[Maybe the right words don't exist, but it's not such a bad choice. Any belligerence over his right to drink (and he's not a drunk because he gets drunk, he's still telling himself, it's a choice not an affliction) ebbs with the weight of her choosing him. He bows his head, almost to his chest, guilty for spending time here. The definition of madness: repeating the same actions while expecting a different result.]

Either I'm someone who hurt you, or I'm someone you hardly know.

[It's a painful assessment, and he feels like a fraud for the inclusion of either. There's no choice where he hasn't.]

If you want company, you could have made a better choice.