TheFreakyOne:ty ty ty for being the inspiration, (well really just kick in
the ass) i needed to keep my updates coming. And someday i'll write a
Mulder/Scully angsty romance for ya, that has nothing to do with
Christmas at Mother's or an FBI function.
njdudette:i know, but my father's copmuter neglects to have Word!! so i'm
stuck without a spell check! so it's all me and i can't spell wortha
damn! but i'll try harder for ya!
Gothic Spook: Ty ty for your review, you asked for more so here it is...
No, no, no. I refuse to think about that. no, it's over, there's nothing i can do right now. Absolutly NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT NOW!!!
Monica finished her mental rant physically breathless, as if she had screamed it rather than thought it. She was curled up on her couch with another six pack of beer, unfortunatly, she only had one more left, and this was her second pack. She was still slipping back into memories she didn't want. She heard a knock on the door and cussed to herself. The last thing in the world that she wanted was for someone to witness her in this state. She mentally ran down the list of people who could be on the other side of the door.
Jehovas Witnesses? No-they hate me by now i'm sure
That was were her list ended, no friends coming to just check up on her. No boyfriends to come make sure she feels loved. Just herself, a bottle of beer, and thoughts of two exact oposites, her love for her partner, and the fear she had of love like this one.
"Monica open the door!"
Monica's head almost snapped off of her neck as she recognized the voice. She got up a bit unsteadily and walked to the front door, not noticing that she was walking in a less-than-straight line.She stopped in front of the door and tried for a moment to fix her hair and straightened her clothes all the time thinking about how she was acting like a teenager, but still...
When she opened the door, he could see that she was drunk. She was leaning up agianst the door as if she needed the support. And when she invited him in her gestures were overly defined, as though she was trying hard to act sober. John made his way behind her swaying figure, wishing that he could just pick her up and carry her. But such things weren't apropriate for two partners. She plopped down on the couch as if she was proud to make it there, and curled her feet up under her. He sat down across from her, and looked at her, studing her eyes for hins as to what was wrong with her.
"Hi." She said, managing to keep her slurring to a minimum.
"Hi. How are you feeling? I just thought I'd come check up on you after-uh- earlier." Smooth John, start stuterring imediatly.
"I feel...I feel -uh-fine. Yep. Monica feels fine."
John had been with Monica when she was drunk before. He drove her home when she was drunk, but he hd never seen her like this, "And how much did you have to drink before you felt fine?"
He saw her eyes flash with anger and knew that he was in for hell, "John, who-the hell-do you think-you are!?!? This is my damn..." she broke off, looking for the word, "LIFE!!! it's MINE!!! and i don't --need you telling--me what to do!!! I have had a lot to drink... but I AM NOT DRUNK!!!! I'm not drunk!"
John found himself trrying hard not to laugh at her. She was a cute drunk, and this rant was evidence of how drunk she was, "Monica, I'm just here to help you. You look like you need it." She was crying again, "Monica. Um-uh-" He was stuck. Tears weren't his forte. He was more uncomfortable than he ever been in his life. at least with his Ex-wife she just told him what to do when she was crying, "I'll-uh- you want me to go make you some coffee?"he finished. She took a second before nodding yes. He got up and went into the kitchen searching for coffee, and for a way to stay calm. He really didn't like it when people cried.
No, no, no. I refuse to think about that. no, it's over, there's nothing i can do right now. Absolutly NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT NOW!!!
Monica finished her mental rant physically breathless, as if she had screamed it rather than thought it. She was curled up on her couch with another six pack of beer, unfortunatly, she only had one more left, and this was her second pack. She was still slipping back into memories she didn't want. She heard a knock on the door and cussed to herself. The last thing in the world that she wanted was for someone to witness her in this state. She mentally ran down the list of people who could be on the other side of the door.
Jehovas Witnesses? No-they hate me by now i'm sure
That was were her list ended, no friends coming to just check up on her. No boyfriends to come make sure she feels loved. Just herself, a bottle of beer, and thoughts of two exact oposites, her love for her partner, and the fear she had of love like this one.
"Monica open the door!"
Monica's head almost snapped off of her neck as she recognized the voice. She got up a bit unsteadily and walked to the front door, not noticing that she was walking in a less-than-straight line.She stopped in front of the door and tried for a moment to fix her hair and straightened her clothes all the time thinking about how she was acting like a teenager, but still...
When she opened the door, he could see that she was drunk. She was leaning up agianst the door as if she needed the support. And when she invited him in her gestures were overly defined, as though she was trying hard to act sober. John made his way behind her swaying figure, wishing that he could just pick her up and carry her. But such things weren't apropriate for two partners. She plopped down on the couch as if she was proud to make it there, and curled her feet up under her. He sat down across from her, and looked at her, studing her eyes for hins as to what was wrong with her.
"Hi." She said, managing to keep her slurring to a minimum.
"Hi. How are you feeling? I just thought I'd come check up on you after-uh- earlier." Smooth John, start stuterring imediatly.
"I feel...I feel -uh-fine. Yep. Monica feels fine."
John had been with Monica when she was drunk before. He drove her home when she was drunk, but he hd never seen her like this, "And how much did you have to drink before you felt fine?"
He saw her eyes flash with anger and knew that he was in for hell, "John, who-the hell-do you think-you are!?!? This is my damn..." she broke off, looking for the word, "LIFE!!! it's MINE!!! and i don't --need you telling--me what to do!!! I have had a lot to drink... but I AM NOT DRUNK!!!! I'm not drunk!"
John found himself trrying hard not to laugh at her. She was a cute drunk, and this rant was evidence of how drunk she was, "Monica, I'm just here to help you. You look like you need it." She was crying again, "Monica. Um-uh-" He was stuck. Tears weren't his forte. He was more uncomfortable than he ever been in his life. at least with his Ex-wife she just told him what to do when she was crying, "I'll-uh- you want me to go make you some coffee?"he finished. She took a second before nodding yes. He got up and went into the kitchen searching for coffee, and for a way to stay calm. He really didn't like it when people cried.