tilted my head to finish, I reveled in the feeling he gave me.
Amy Winehouse and Don took their turns with me, twisting my emotions into knots as her sultry voice over my bluetooth loud speaker and his flavor, followed by salt, sedated me.
My twenty-four hours was up.
I twisted the glass of DJ in my hands, letting what little was left of the tequila drip in my mouth before placing the container back on the wet bar in my hotel room. The reflection shining back at me on that shiny surface wasn’t mine, and I looked at the woman in the glass.
A woman di
