Camile
Okay. Don"t panic. Don"t panic. This is easier said than done when I spot my credit card lying on my desk next to the empty bottle of red wine. I should have known better than to lock myself in my room with alcohol and my laptop and my grief. It never turns out well.
panic. I remind myself it"s just a piece of plastic. They"re just numbers on a screen. There"s a forty-thousand-dollar limit. How bad could it be?
How bad could it be?I look up from my desk and out my bedroom window at the glistening pool. It"s a bright and gorgeous day, the kind that offers the illusion of warmth, but looks are deceiving.
I feel the chill through the glass, even though I paid for the best windows money can buy. That was another late night purchase. Don"t ask. Anyway, the point is, I feel the chill
