Author's Note: This was written for the Controversial Challenge at the Harry Potter Challenge Forum. My issue was alcoholism. I have no first hand experience of this issue so I apologize if, despite my research, it is not terribly accurate.
Her hands are shaking. Her yellow, hawk like eyes are bloodshot. She tries, in vain, to steady herself. No she thinks, no, not yet, not now. I will not give in to him. She pushes her blankets off with her feet and they slide to the floor. She sits up. As she does so, the room seems to spin around her and she has an overwhelming desire to be sick. She turns her head, sees a reflection in a mirror and, suddenly, the desire increases.
The sight of those bloodshot eyes makes her cringe. They are the only sign that something might be wrong. Her steel grey hair is spiky as always, her skin is a little pale but otherwise normal and she can still manage to pull off a smile, even if said smile means nothing. No one can see that anything is the matter, they can not see that she is a prisoner.
She looks over at her desk, a flicker of fear pulsing through her. Bottle, curvy with brown sides, filled with an amber liquid, sits there. Bottle is asleep. Good she thinks, good. As long as Bottle is asleep, she will not drink from him. But he will wake. And when he does, he will whisper to her, making such beautiful promises that he can never hope to keep. That he will never try to keep. And she will follow him, as she always does, deeper and deeper until she no longer knows herself. She is his prisoner.
No one can see the chains, but they are there, wrapping themselves around her brain in a knot so intricate that it almost impossible to see a way out. Nobody knows she is trapped. They will willing give her another drink when she asks and when she stumbles they all laugh, shake their heads and say "Poor Rolanda. She doesn't know when to stop."
But she doesn't know when to stop. She really doesn't! In honesty, if she did, she probably wouldn't. She's too far in. Bottle might be sleeping now, but she can feel him stirring. She knows he is going to wake soon because they are almost one, her and Bottle. They intertwine so delicately, that she no longer knows what are her thoughts and what are being fed to her through a poisoned straw. She looks once more at Bottle. No, he is definitely asleep. She must take advantage of this. Whilst Bottle sleeps, she will try and break free.
Creeping to her desk, she sits and takes out a quill and some parchment. She tears a strip and writes, with a still shaking hand:
I CAN BEAT THIS. I WILL BEAT THIS.
And she continues to write it, over and over again, until the words are covering the paper. When there is no more room, she drops the quill and looks at the floor. Lying all around are brown bottles, shells that she has no use for. She thought that maybe once the bottle was empty, Bottle would be gone. But this is not the case. Once the bottle is empty, he just moves on.
She picks up one of the shells. She will put the piece of paper inside. A message in a bottle. Perhaps someone will find it and then she will be saved. But the first bottle she picks up already has something inside it. Another piece of parchment. She unrolls it and before her eyes dance the words:
I CAN BEAT THIS. I WILL BEAT THIS.
She picks up another, only to find exactly the same thing. The bottles are all full and they are no longer shells. They are homes for the ghosts of her willpower and self-respect. Each piece of parchment reminds her that another day has gone by and she has failed to quit. She shuts her eyes and begins to cry.
Hello.
She jerks her head upwards. Bottle is awake.
Are you not even going to say good morning? he says, a glint in his glassy eyes.
She will ignore him and then he will go away. Her hands will stop shaking and everything will be fine.
I won't go away if you ignore me. he oozes and she yells at him to get out of her head.
Why are you being so nasty? Bottle whines. Have a drink. You will feel much better.
"No, I won't." she whispers.
But you will! he smiles. You always do.
"No, I don't."
Would I lie to you?
"Yes. Frequently."
That makes me sad! You don't want me to be sad, do you? Have a drink.
"You know what I should do? I should walk out of this and room and... and-"
tell somebody? Why would you do that? Why would you tell someone about our special secret? Because I do make you feel special, Rolanda, don't I?
Once he did make her feel very special, but now, now he just brings her down and hurts her.
I won't hurt you! Bottle croons, once again reading her mind. I would never hurt you!
"That's what you said last time!"
This time will be different, I promise. Drink me and I won't let anybody hurt you. It will be just you and me in our own special world. You'd like that wouldn't you?
She shakes her head but really it is exactly what she wants to do. Maybe this time will be different. Maybe, if she takes a drink now, it will be like when they first met, when a sip from Bottle made her world seem so exciting.
You can have that again. Bottle whispers. You know how to get it.
She reaches out, wrapping her fingers around his neck, bringing him to her lips.
That's right. Bottle smiles. Keep going. Now repeat after me: everything is going to be fine.
"Everything is going to be fine."
Everything is going to be fine.
"Every thing is going to be fine."
Everything is going to be fine.
"Everything is going to be fine."