A/N: I was feeling a little down after watching a depressing movie in anthro/socio/psychology class, and it kinda inspired me to write this. It's kinda depressing too; I just couldn't bring myself to write my usual fluffy stuff. I didn't even knowI was capable of writing anything else, but apparently I am...
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Aiden comes home. She throws her purse onto the side table. She sits herself daintily down on her couch. She throws her head into the pillows and screams.
Danny walks into his empty apartment. He paces furiously. He pulls at his hair. He throws his fist into the wall and looks with sadistic satisfaction at the hole.
Mac sits up in the hotel bed. He looks at the sleeping figure next to him. He rubs his eyes with the tips of his fingers and gets up. He dresses silently and leaves.
Stella gets up out of the bath and wraps a towel around her body. She pulls the plug and turns to look in the mirror, letting the towel drop. She hates her wide hips and thighs.
Aiden gets up off of the couch, eyes red and stinging with tears. She walks into her bathroom and looks in the mirror. She looks horrible. She pulls up the hem of her shirt and looks at the marks across her stomach. Arms would be too obvious. She reaches into her shower and grabs at her razor. She pulls a blade out and adds to her growing collection of scars.
Danny sits, staring at the hole in his wall. His feet are tapping incessantly. His eyes flick momentarily to the dusty box atop his fridge. He stares at the hole. His eyes return to the box. He gets up, brow creased in conflict. He reaches up for the box and brings it down, dusting it off. He opens it and dons a macabre grin as he pulls out bottle after bottle of high concentration whiskey, vodka, rye…
Mac hails a cab out in the street. It's late, but not that late. The night is young. Mac gets into a cab and debates over the address to give the cabbie. He settles on one not far away from his apartment and hangs his head. He knows it's wrong to do this, but he can't stop. It's too painful to continue, yet something is making him. He makes himself believe it's Claire.
Stella, dressed in a robe, sits in a loveseat in her living room. The T.V. is on, but she's not watching. She wanders over to the fridge and looks inside. She reaches for a box of leftover fries, and then her hand retracts. She looks down at her waistline. She closes the fridge and heads back to the bathroom. She opens the medicine cabinet and looks at the pills. She takes a bottle out and opens the lid. She takes a pill.
Aiden sits on her bathroom floor, sobbing. She holds the bloody razor blade in her palm and dabs at her abdomen with a wet tissue to mop up what little blood has spilled. How did it get to be this way? She asks herself. How could I let myself do this?
Danny sits in his living room, watching the hole in the wall blur as the empty bottles grow. There are three to his left, one in his hand and several more full ones waiting for him in the box. He peels the label off of his bottle. He balls it up. He crushes it. His eyes start to close. His head starts to throb with the buzzing. His head falls back against the couch and the bottle falls out of his hand.
Mac exits the cab and tips the driver heavily. He looks around to make sure nobody sees him. It's a bit of an embarrassment to go into one of these establishments, but he sees no other way. It's just a habit, he tells himself. So many other men in this city have the same habit. It's no big deal. His rational mind shuts off when he enters the building, just another john in a brothel.
Stella sits on her loveseat again, feeling her stomach growl. She covers it with her hand and wills it to stop, wills her appetite to stop, but she knows it won't. She gets up and goes to her fridge again. She opens the door. She narrows her eyes and slams the door shut. She paces. She feels her system slowing after the edge from the pill wears off. She goes back to her medicine cabinet. She opens the door. She pulls out the same bottle. She takes another pill.
Aiden gets up and cleans off the razor blade. She places it carefully back inside the razor it came from. She pulls her shirt off and looks in the mirror. Thin lines dance across her stomach, their colours ranging from light white to the most recent dark red. She runs her fingers over them lightly and chokes back another sob. Her head is reeling. Her problems seem to keep growing, and this is the only escape. She can't stop the problems, only escape them. She sits on the edge of her bathtub, trying to tell herself it'll be alright.
Danny is feverish. He falls in and out of consciousness. He is aware of a pleasant pain in his head, of the buzzing getting stronger, of waves washing over him… Waves of what? Pain, pleasure, consciousness, emotion; each wash over him, and he is aware of their abstract patterns. Slowly, he becomes less aware as they become more abstract. His mind sinks slowly into relaxation, fading to black as his stream of consciousness trickles and ebbs.
Mac travels to the back of the bawdy house. The low, red lighting gives the place a hellish look. How appropriate, he thinks, as he heads to the room furthest away from the entrance. They know him here. He is allowed. He opens the door, fighting the shame and dependence that he feels in this place. Five girls smile at him as he enters the room, each crying his name in glee. Jim, they call. My turn, Jimmy, she had you last time. Here, he's known as a good tipper. He smiles coyly and closes the door behind him. His alter ego chooses a girl and they adjourn to an adjacent room, the cries of the girls fading as the door is shut.
Stella can't sit still. She fidgets, she twists her hands in her lap, she dashes about the room tidying. The apartment is spotless. Her mind is buzzing. Was it the pills that caused this anxiousness? She paces. She can't stand it anymore. She throws together a grocery list and dresses hastily. She runs out of her apartment, taking the stairs, and heads out through the lobby to the warm night air. She hails a cab and heads over to the local market. The cabbie remarks on her fidgeting. He tells her she looks like a Chihuahua on speed. She flinches at that remark. No, only diet pills, she says. He looks at her in the mirror. He tells her to change her doctor.
Aiden wakes up the next morning. She'd cried herself to sleep on the bathroom floor. Her razor winks at her in the morning light. She picks up the thing and throws it angrily into her wastebasket. She could do this. She could be strong. She was going to get over this. It had been too long. She divests herself of her crumpled, dirty clothing and steps into the shower. She lets the cold water run over her and revels in its numbing power. The water turns warm, and Aiden feels a shiver run through her. She reaches for her razor, a habit, then realizes she's thrown it away. She stands firmly in the shower and refuses to give in and retrieve it. Tears run down her face and mix with the shower water. She fights her addiction, determined to win.
Danny wakes up with a hangover the likes of which he hadn't had since that box was stowed on top of his fridge. He blinks and rubs his bleary eyes, adjusting slowly to the agonizing sunlight streaming in. He looks beside him at the three empty bottles. Have I really drunk that much? He asks himself. He looks to the other side and groans at the bottles still in the box. It was supposed to be there as a reminder, a temptation to resist. His resolve had broken. He should have called his sponsor, he realizes, as he shuts his eyes tightly to fend off the headache threatening to crack his skull in reprimand. He struggles to stand up and picks up the bottle by his feet. Empty as well. Four empty bottles soon sit in his recycling bin. Four empty bottle signifying his life; devoid of all but work, and even that seems to get him into a worse state of mind every day. Four empty bottles symbolically placed in the recycling, to start anew as a container that will hopefully hold something other than alcohol. Danny sighs and closes the box. He finds tape in his kitchenette and tapes the box shut. He walks determinedly out of his apartment. He dumps the box into his garbage chute. He fights his addiction, determined to win.
Mac wanders the streets, not having returned to his apartment after his encounters the previous night. He tells himself he's not ready for a long-term relationship after Claire. He tells himself it's only natural for a man to want to regain the physical aspect of a relationship; it's only natural to feel deprived. The girls mean nothing; night after night they satisfy his urges, but they mean nothing. He pauses on a street corner, waiting for a light to turn green. A tall, blonde woman, obviously a working girl, asks Mac if he wants an early-bird special. He's tempted. The girls he sees nightly aren't satisfying him as well anymore; maybe he just needs a change of scenery. He is about to accept when he realizes that all the mindless sex in the world won't bring Claire back, won't help him recover from his loss. He tells himself Claire would be ashamed of him, trying to get over her by numbing himself like this. He becomes ashamed of himself. The light turns green, and Mac walks away. He fights his addiction, determined to win.
Stella wakes up the next morning, in bed, in her bathrobe again. Her vision is blurry and she seems to be moving extremely slowly, much unlike last night after the second pill. She needs to take another one, she surmises, in order to feel normal again. She sits up slowly and walks to her medicine cabinet. She takes out the bottle. She opens it and shakes it into her palm. Nothing comes out. She needs to refill her prescription for the third time. She calls her doctor, explains that she's feeling run down and needs more pills. Her doctor tells her the pharmaceutical company has stopped manufacturing the pills after an investigation shut down production. The pills contained an unauthorized ingredient. Realization hits her. She's addicted to an illegal drug. Stella thanks her doctor and hangs up. She clutches the edge of the bed nervously. She picks up the phone. She checks herself into rehab. She feels the urge to take another pill. She remembers there are none left. She fights her addiction, determined to win.
Aiden, Danny, Mac and Stella greet each other the next day at work. Each looks exhausted, each fighting some inner battle. They go about their business, keeping their personal lives to themselves.
Sometime during the day, however, Aiden sees Danny marking down an appointment. His calendar is marked 'A.A.'
Danny overhears Mac ordering a floral wreath for Claire's grave. He hangs up and covers his face with his hands, seemingly ashamed.
Mac sees Stella flipping through a drug rehabilitation pamphlet. She explains, too hastily, that she is researching rehab for a friend.
Stella runs into Aiden in the bathroom, staring into the mirror with her shirt pulled up. She quickly covers her abdomen as Stella walks in, and Aiden walks out stoically without a word.
Each retreats at the end of the day, their distraction of work gone for the evening. They all wave goodbye, then steel themselves for the great obstacles ahead of them. They know that they have to resist their addictions now, before they get so out of hand that they end up in the morgue with toe tags. Aiden starts a diary. Danny sets up a regular correspondence with his sponsor. Mac visits Claire and vows to do so every day. Stella registers with a gym and prepares herself for rehab.
They know the road will be rocky. They know it won't be easy. They look to their addictions not as shortcomings, but as opportunities to prove they are stronger persons. They know that however long the road will be, they will travel every inch until they emerge at the end.
Three months have passed by. Aiden has filled three diaries and Danny's ears with her stories; her emotions no longer untold, she has stopped resorting to self-mutilation to cope with the pain that she deals with. She and Danny have been seeing each other since the night of Danny's second relapse, when his sponsor was unavailable. He called her, she was there for him. She collapsed in tears, he was there for her. They haven't stopped being there for each other since. They go through the day a little easier now, knowing they aren't alone; knowing they have each other.
Mac hasn't set foot inside a brothel since he first revisited Claire's grave, the first time since her funeral. He's ashamed that he ever felt the compulsion to seek solace in sex. He visits her grave regularly, every day after work. Sometimes Stella joins him, sometimes she has a rehab session. Always, Stella gives him her love and support. She doesn't know about the nights he's spent with hookers; she doesn't need to know. Not yet. When the time is right, he'll confess. For now, she's there for him and he's there for her, helping her cope without drugs. He's joined her gym as well, making sure she goes, making sure she doesn't resort to pills over her body image. Which he thinks is just beautiful the way it is.
There are some nights when they all lie awake, their demons still haunting, making them ashamed, making them crave, tormenting their minds. These are the nights when they remind themselves they aren't alone, they're never alone. They know they can fight their demons. They all have each other, and that is more than enough to keep them going.
Together, they'll be all right.
A/N: I kinda redeemed my fluffiness near the end there, eh? Couldn't help it. Review, please...