You wander into the kitchen and pull a dusty bottle of whiskey from the back of the cabinet. You grab a glass from the cabinet but quickly decide to hit the bottle directly. You sink into your overstuffed chair and take a long pull off the bottle. You choke and sputter as the spicy liquid seizes in your throat. You stare ahead, mindlessly, letting the awefulness of the situation creep into your concious. You set the bottle down on the table and stare with paralyzing fear at the manilla folder. You peel it off the table and lay it on your lap. You take a deep breath and pull the cover from the enclosed papers. It feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, taking all your effort to lift it from its dunting contents. You take another deep breath and look down at the full color printout. You can't make out the face of the perpetrator, but you are fairly certain you know who the body belongs to. Your face, however, is easily recognizable, although the look in your eyes is as dead an lifeless as the photo makes you feel. You pick up the top photo and turn it upside down onto the cover, bringing the next into view. The next photo is of you again, but this time a different body is present. You quickly page through the photos and it becomes painfully obvious that nearly all of them involve you and a different man. A couple include Jen. Oh my god, Jen. You jump up and grab the phone, dialing her number frantically. Her voicemail picks up and the message tells you that her mailbox is full. You slam the phone down numerous times and finally throw it across the room, shattering it into several large plastic peices against the wall. You grab the bottle of whiskey and gulp it down ferverously. You rush to the manilla folder thrown onto the table and pick it up. Screaming at the top of your lungs you fling it across the room, sending a storm of intimate incriminating pictures fluttering to the floor. You flop back into the chair and begin to play the horrific actions through your head. You imagine how many people saw the photos, what they said, how many are still out there. You take another long pull of the caramel poison. You suddenly sit bolt upright as a numbing thought crosses your mind. You imagine your Dad somehow stumbling upon the photos online. Tears stream from your eyes as you stand and hurl the almost empty bottle across the room, shattering it to a million pieces and leaving a brownish splash on the wall. You turn to sit down but your legs suddenly won't work. Your legs buckle and you fall forward, crashing through the glass table and ending in a heap on the floor. Your ears begin to ring and your vision fades. All you can see is one of the photos laying on the carpet next to your head. The pain killers! You strain to get up but it's too late. The drug has already seeped into your body, paralyzing you in an ironic twist. Killing your pain permanently. You reach for the shattered phone but it seems to get further and further away. Your hand falls lifelessly to the ground and the small dark tunnel fades to blackness.