To Live
“The bedsprings didn't squeak. She opened her eyes a fraction at a time.There was no dresser, no wardrobe, no trace of the permanent scent of fabric softener. It took a bleary moment for her to realize it wasn't her bed she was on, but the sofa.As she sat up, pins and needles shot through her right arm to her fingertips. The rest of her body didn't feel much better—as if she'd spent the night on a bench at a railway station. Her head felt as if it were stuffed with wads of cotton wool, and a hea...dache was creeping up on her. To make matters worse, her hair and clothes—she was still wearing last night's clothes—reeked of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke.Kelsey massaged her sensitive arm and inspected her surroundings. Half her handbag had crawled under the sofa and one of her black leather pumps was on the coffee table next to the house keys; the other rested on its side at the door.She began to laugh. It started with a snicker and bubbled into a great big belly laugh, like a river flowing into the sea.Last night was proof that she was ready to change, to live, to move on.MoreLess
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