Okay, so here is Part 2 in this tale of woe.

D: Okay, my friend is becoming a user of weird words and I'm beginning to question her. What's this, Jo?

J: It's a ton of songfics that I either add to when I'm stuck or bored, or I add to when I have a request.

D: and you didn't tell me about it because?

J: You weren't here five minutes ago and it's brand new.

D: Ugh, fine. But I'm also adding to it.

J: you already are.

Disclaimer: No, DJ does not own Darkest Powers. As much as they wish it was different.


Whiskey Lullaby - Part 2

la la la la la la la, la la la la la la (x2)

The rumors flew, but nobody knew how much she blamed herself.

All the guests had left, the preacher was gone, and all that was left was a blonde haired, blue eyed woman staring at the ground beneath the willow tree, the willow tree that held so many memories. The reason she had asked for him to be buried in this particular place and not in a cemetery.

She wanted to scream, she wanted to wail, she wanted to shriek to high heaven. But she was out in the open. Where far too many people would see her anguish.

Pushing herself up from the ground, she stood and held her head high as she walked the trail that lead from this particular spot to her home. Or, what used to be. And when she climbed the gleaming steps, past the mown lawn and the trimmed trees and the colorful flowers, did she look back. And all she was met with was the setting sun. Sighing, she took the remaining steps inside. Dropping her bag on the floor, the echo of it made the house feel less empty. Less dead. But the next echo wasn't because of loneliness.

The screen door hit with a thwap, and when the actual door hit, her scream accompanied it. The sound bounced off the walls, but she didn't care about that anymore. Pain and guilt and frustration boiled in her and rage fueled it all. Anger at him, for leaving her. Anger at Simon, for having been there. But most of all, anger at herself, for having not stopped him, for not having him listen. That she had let him slip right through her grasp. That his death was all her fault.

Another scream, an anguished cry with nothing but pain and guilt filling it, escaped her throat as she remembered the note, the note that had been soaked in his blood. Just like her hands. She might as well have pulled the trigger. The scream tore through her vocal cords as she came to the conclusion that she killed him. That her love's blood was on her hands. She couldn't handle this. She had to get away. Away from the man she had killed.

She heard her feet pounding up the steps before she registered what she was doing. Her feet carried her away from it all, as far away as she could get.

Chloe crashed into the wall upstairs, but no pain was felt. Her sobs filled the air as she crashed through her home. She found photos of the two of them, happy and ready to take on the world, and smashed them, threw them. Ones with the whole family she pushed off the shelves, not knowing what she did through her anguish. Glass littered the floor, was buried in her hands, entrapped in her foot. Bloody footsteps were everywhere, bloody handprints marking walls, furniture and picture frames. Her screams accompanying the shatters and crashing of objects.

And when she was done, only two pictures remained. One of him leaving, waving at the camera as he got in his car, his smile sad but happy, joyous as he was wished farewell and good luck. And the other.

The other was of the two of them when they were fifteen and sixteen, only four months after they had first met, three months after they had shared their first kiss, two months after they had told each other 'I love you', one month after they had started school again, three weeks since they had had their first fight, two hours since they started their first date, one minute before the camera flashed, her on his lap, arms around his neck, holding on for dear life as she laughed at their foolishness. Him, holding her close, arms strong and comforting around her waist as he smiled at her, knowing that she was forever his. Just as he- she- they had wanted it.

She laid her head back against the wall and tipped the bottle to her lips, the horrid smell of whiskey filling her nose, the dreadful taste sliding down her throat, but relief, however small, was granted, and she flipped the bottle of whiskey upside down, ready to ease the sharp, piercing, cutting sensation that threatened to destroy her alive. And while she had no reason to live for, she still drank.

For years and years, she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath.

Twenty-eight years of age, and still she drank. Three years of knowing her only cure for the cutting edge pain that seemed to live withing was this, she continued to do it. Even on this night.

She finished her make-up, silver-black eyeshadow, silver eyeliner and thick mascara drew your attention to her face. She had used concealer to hide the dark spots under her eyes, the only indication of her pain. Nightmares had plagued her for weeks, and almost always the same.

She fiddled with the blacks straps of her black dress. It barely reached her knees and a sapphire blue belt, tied in a bow on her left side, wrapped just a little below her rib cage. Black flats with little blue diamond studs making a simple design encased her feet. Her hands were covered by elegant black, elbow-length gloves, blue beads on her left wrist. A silver chain hung around her neck, a blue and green gem design falling into the hole in her collar bone, drawing your attention to her breasts. her blonde hair was up in a simple bun, but black lace encased it. This look was dark, but whenever she went out, black was what she wore. From black jeans and a black tee to what she wore now, it was always black.

Three years of pain with nothing but whiskey to help numb it was an awfully long time to hide her problem. But she could care less. Hiding the fact that she drank was no hassle.

We watched her drink her pain away, a little at a time. But she never could get drunk enough to get him off of her mind.

Another bar, another guy. His hands rested on her hips, squeezing tightly, leaving bruises as he sloppily kissed her neck. He brought his mouth back up to hers and tried to hiss her senseless. And as soon as his lips touched hers, the whiskey did a number.

Everything seemed to tilt, and suddenly, a random guy was no longer kissing her. Derek stood there, his eyes closed, mouth settled in a satisfied smirk as his large hands squeezed her hips gently, hands now moving up her back, lightly brushing and rendering her breathless. She immediately closed her eyes and kissed him back eagerly, her hands tightening around his neck as her fingers played with the tendrils of hair that rested on the nape within her reach.

He pushed her down onto the bed and his tongue ran along her lower lip, causing her to gasp and her eyes to fly open as she allowed him entrance.

The world tilted again, and the perfect stranger was in front of her, his tongue in her mouth, one hand wrapped in her hair while the other gripped her butt. His body pressed against hers in the most uncomfortable way as he laid on top of her with her laying on the bed,

She pushed him off, pushed him away. His unbuttoned shirt flew open. She sat up, and pushed him again, away from her and out of her room. Standing, she continued to push him out, him rejecting all the way. She gave one final shove and out her door he was. She slammed it in his face and locked it.

Tears streaming down her face, she reaches over to her vanity and grabbed the whiskey bottle.

Until the night... She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger, and finally drank away his memory.

A whiskey bottle and one of her last pictures of him, a picture of him after he graduated college, a grin on his face, were gripped firmly in her hands as she raced away from her empty, dead house, skirts and hair flying behind her.

She ran, her destination in mind, the only place she had visited in the last week. His grave.

The willow sat there, shading his home. She practically fell to her knees before him. Tears slid down her face in never ending streams as she stared at the dying flowers that laid next to his headstone.

"I'm sorry." she murmurs, than opens her other hand and pills roll around, thirty or so more. She lifts that hand to her lips and pours the pills into her mouth. She takes her whiskey bottle and begins to drain it, taking pills down with every gulp.

And, she just sits there and waits, finishing off the last of her bottle of whiskey.

Life is short, but this time it was bigger than the strength she had to get up on her knee, We found her with her face down in the pillow, clinging to his picture for dear life. We laid her next to him beneath the willow...

They find her together. And instead of the feeling of dread and grief filling them, they feel relief. They feel her loss, but she is gone, and she no longer suffers.

She lays there, her upper body across his grave. And in her right hand, is a photo. A photo of him, his smile, his eyes, his love. And she grips it tightly, and even though in dead, she never loosens her grip.

... While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby.

la la la la la la la , la la la la la la la (x2)

Everyone's leaving, but she wants one last glance. Black hair swings as her crystalline blue eyes look back at the willow. And, she can see them. He walks out from behind, staring at his shoes as the kick the ground. She comes from the other side, her smile apologetic but glances up to see her, and in that moment, all is forgiven.

They rush to each other, arms wrapping around the other as the embrace, the simple embrace they both had waited for for so long is are safe in the other's arms once again.

She smiles. They're happy. They are reunited once more. And while she will never see them again, not for a long time at least, the six-year-old has the comfort of knowing that her mother and father are safe and happy one more time.

She turns away, but her smile never fades.


See, I told you it would have a happy ending. I did tell you that, didn't I?

Oh, well.

Toodles!

-DJ