Fighting to Forget:

Chapter One;

Drowning

Caution: This story contains Adult Themes. Some of these themes include: Angst, Depression, Self harm, Alcohol use, Explicit drug use, Adult language, Gore and (some) Forced sexual situations.

Disclaimer: All situations and characters interpreted here are a work of complete fiction. Some characters are based on the wildly popular cult CW series; Supernatural© owned by Eric Kripke. I do not claim to own these characters in any way, shape or form. Any other similarities between real or actual events or persons (Aside from previously mentioned) is purely coincidental and they are in no way intended to offend or appropriate the subjects that I have adapted to these particular circumstances taking place within my story. Thank you.

If you do not feel comfortable with any of these themes or situations, then this story may not be for you.

Reader discretion is advised. Rated M 18+ Mature audiences only.

Again, to reiterate for clarity; I do not own Supernaturalor any of the characters belonging to Eric Kripke. Enjoy!

I entered the hotel on the corner of Kearney and Kansas. The foreign hotel clerk eyed me as I made my way to the counter. His gaze fell over my form as if I were stark naked. He was a short tanned man with black hair and an abnormally large nose.

As I approached him I could make out his name tag: 'Akeim'. Fucking sleaze ball. Of course I was drunk. Again. I was doing anything and everything to help numb the pain.

I needed a place to stay for the week or so that I would be in town and this was the first nice hotel I had spotted, and to be perfectly honest I was too drunk to drive any further. The white banner outside also proudly boasted the words 'Newly Remodeled' in brightly colored font. I didn't need any further convincing.

"That's eight hundred and five dollars for the week." Akeim said. His Indian accent was thick and I could barely make out what he said. Or maybe that was just the Jack clouding my mind. I pulled my wallet from the back of my jeans and counted out the cash. I grimaced when his hand brushed mine as I handed the money to him. His fingers lingered just a second longer than was necessary. He swiped the small plastic rectangle and punched a few numbers into the keypad. He smirked a little before placing my key card on the counter in front of me, his hand settling next to it as if he were going to try and grab my hand when I reached for it.

"Room 209." He said darkly, his look still disgustingly lecherous.

Keep eyeing me like a fucking steak, pervert and I'll shove my bayonet into your skull.

Although, I was pretty much trashed to the point of blacking out and was uncertain if I could even properly defend myself if he tried anything. Not that I couldn't handle my own, but as fucked up as I was, I wouldn't walk away unscathed. My knife felt hot against my calf but I refrained from pulling it from my boot.

Even through the haze of the alcohol and lingering effects of speed in my system, I managed to scowl at him before I slammed my hand on the counter snatching up my key. He flinched hard, eyes painfully wide, obviously startled by the hostile way I had taken the key. I tossed a nasty look in his direction as I hitched my duffle over my shoulder, vision now dangerously blurry, before turning around and stumbling on my way down the hallway to the elevator.

I was finally out of sight of the front desk. Not a lot of things made me feel uneasy, given my experience, but I was clearly under the influence and that made me look like an easy target. A hot piece of ass with a target on her back that screamed 'vulnerable'. I just needed to get to my room and sleep.

"Fucking piece of shit." I muttered to myself, trying four times before finally finding the elevator call button. I took a deep breath and willed myself to sober up just enough to make it to the actual bed before passing out. I pressed my hand against the wall to help steady myself.

After all that had happened over the last couple months at least I could now afford a better hotel to stay in. Thanks to the goddamned Devil. No more rundown hotel rooms, ramshackled halfway houses and worries about when I would have my next meal. 'Thank you life insurance.' I thought bitterly. At least the rest of my short miserable life would be luxurious. Might as well make the best of it. Jacuzzis, king sized feather beds, champagne, all the drugs I could get my hands on and bedding every attractive man that I came across. If it made me feel good and kept my mind busy then you best bet that I was going to do it.

Before leaving 'home' I stopped by my dealer's house to stock up for my… let's call it a 'road trip'. I was determined not to be sober another day before my death. I wanted to feel good again. Peaceful, if you will. The drugs drowned out the bad feelings and thoughts and most of all they made me feel happy. 'At least until I start to come down'. My subconscious reminded me. No matter, I still had plenty enough to be high for months. How long had it been since I felt something other than pain without the aid of an illegal substance?

With my newfound wealth I managed to stock up on anything Irish had on hand before hitting the road. In the trunk of my car, carefully hidden in the inner lining of my suitcase, was a bag full of anything and everything from Adderall to Xanax. Not to mention a beautiful old bottle of Jack that my dad had been saving for ten years. I had special plans for that one though. 'God bless you, Daddy.'

I stared down at my black combat boots, amused with the fact that the floor seemed to be rippling underneath me like water. I swayed a little, the back of my scalp hot and prickling like needles. 'I must have taken too much.' I sighed outwardly. I just need to sleep it off is all. Right? My stomach growled loudly and I couldn't help but smile at the strange gurgling sound. When was the last time I ate again?

I was in the middle of remembering the last meal I had when the elevator door dinged and slid open. Not bothering to look up from the liquid floor, dreaming about a juicy burger and fries, I took a brisk step forward and collided hard with what felt like a brick wall. I was promptly put on my ass.

"Oh my goodness, are you alright?!" The stranger exclaimed. Whoever it was had a deliciously deep voice. My lower belly fluttered with anxious want.

I squeezed my eyes shut, dizzy from the sudden movement. I tried to focus on my breathing. It was heavy and ragged. I really needed to get to bed. The alcohol swam around in my head, making me feel like I was on the Trapeze ride from a fair. I gripped the carpet and tried to ground myself. Everything felt like it was spinning out of control. Nausea swept over me and I had to take in a deep breath. Was the voice really real, or was I now just so goddamn wasted that I had started to hallucinate and just ran right into the elevator door?

"I am so sorry, miss. I guess I wasn't paying attention." I didn't look up at whoever it was. I knew what I probably looked like just sitting there in the middle of the floor, wasted and probably dirty as hell. He paused for a second. "Hey, are you okay? You don't look so good." his voice was gentle and concerning. I couldn't respond. It was like my voice was caught in my throat.

Five seconds later a pair of strong arms wrapped around me from behind, hoisting me up to my feet from under my armpits. I groaned, and wobbled weakly against him as my legs gave out underneath me.

"I gotcha." He breathed, his breath hot and humid on my neck. Goosebumps prickled my neck and downy arms. If I wasn't so belligerently drunk I would have already had my mouth on his by now. His arms were suddenly around me again, pulling me upright; steadying me. I could feel his warmth against my body. The heat felt good. It was oddly comforting, and made me want to sleep.

I felt my bag slip heavily from my shoulder, eliciting a deep grunt from the stranger. I should have been in bed by now. It had been six days now since the last time I slept more than twenty minutes. My newly found love of speed caused me to put my pillow in the pawn shop.

"Come on." The man sighed gruffly as he quickly lifted me up into his arms and pressed me against his chest. I made a distressed noise at the sudden movement, my arms instinctively wrapping around his thick neck.

"Let's get you to your room before you pass out on me in the middle of the hallway." He whispered.

I kept my eyes shut, convinced if I opened them again I would surely purge everything in my stomach. The man leaned down and made a strained noise, presumably to grab my bag.

I groaned into his shoulder as another wave of nausea washed over me.

"Please don't puke on me." The guy chuckled nervously. "You're looking pretty green there, sweetheart. What's your room number?"

I mumbled something that even I found to be incoherent and gripped his shoulders tightly, mentally forcing the contents of my stomach to stay down and praying like hell that I wouldn't retch all over the poor guy.

I felt like I was ten feet in the air. Not good. Not good at all. Jesus fuck, how tall was this guy? My head was spinning and throbbing at the temples. It felt tight across my forehead, like it was going to explode. Heights were never a good thing for me. The last thing I remembered before I passed out was the smell of musky man, old books and something faintly metallic.

Let me know what you think (: reviews are always welcome and I accept any and all constructive criticism. This idea has been dancing around in my head for a week and I decided to finally write it.