The salt in the air felt real and rested on my cheeks. The scotch was smooth and aged. It brought fire to my tongue, down my throat and into my stomach. Then lower. And it was then that I simply had to be in his arms. I couldn’t last one more minute. The ice cubes were clinking against the glass with each purposeful, high heeled step I took toward my man. Ping. Ping. Ping. There were people everywhere but they parted to allow me to pass. The crowd shifted away from me so casually, each split second was a song. Their movements were effortless and familiar. He drew his right hand to cup the side of her face, his long fingers brushing tenderly across her cheekbone to stop behind her ear. Her skin looked like a peach. It was a knife to my heart. I dropped my glass. It shattered and time started again. They broke their embrace. Guests turned and gasped to stare at the naked agony in my eyes. He looked at me too. He was detached and cold. She, without a flicker of recognition, merely followed the sound of glass snapping and ice scattering. Her face was beautiful and oblivious. It was interested yet not invested. I began to analyze her features. I'd seen them before, somewhere. It was then that I finally woke.