The room is awfully quiet except for Keenan's laboured breath and my heavily pounding heart. His hands are planted on his hips and his eyes fixated on the ceiling as if he's thinking about all the regretful things he's done in his life. Why does this it feel like the beginning of another disastrous road?
“What's wrong?” I ask in panic, because I wonder if he's also recollecting the events that happened last night in part like I am and regretting it.
“Apparently we did more than get drunk last night,” He lift the paper certificate from the bar counter and shows it to me, “we got married.”
