The number one wasn't supposed to do anything. It wasn't supposed to come with consequences, or leave a rise of emotion in it's wake. It was supposed to stand alone, so that it was easily pushed away. Easily forgiven, easily erased. But maybe it had more power than thought. After all, one fight had ruined her life. One fight had turned her entire world in a different direction. And one fight, just one, had led to the death of the one person she needed most. All because of one fight.

Rory awoke, once again, in an unfamiliar place. She tried to get her bearings as she peered around at the dirty walls, the sea of whitewash casually interrupted by a poster here and there, held on by a piece of gritty tape. Unable to distinguish her whereabouts she turned to the motionless lump curled beside her in the double bed, placed at the center of the room.

"Josh," she moaned to herself upon finding the identity of her companion. Josh was definitely not someone she would have opted for on a sober level, and since she had no recollection of last nights happenings, not to mention the beginnings of a world class hang over, Rory came to the conclusion that she must have been pretty damn intoxicated.

She laid there for a few more minutes, the throbbing in her head reminding her of her foolish actions, and carefree decisions. This was not the first time she had awoken in an apartment other than her own. This was not the first time she had used alcohol to drown her troubles, her emotions, her pain. And she imagined this wouldn't be the last, because this feeling would not be ignored.

So fall through me,

I must be open, I feel so empty.

Can you see me?

Am I still here, am I alive?

Just fall through me,

Maybe you can prove the distance,

Please fall through me.

At least then I'll have something inside.

But she didn't have to deal with that now, and she didn't plan to. All those memories could be revisited another time, a happier time, preferably when she wasn't so desperate for an aspirin and a tall glass of water. But no matter how many times she pushed that guilt trip into the dark corner of her brain, the subject would eventually have to be touched on. She knew that, she was just taking her time, something she seemed to be very good at.