A/N- Thank you for reading and following! Please review; I always appreciate critiques:)
The files her mother had sent over about IGH were waiting when Trish got home. She started to go through them, but her brain was too fuzzy to make sense of any of the information. She gave up, opened the sliding doors to her bedroom, changed into silk pajamas, and got into bed with her phone and a bottle of red wine. She knew Jessica would be in the dark in her crappy apartment, getting drunk on Wild Turkey or some other strong bourbon. Jess wasn't the only one who could drink her troubles away. Trish needn't even bother with a glass.
Halfway through the bottle, Trish stopped playing mindless phone games and pulled up her texts. The last text from Jessica glared back at her, taunting.
"Penthouse. I love you."
Trish typed "I love you, too", but didn't hit send. There was no point. It wasn't like Jess didn't already know that. She told her she loved her all the time. This time wouldn't mean anything different. Would it?
Jess probably wouldn't reply even if she tried to text her anything. It was like that with them. Jessica dropped in and out as she pleased, never considering how it made Trish feel when she left. Except that she was always considering Trish. That was how she'd gotten this far in life, because Jessica got her here. She hated that her best friend wouldn't stick around long enough to enjoy the cushy life they had made, post-Dorothy and post-Patsy and post-drugs.
Drugs. The second the word entered Trish's mind, she couldn't let go. Her body still ached from the red pill and fighting Simpson and her mind wouldn't turn off the constant replays of Kilgrave's last words to her. She thought of how she trained hard to make sure no one touched her anymore unless she wanted them to. But then there was Kilgrave.
"Like you mean it."
She gagged on the bile that rose up in her throat, thinking about what she'd done. What Jessica had watched her do. The fact that she really had meant it. Never mind the fact she'd only meant it because she'd been compelled to. It wasn't her fault. He forced her.
Trish needed to forget. To make it stop, if only for a little while. The wine wasn't enough. It would never be enough. She laced her fingers together in an effort to keep her hands still. Her thoughts were racing and her breathing became uneven.
"Just one," she decided. "Just to calm down."
Trish took a deep breath and got out of bed slowly, trying to stay calm and keep the spinning in her head to a minimum. She couldn't handle a panic attack right now, not after everything she'd been through and put Jessica through the last few weeks. She had to be stronger than her mind. For Jessica. And if she couldn't be, then she had to had to find a way to shut it down.
She stuck her hand between the mattress and box spring near the foot of her bed. Her deep breathing techniques were rendered useless when she realized the prescription bottle was not in it's usual place. Trish ran her hand along the entire width of her box spring, but there was nothing there. She lifted the mattress as much as she could, but still nothing. She ran into the bathroom, throwing open drawers and cabinet doors. Of course, she never kept anything stronger than Midol in her bathroom. Even if she had, Jessica would have gotten rid of it.
Jessica. The explanation for her missing pills was a simple one. She grabbed her phone, all stubbornness over not wanting to be the first to text forgotten. "Jess," she typed and sent.
The answer was almost instantaneous. "They're gone."
"Where?"
"Not in the house. You won't find them, so stop looking. Go to sleep."
"You know I can't. Tell me where they are."
"No."
Trish was frantic by now. There was no possible way she could sleep, or even survive the night, without those pills. She should have known Jessica would find her hiding place and get rid of them. She hadn't needed them in so long that she'd forgotten to check the last several times her best friend had been over. She knew there was no rationalizing with Jess about this, despite the other woman's severe reliance on alcohol. She did the only thing she could think of and sent another text.
"Malcolm. I need a favor."
"I'll be right there."
