A/N-I had to repost this fic coz I am very stupid and I realised that the
chapters were in the wrong order and in the process of trying to put them
in the right order I deleted the fic (and reviews :[ ). Not a lot really
happens in this chapter. As always please R&R, I need to know whether this
should be a carby.
I wake up in the morning and it's amazing how little has changed. I still feel awful, I still feel alone, in fact the only difference is that my eyes are sore and blotchy from crying. I feel nauseous and even the thought of food makes me want to throw up, I reach into the back of one of my many cupboards and pull out my only friend in the world, a half full bottle of vodka. After searching for a glass of some sort and realising that all my glasses are in my sink and awaiting washing, I bring the bottle to my lips and feel the familiar taste fill my throat.
Suddenly things don't feel so bad anymore, so I drink more, suddenly all my problems vanish and are replaced with a strange surge of happiness, so I drink yet more and before I know it the contents of the bottle have disappeared, along with my troubles. Once I'm hopelessly and pleasantly drunk I wonder what to do. I look around my apartment and realise that I haven't cleaned it in days, swaying as I walk I make my way to the sink and start to clean dishes. How hopeless am I? I get drunk beyond all recognition and the most exciting thing I can do is wash up. As I wash up ,my thoughts blur and my problems begin to surface again. I leave the dishes and make my way to the bathroom where I look in the mirror, I hardly recognise the person looking back at me. Her hair is unbrushed, her eyes are red and swollen and she clutches an empty bottle of vodka in her arms. The person in the mirror can't be me, can it? I'm Abby, sensible Abby, sober Abby. The girl in the mirror is a lost, lonely murderer.
I'm drunk and so I don't think straight, I shout at the girl in the mirror 'Murderer, murderer!' As I shout I break down into sobs and I notice that the girl in the mirror is crying with me. She's sobbing like me and I yell at her to shut up. I think she's taunting me, she doesn't stop crying, it's almost as though she's imitating me. She doesn't stop and so I throw my precious vodka bottle at her, the mirror smashes, along with the bottle and although the girl in the mirror's appearance is cracked, she's still there. She won't go away, she won't leave me alone. Why won't she leave me alone?
***
I'm woken by pounding on my apartment door and someone yelling out my name. I try to get up, but fall back down again, my head pounding. I curl up against the wall and shut my eyes, hoping that whoever it is will go away. They're calling to me, asking if I'm there, I don't respond, I just shut my eyes tighter. I hear a lock being broken and someone walking into the apartment, calling out for me. They see that the bathroom door is ajar and so they walk in,
'Abby?' Oh, god, it's Luka and I'm a mess. I'm curled up in the corner, my eyes firmly shut and he's the last person I want to see at the moment. No, that's not true, I don't want to see anyone right now I just want to sleep. He crouches down beside me and puts a hand on my arm,
'Abby?' he says again. I groan and open my eyes. I see his concerned face peering down at me, I wince in the bright light,
'I feel like I've just been run over by a lawnmower,' I say, making him smile. He glances at the smashes mirror,
'You know breaking mirrors gives you 7 years of bad luck,' he says, a smile on his lips.
'Great, just what I need at the moment.' I say, wincing as he helps me to stand up. With a lot of help from him I make it to my couch and lie down on it, resting my head on some cushions.
'Why are you here?' I ask him,
'You didn't show up at work, I was worried,'
'I don't need a baby-sitter you know,' I say to him,
'Oh yeah? Then why did I just find you unconscious on your bathroom floor?'
'I wasn't unconscious, I was just resting my eyes,'
'Fine, whatever you say. Dr Weaver wanted me to tell you that as you didn't show up for your shift, she was going to assume that you were at home stuck under something very heavy and unable to get to work and she'll expect you at eleven this evening.'
'I have to work a night shift?' I ask, annoyed.
'Well, that's what happens when you don't go to work and don't phone in to say that you're feeling ill.'
***
At eleven o'clock I walk into the hospital and am greeted by the unusual sight of Luka and Carter deep in conversation. That's when I know something must be wrong, they usually only talk to each other briefly and when absolutely necessary, but here the are, deep in conversation, almost as if they are old friends.
Oh shit. They must be talking about me, Luka must be telling Carter about earlier. Things go from bad to worse, Luka knew I had been drinking and if he told Carter, well he can't know. As far as he's concerned I'm sober and have been for years, if Luka told him that I had been drinking, he would go crazy. Seriously. Luka sees me looking at them and leaves, almost guiltily. Carter walks towards me with a concerned look on his face, when he reaches me he says, 'Abby I need to talk to you.' I know he knows and so I say, 'I'm kinda busy, if I don't hurry I'll be late for my shift,'
'It won't take long,' he says to me, determined.
'Weaver will kill me,'
'Come outside with me,' he practically drags me outside and once outside he looks at me, he's not smiling.
'Luka told me.' he says.
'About what,' I ask, playing innocent,
'About earlier, about how he found you in your apartment this morning, why didn't you tell me about the drinking Abby?'
'I....' I don't know what to say, I just look at him and I'm scared by how angry he is.
'How long have you been drinking then?'
'Not long,' I lie,
'How long?' he says, repeating himself.
'I...I don't know,'
'Right, so you think drinking will make things better?'
'No, I..I think that this is none of your business,'
'No, this is very much my business,'
'It is not! You know what? I've been drinking for a long time now, ages. You know what else? You didn't notice. You're supposed to be my best friend and you didn't notice, you were so wrapped up in your little girlfriend, that you didn't realise that your supposedly best friend was going out every night and getting drunk. That's all I am at the end of the day, isn't it? A stupid, worthless drunk.......'
'Abby don't....' he says.
'Don't what Carter? Don't let you realise how stupid I really am. You know what I just realised? That you don't care about me, we're friends and the minute you get a distraction you forget about me. That's all I am to you isn't it.' One more minute, one more minute of mindless ranting and it would have all pored out, the depression, how I killed a little girl. I don't carry on, I don't want him to know. I walk away from him, so that he doesn't see the tears forming in my eyes.
All that arguing took twenty minutes, I'm twenty minutes late and it's all him fault. Kerry gives me hell, all I hear are the words 'irresponsible' 'distracted'.......... I missed one shift and am late for one on the same day. I want to shout back at her, I want to ask her if she would prefer I show up for a shift drunk, but I don't. I'm too cowardly to do that.
***
I go home, but I don't cry. I think that I've cried enough in the past few days to last myself a lifetime. I decide that I'm not going to cry anymore, I'm going to go out and drown my sorrows with drink. I drink beer, after beer, after beer and I return home happier and yet emptier.
I wake up in the morning and it's amazing how little has changed. I still feel awful, I still feel alone, in fact the only difference is that my eyes are sore and blotchy from crying. I feel nauseous and even the thought of food makes me want to throw up, I reach into the back of one of my many cupboards and pull out my only friend in the world, a half full bottle of vodka. After searching for a glass of some sort and realising that all my glasses are in my sink and awaiting washing, I bring the bottle to my lips and feel the familiar taste fill my throat.
Suddenly things don't feel so bad anymore, so I drink more, suddenly all my problems vanish and are replaced with a strange surge of happiness, so I drink yet more and before I know it the contents of the bottle have disappeared, along with my troubles. Once I'm hopelessly and pleasantly drunk I wonder what to do. I look around my apartment and realise that I haven't cleaned it in days, swaying as I walk I make my way to the sink and start to clean dishes. How hopeless am I? I get drunk beyond all recognition and the most exciting thing I can do is wash up. As I wash up ,my thoughts blur and my problems begin to surface again. I leave the dishes and make my way to the bathroom where I look in the mirror, I hardly recognise the person looking back at me. Her hair is unbrushed, her eyes are red and swollen and she clutches an empty bottle of vodka in her arms. The person in the mirror can't be me, can it? I'm Abby, sensible Abby, sober Abby. The girl in the mirror is a lost, lonely murderer.
I'm drunk and so I don't think straight, I shout at the girl in the mirror 'Murderer, murderer!' As I shout I break down into sobs and I notice that the girl in the mirror is crying with me. She's sobbing like me and I yell at her to shut up. I think she's taunting me, she doesn't stop crying, it's almost as though she's imitating me. She doesn't stop and so I throw my precious vodka bottle at her, the mirror smashes, along with the bottle and although the girl in the mirror's appearance is cracked, she's still there. She won't go away, she won't leave me alone. Why won't she leave me alone?
***
I'm woken by pounding on my apartment door and someone yelling out my name. I try to get up, but fall back down again, my head pounding. I curl up against the wall and shut my eyes, hoping that whoever it is will go away. They're calling to me, asking if I'm there, I don't respond, I just shut my eyes tighter. I hear a lock being broken and someone walking into the apartment, calling out for me. They see that the bathroom door is ajar and so they walk in,
'Abby?' Oh, god, it's Luka and I'm a mess. I'm curled up in the corner, my eyes firmly shut and he's the last person I want to see at the moment. No, that's not true, I don't want to see anyone right now I just want to sleep. He crouches down beside me and puts a hand on my arm,
'Abby?' he says again. I groan and open my eyes. I see his concerned face peering down at me, I wince in the bright light,
'I feel like I've just been run over by a lawnmower,' I say, making him smile. He glances at the smashes mirror,
'You know breaking mirrors gives you 7 years of bad luck,' he says, a smile on his lips.
'Great, just what I need at the moment.' I say, wincing as he helps me to stand up. With a lot of help from him I make it to my couch and lie down on it, resting my head on some cushions.
'Why are you here?' I ask him,
'You didn't show up at work, I was worried,'
'I don't need a baby-sitter you know,' I say to him,
'Oh yeah? Then why did I just find you unconscious on your bathroom floor?'
'I wasn't unconscious, I was just resting my eyes,'
'Fine, whatever you say. Dr Weaver wanted me to tell you that as you didn't show up for your shift, she was going to assume that you were at home stuck under something very heavy and unable to get to work and she'll expect you at eleven this evening.'
'I have to work a night shift?' I ask, annoyed.
'Well, that's what happens when you don't go to work and don't phone in to say that you're feeling ill.'
***
At eleven o'clock I walk into the hospital and am greeted by the unusual sight of Luka and Carter deep in conversation. That's when I know something must be wrong, they usually only talk to each other briefly and when absolutely necessary, but here the are, deep in conversation, almost as if they are old friends.
Oh shit. They must be talking about me, Luka must be telling Carter about earlier. Things go from bad to worse, Luka knew I had been drinking and if he told Carter, well he can't know. As far as he's concerned I'm sober and have been for years, if Luka told him that I had been drinking, he would go crazy. Seriously. Luka sees me looking at them and leaves, almost guiltily. Carter walks towards me with a concerned look on his face, when he reaches me he says, 'Abby I need to talk to you.' I know he knows and so I say, 'I'm kinda busy, if I don't hurry I'll be late for my shift,'
'It won't take long,' he says to me, determined.
'Weaver will kill me,'
'Come outside with me,' he practically drags me outside and once outside he looks at me, he's not smiling.
'Luka told me.' he says.
'About what,' I ask, playing innocent,
'About earlier, about how he found you in your apartment this morning, why didn't you tell me about the drinking Abby?'
'I....' I don't know what to say, I just look at him and I'm scared by how angry he is.
'How long have you been drinking then?'
'Not long,' I lie,
'How long?' he says, repeating himself.
'I...I don't know,'
'Right, so you think drinking will make things better?'
'No, I..I think that this is none of your business,'
'No, this is very much my business,'
'It is not! You know what? I've been drinking for a long time now, ages. You know what else? You didn't notice. You're supposed to be my best friend and you didn't notice, you were so wrapped up in your little girlfriend, that you didn't realise that your supposedly best friend was going out every night and getting drunk. That's all I am at the end of the day, isn't it? A stupid, worthless drunk.......'
'Abby don't....' he says.
'Don't what Carter? Don't let you realise how stupid I really am. You know what I just realised? That you don't care about me, we're friends and the minute you get a distraction you forget about me. That's all I am to you isn't it.' One more minute, one more minute of mindless ranting and it would have all pored out, the depression, how I killed a little girl. I don't carry on, I don't want him to know. I walk away from him, so that he doesn't see the tears forming in my eyes.
All that arguing took twenty minutes, I'm twenty minutes late and it's all him fault. Kerry gives me hell, all I hear are the words 'irresponsible' 'distracted'.......... I missed one shift and am late for one on the same day. I want to shout back at her, I want to ask her if she would prefer I show up for a shift drunk, but I don't. I'm too cowardly to do that.
***
I go home, but I don't cry. I think that I've cried enough in the past few days to last myself a lifetime. I decide that I'm not going to cry anymore, I'm going to go out and drown my sorrows with drink. I drink beer, after beer, after beer and I return home happier and yet emptier.