Brennan sat at her desk staring at her computer. She couldn't believe this was happening. She couldn't think of anything to write. Not one single thing. This had never happened to her before and she had no idea why it was happening now. It wasn't like she didn't have plenty of inspiration for horrible murders. She was trying to write a scene between Kathy and Andy but she felt like they just didn't have anything to say to each other anymore. She found this to be especially troublesome as she was halfway through the first draft of the book. Sighing loudly she stood up and stretched, glancing at the clock on the way to the kitchen. Three am. Damn, what a complete waste of time, she thought angrily, now I'll be tired tomorrow and have accomplished nothing. She pulled open the fridge and stared dejectedly inside. There was nothing in there. She'd meant to go to the supermarket on the way home but she had forgotten. For the third time this week.
Leaning on the counter she contemplated her life recently. Booth was deeply in love with Hannah, Angela and Hodgins were excitedly awaiting their baby, Cam was in a relationship with a doctor. And she was alone. Like always. She missed Booth and their friendship. He had promised her that he would always be there for her no matter what, but now Hannah was the one he was always there for. Brennan didn't even like Hannah. She had tried, for Booth's sake, but she found her to be almost as annoying as Daisy. Briefly contemplating the pros and cons, she reached into the cupboard above the microwave and retrieved a bottle of vodka, suddenly glad that she'd stocked up recently. Grabbing a glass she walked into the lounge and sat on the sofa, pouring a decent amount in and knocking it back.
Gradually she felt her brain slowing down as the alcohol numbed her senses. Smiling slightly she discarded the glass and drank straight from the bottle, leaning back into the soft couch. Although it stung slightly as it hit her throat, Brennan was very much enjoying not feeling so much. Ever since she got back from Maluku she had opened up more and look where that had gotten her. Nowhere. She was still in the same place. The exact same place. Her apartment, alone. The only difference now was that she wished she wasn't alone. And she hated that she wished that.
Somewhere she could hear a phone ringing but it sounded really far away so she decided blearily that it probably wasn't hers and fell back to sleep. A few minutes later the same thing happened, although the phone sounded louder this time. Brennan groaned and tried to sit up. Her movement knocked the half empty vodka bottle and her reflexes were not up to speed so it fell to the floor. She tried to grab it before it could all escape-what a waste that would be-but as she moved nausea ripped through her and she barely made it to the toilet in time, the vodka forgotten.
Brennan wasn't aware of how long she sat gripping the toilet rim in order to stay upright while she vomited up what appeared to be her entire stomach lining. After a while she staggered into the shower and turned it on, not caring that she was still wearing her clothes from the day before. The hot water made her feel a lot better although she still felt slightly fuzzy around the edges and on the verge of retching. She got out of the shower and quickly steadied herself on the vanity before taking some Tylenol.
The phone started ringing again and she walked slowly into her bedroom to pick it up, lying down as she did so.
"Brennan." She tried to make her voice sound normal and hoped she'd succeeded.
"Bren? Sweetie? Where are you? It's nine already and I've been calling you for hours!" Angela's high pitched hyperbolic accusation seemed to Brennan to shoot straight down the phone line and amplify before hitting her in the head. It hurt. A lot. As what Angela was saying suck in she looked in horror at the clock. Crap. She was late, possibly still inebriated and definitely hung-over.
"I'll be there soon. I just got held up…tying up a case with Booth." The lie came easily to her lips and Brennan quickly hung up before Angela could interrogate her further. She got dressed quickly and made her way to the front door, cringing as she spotted the vodka lying on the floor. There were only a couple of shots left. Shrugging Brennan tipped them down her throat hoping it would help. Booth had told her once that it was a hang-over cure; it had a strange name that she struggled to remember. Hair of the cat or something like that she decided, rushing to re-brush her teeth before finally heading to the Jeffersonian.