Disclaimer: Well, I'm not rich, I do not live in California, so obviously, they don't belong to me!
A / N : Okay, this is my first OC fanfic ever, well, at least the first one to be published, so be kind. LOL.
Thanks for beta-reading, Helen!
This is for Shellie.
Solicitude
He found her curled up in her bed, the sheets pulled up to her waist. Her golden hair was a knotted and wet mess, pooling beneath her head. Her make-up was smudged all around her eyes, and black tears of dissolved eyeliner had dried on her cheeks. Her face, still bruised from her accident, was almost as white as the lacy pillow on which her head rested.
He sat down on the bed next to her, and gently stroked her back, feeling the outline of her ribs through her thin Burberry pajamas.
She seemed to be so frail and helpless – only a shadow of the woman he had fallen in love with.
He remembered how, young, vibrant and so incredibly strong she had been when he had first run into her in the cafeteria at Berkeley. Nothing could ever keep her down.
She had been radiant and shining and lit up the room wherever she went. But today, not even the brightest light could have covered up the shadows that loomed.
He couldn't tell if she had just cried herself to sleep (which he hoped) or if she had passed out intoxicated (which he feared). He sighed when he found his suspicion confirmed as his eyes caught a bottle of vodka which was already missing its better half on her bedside table.
"What am I going to do about you?" He asked into the silence as he brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face and planted a tender kiss on her forehead, being careful not to wake her.
----
She had always liked her Chardonnay. He had watched her opening bottle after bottle ever since he knew her. She used to enjoy a glass, sometimes maybe two with her dinner, just like everybody else did in this neighborhood.
Never had he imagined that she would go from sipping wine out of expensive glasses to drinking crystal clear vodka straight out of the bottle, as if it were water.
Countless times, he had tried to take the bottle away from her. But she had never let him.
Countless times, he had asked... pleaded her to slow down drinking, but she never did.
He had watched her raise the frosted bottle to her lips and gulp down the fiery liquid the way she used to drink her Evian after Yogalates.
She wants to drink away the pain.
She wants erase the bitter memories and forget all the things that have gone wrong.
She knows that vodka cannot make the words unspoken.
She knows that it cannot make the harm undone.
And yet she drinks.
Because she just wants to feel numb.
He had seen a faint sheen of tears glistening against her cheek as she put the bottle down and he realized that her downward spiral was going deeper and deeper.
----
Trying not to wake her, he carefully pulled back the covers and climbed in beside her. Her warmth drew him and he slipped his arms around her waist, spooning up close behind her.
"I love you," he whispered, and pulled her closer, placing a soft kiss in her neck. She was his world. He would do anything for her, but she had fallen too far, too fast, for him to catch her. As much as he wanted to fix her, he knew that he couldn't put her feet back on solid ground again. But he could get her help. And he would.
Tomorrow.
But tonight, all he could do was hold her tight, safe and secure in his arms, letting her know that he would always be there.
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