She wakes up and is reaching for the bottle even before she opens her eyes.
Fifty percent proof, and it doesn't even burn on the way down anymore.
She doesn't feel much of anything.
Today is a special day, so she indulges herself with a second pull from the bottle, and a third, smiling as it begins to work its way into her bloodstream. The first time she had got drunk after it happened had been in the middle of the night. She had woken, screaming, sweating, shaking, sobbing from a nightmare, her ears ringing with his tortured screams, her heart breaking because he'd been crying her name, only to find that the world she awoke into was worse than the one she had left behind, because he wasn't in it at all. So she drank, first to stop hurting, then to stop remembering, now to stop existing. She takes the bottle with her to the bathroom, places it within reach as she brushes her teeth, brushing away the sour taste of old vodka and of old memories. The space on the wall above her sink is empty, the mirror gone, hidden away where she doesn't have to look, hoping that if she doesn't have to look at herself she may not despise herself. If only it were that easy.
When she comes back out there is a light blinking on her answering machine. She almost pushes the erase button immediately, but stops, cradling the bottle, clutching it to her breasts like a rosary. With a hand that is not quite steady, she pushes Play. "Sam? It's Janet. I know we haven't spoken for a while but. but I was just wondering how you were. I know today is difficult. hard for all of us, I just thought that if we could deal with it together it might be easier. Please call, Sam. Cassie misses you. I miss you."
Anger. So much safer than pain. Pushes the ache aside, fills the hollow with bitterness and with darkness and with hate-filled strength. She doesn't want the pain, so she embraces the anger, feels it swallowing her, consuming her, welcomes it as it violates her. She rips the wires out of the back, hurls the machine into the corner. Watches it smash into the wall, watches it fall in pieces to the carpet. Wants to pick it up and destroy it again.
Instead she lies back down on the bed, the bottle to her lips, her eyes closed. She doesn't want to think about it, oh God she doesn't want to, but her mind is fickle and it betrays her, always betrays her, no matter how much she tries to numb it.
When she opens her eyes there is another pair of blue eyes staring right back at her.
She sobs because they are so familiar and so cherished and so missed, and because they are filled with love and passion and sincerity and all the things she hasn't felt in four years, and more because they are filled with him. Just him. And she is so empty without him. All she can do is close her eyes as he speaks, and pretend it's real, and reply like she did when it was, and never want to open her eyes again, just wants to stay in this moment, forever.
"I would be lost without you."
"Then you'll never be lost."
But the pain is too much, the pain is everything, her whole world is hurting, and so she opens her eyes, and reaches for him like she has done so many times before. But he's not there, hasn't been there for four years and she just wants to scream until she can't do anything else, can't think of anything else, can't think of him, but she can't, so she drinks; swallowing greedily, desperately, hoping, praying, to forget. Just to forget.
And as the alcohol takes over, as the oblivion she longs for so desperately beckons, she lies on the bed, this wreck of a woman who should be young but who feels older than time, with the bottle slipping out of her hand and spilling onto the carpet, she both loves and hates the dream of blue eyes and a beloved dead voice whispering her name, and she whispers his in reply.
"Daniel."
Today is a special day, so she indulges herself with a second pull from the bottle, and a third, smiling as it begins to work its way into her bloodstream. The first time she had got drunk after it happened had been in the middle of the night. She had woken, screaming, sweating, shaking, sobbing from a nightmare, her ears ringing with his tortured screams, her heart breaking because he'd been crying her name, only to find that the world she awoke into was worse than the one she had left behind, because he wasn't in it at all. So she drank, first to stop hurting, then to stop remembering, now to stop existing. She takes the bottle with her to the bathroom, places it within reach as she brushes her teeth, brushing away the sour taste of old vodka and of old memories. The space on the wall above her sink is empty, the mirror gone, hidden away where she doesn't have to look, hoping that if she doesn't have to look at herself she may not despise herself. If only it were that easy.
When she comes back out there is a light blinking on her answering machine. She almost pushes the erase button immediately, but stops, cradling the bottle, clutching it to her breasts like a rosary. With a hand that is not quite steady, she pushes Play. "Sam? It's Janet. I know we haven't spoken for a while but. but I was just wondering how you were. I know today is difficult. hard for all of us, I just thought that if we could deal with it together it might be easier. Please call, Sam. Cassie misses you. I miss you."
Anger. So much safer than pain. Pushes the ache aside, fills the hollow with bitterness and with darkness and with hate-filled strength. She doesn't want the pain, so she embraces the anger, feels it swallowing her, consuming her, welcomes it as it violates her. She rips the wires out of the back, hurls the machine into the corner. Watches it smash into the wall, watches it fall in pieces to the carpet. Wants to pick it up and destroy it again.
Instead she lies back down on the bed, the bottle to her lips, her eyes closed. She doesn't want to think about it, oh God she doesn't want to, but her mind is fickle and it betrays her, always betrays her, no matter how much she tries to numb it.
When she opens her eyes there is another pair of blue eyes staring right back at her.
She sobs because they are so familiar and so cherished and so missed, and because they are filled with love and passion and sincerity and all the things she hasn't felt in four years, and more because they are filled with him. Just him. And she is so empty without him. All she can do is close her eyes as he speaks, and pretend it's real, and reply like she did when it was, and never want to open her eyes again, just wants to stay in this moment, forever.
"I would be lost without you."
"Then you'll never be lost."
But the pain is too much, the pain is everything, her whole world is hurting, and so she opens her eyes, and reaches for him like she has done so many times before. But he's not there, hasn't been there for four years and she just wants to scream until she can't do anything else, can't think of anything else, can't think of him, but she can't, so she drinks; swallowing greedily, desperately, hoping, praying, to forget. Just to forget.
And as the alcohol takes over, as the oblivion she longs for so desperately beckons, she lies on the bed, this wreck of a woman who should be young but who feels older than time, with the bottle slipping out of her hand and spilling onto the carpet, she both loves and hates the dream of blue eyes and a beloved dead voice whispering her name, and she whispers his in reply.
"Daniel."