A/N: I decided to write an AU for the first time in a few years and I have no clue what I'm doing.
-:-
Alcoholism
Prologue: Dawnbreak
Beams of sunlight shone through the broken blinds on the westernmost wall of the apartment and casted it's warmth on the drunkard's haggard face. His head pounded like the beat of a frontline battle drum, cracking open is tired eyes, running a bandaged hand over his face as the pungent scent of vomit and alcohol filled his nostrils. Feeling his surroundings, the roughhewn carpet was moist, but released a foul odor. Moving his legs, the clatter of bottles made him flinch, groaning loudly at the noise while he pinched the bridge of his nose. A hangover from hell, that's what this is. A thought that was spontaneous yet held a truth as he looked around, scattered beer bottles, several pornographic magazines that lied crudely stacked within arm's reach, and the television with a snowy screen that had the lettering 'MUTE' on the bottom left hand corner. So was a typical early Saturday afternoon for Zane Truesdale.
He looked down at his hand, immediately noting that he was still in work attire, his tie and coat missing, but the once white shirt held a crusty yellow-green stain that covered his torso. The man sat up and hunched over, looking around to see a mess all around, and clenching his teeth as his head throbbed like mad. Zane didn't want to move, all the man wanted was to lie back down and pass out on the floor. Of course in his state he had to get up, the vomit stain that settled on his shirt and slacks had to be washed, and to at least take something to get rid of his headache. Slowly he hoisted himself up from the dirty floor, unbuttoning the crusted shirt and balled it up, the smell irritating him as he progressed down the hall slowly. He looked for the light switch as he stood in the bathroom, flipping it and taking a look at himself in the mirror. Well, look at yourself, no wonder you haven't a chance with anyone, you're nothing more than an alcoholic. Truesdale grunted as he saw the bruises on his body with the occasional scabbed cut. Getting off to cheap magazines from the gas station and poorly acted porn. His own thoughts mocked him, he opened the side of mirror, grabbing the bottle of meds from the small shelf. Getting drunk every weekend with no sign of stopping anytime soon… How pathetic.
"SHUT UP!" Zane yelled, but to what, his thoughts mumbling to him the truth? He turned the tap of the sink, letting the water run cold as he tossed the dirty shirt on the floor. Look at yourself, beaten and battered like you got into a fight with someone. Bringing his palms together he let the water fill up and he brought it to his face, the chill sending a shiver down his spine. He grabbed the white bottle and opened it, taking two pills and swallowing them quickly. "I… Just." Why was he trying to reply, to make a point to something that couldn't be seen? Zane gave up and took off the pair of dirtied, wrinkled black slacks and left them on the bathroom floor. Are you not satisfied with how you live? You have a good job with a reputable company, yet you waste your check on booze and pornography. The tall man turned to the toilet, relieving himself, his thoughts only pestering him further. It's not like you can find your ever elusive attorney friend of yours, your advice-giver as he's known. "Atticus is easy to find, with a name he's made for himself it wouldn't be hard." Responding to the voice in his head as he tucked himself back in to the grey pair of briefs he wore, feeling the crust of urine on it and taking them off quickly, abandoning it on the bathroom floor.
Talking to himself wasn't exactly healthy, but so long as it would make the voice stop, that's all that mattered. He walked into his bedroom, grabbing a pair of boxers out of an old oak drawer and putting them on. Zane plopped down onto his bed, still worn out from the night prior, and rolled around to face the ceiling. I haven't seen Atticus in a long time, let alone a phone call in the past several months. He turned to face his night stand, looking at his alarm clock, 2:57 PM.