In the quiet moments, Roxy had time to think. She didn't like thinking, she didn't like how it made her feel, so she busied herself with the task of feeding the citizens who lived around her and staying just the perfect amount of drunk. The perfect amount of drunk rose steadily as time passed and it became increasingly difficult for Roxy to avoid thinking without a stomach full of alcohol. As soon as she awoke she had an empty glass in her right hand and a full bottle in the other.
But sometimes…sometimes she still had time to think. She had time to think and she had time to hurt. Thoughts were flying around her head taunting her, reinforcing what she already knew.
She wasn't good enough.
She was unlovable.
She was alone.
Dirk was in love with a boy 400 years in the past and could care less about the only human currently alive beside himself. What did Jake have that she didn't? Why couldn't Dirk see that she was here for him, that she was so much closer than Jake could ever be.
But not close enough.
There were at least six glasses of alcohol pumping through Roxy's veins but she had never felt more sober, and oh god, it hurt. All she wanted was someone to hold her and tell her that she was loved, she was wanted. Curled up in the fetal position beside her bed, she let her pain out. Roxy couldn't remember the last time she cried. She didn't cry. "Never," she whispered to herself as sobs racked her body. Eventually, the sobs quieted and faded as the tears dried and she slowly drifted down, down to the place where it didn't hurt.
Roxy Lalonde didn't have time to think and she certainly didn't have time to cry, she was much too busy helping the hungry and doling out relationship advice to her friends.