She doesn't remember her first drink, only that she can't stop.
She loves the feeling it gives her, like she doesn't have anything to worry about. People like Drunk Katie. (Travis doesn't.) She wishes it felt just as good after. She wishes she could forget her dead friends like she forgets the night before.
(It doesn't.)
(She can't.)
So as soon as she thinks she feels herself sobering up, she takes another shot, no matter what time of day it is.
It isn't until she quits her job as a receptionist – maybe she was fired, she can't remember – that Travis confronts her.
"Katie," he says. "I think you have a problem."
Through her booze filled haze she can see he has a concerned look on his face but she doesn't want to stop. She can't stop. She tries to focus her eyes on him but she's had a lot to drink since she became unemployed. She sees two, three, five of his head, of the brown leather couch behind him, of everything. "You think I have – a problem?"
Travis sighs. "I know you have a problem." He tries to grab her hand but she whips it away from him. "Katie."
"You're the one with the problem, Travis," Katie retorts. She glares at him, breathing heavily. She feels a bit sick actually but whether it's from drinking or the conversation? She doesn't know.
"I have a problem?" he asks patiently which annoys her even more. How dare he act like he's the calm and rational one? He had never been the calm and rational one. "My only problem right now is you because you're the one with the problem."
She feels the anger spread throughout her body and she yells, "You walk around like everything is okay. You pretend that our brothers and sisters and friends didn't die!" Katie stands up unsteady on her feet and her voice keeps rising. "You didn't even mourn for them at camp! You fucked me and pretended it was normal! We wouldn't be happening if everyone didn't die! And you wake up and go to work and smile and get promotions and you're not you! You – you don't even care! You –"
Travis slams a fist on the table and Katie falls back into her seat. "Me?" his voice is dangerously low and Katie is caught off guard by it. "I am trying, Katie. We can't keep living in the past. We need to live our lives. Do you think any of our friends that died would want this for you? We need to try."
"You haven't even cried once since the day you left me," Katie says as tears stream down her face. She knows he's right but tries to shove the feeling away. She stands up, hand braced on their small square table. "Why?"
He looks sad and tired and defeated. "I have."
She shakes her head. "You're lying."
He stands up and looks her in the eye. "And you held me every time, but …" The end of his sentence is written on his face. But you don't remember. She sees how hurt he is, knows he isn't lying. No one is that good of a liar. No one is that twisted.
"What're you saying?" she asks. She backs away from him, her head whirling. "I – I ?"
Then everything goes black for Katie.