AN: The idea of this fic was playing in my head for so long that I just needed to get it out. This is my first attempt of writing anything that isn't just for myself and I felt the need to publish it after noticing how people are leaving the Lizzington ship after S2 started. That being said, this fic is Lizzington all the way. Also, I'd like to give a big bear hug in FrostyFingers for being an awesome beta and giving me all those incredible ideas to keep this going. Also, this chapter is T rated, but the story will evolve to M very soon.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
One shot down
She had barely managed to make it through this day. Only eating once when she had grabbed some take out on her way back home from work.
Two shots down
Her house was unlivable. Bottles of vodka, rum, Scotch and wine were now part of the 'decoration' of her house as well as the several balled up McDonalds paper wrappings that were scattered all over the kitchen counter and the living room floor.
Three shots down
Her life had fallen apart. Since finding out the truth about Tom, she had developed trust issues; not giving the benefit of doubt to anyone who tried to make their way into her life.
Four shots down
But even her fake husband's disappearance hadn't hit her as hard as his had. He had just waltzed into her life, giving her no choice but to get close to him. Making her feel.
Five shots down
He, who had told her so many times that he would do anything in his power, anything he had to do, to keep her alive. He, who had told her so many times that whenever she was in need, he would be there. Well, where was he now?
Six shots down
She had been put on leave from the FBI. Medical reasons, they had told her. She was just too weak to be part of the field team, they had said – of course she was, she had lost 20 pounds – and that she was too mentally unstable to continue her work as a profiler. It wasn't like they knew what they were talking about. It was her that had had to suffer through this whole ordeal.
Seven shots downs
She could already feel the effects of the alcohol pumping through her system, clouding her brain. The dizziness so acquainted to her by now. It was almost comforting.
Eight shots down
Four months now. Four months since he had simply disappeared, as if their time together had never happened. Four months during which she had kept telling herself she wasn't crazy and that she hadn't invented this whole thing. But now, after all this time, even she wasn't so sure anymore.
Nine shots down
Her stomach started giving signals that this wasn't going to be an easy night, a night that would supposedly be spent in a bathroom, hugging the toilet bowl. Probably because she had decided to forgo any meals since the night prior. She was quite sure her liver was starting to protest from all the extra usage as well.
Ten shots down
She had lost all the ability to think by now. Her body was moving on auto-pilot, almost mechanically, so used to the motions it could go through with closed eyes. It was enough to keep filling the glass as she emptied it with yet another gulp. All emotions lost. All reasons gone. The profiler inside her had shut down long ago. She began drifting off, so she tried to get up from the couch, to find her way to the bedroom, only to take four steps and crash to the floor. The glass slipped from her grasp and shattered on the hardwood floor, a few pieces embedding themselves in the skin of her hand, drawing blood and letting it soak through the carpet.
Whatever part of her still had the power to make any decision had her body crawling to the table, where the bottle was left with half of its content still inside. Not being able to get up and get another glass, she just lifted the bottle to her lips and drank straight from it until she passed out on the living room floor.