The Re-heat of Signore Composto

I was done. I had resolved to not put myself back in that situation ever again-two bottles of wine and a shot of espresso vodka later and there I was willingly climbing into the taxi enroute to a very poor decision.
It wasn't that I was mad that he had called me on my shit, hell I awoke that morning to a never-ending text message from the girl from Brandon letting me know all about how horrible I can act sometimes. It had little to do with the fact that he told me about some "date" he was supposed to be on instead of being with me, or the way he punishes me and then shrugs. My problem was that I didn't know how to feel, and he was not about to help me clear the clouds in my brain.
For the record, I knew exactly what was going on, and though he may never admit it, I was by far the less-drunk one.
When I awoke beside him this morning, it felt different, it felt like waking up beside a friend, and not someone that I was remotely romantically interested in. I could hear my heart and soul let out a sigh, for now the reheat could be frozen and shelved among the other supposed lovers, as a friend.