This is a dark themed three part fic.

It is rated M for the overall theme.

Disclaimer: I claim to own nothing. Do with that information what you will.

99 Bottles

The first one had been for comfort. That's the one I remember very clearly. When I think back to it, it was almost as if I was watching myself start the descent into insanity. I also remember what it was that I made. It was a Cosmopolitan. One of the first drinks I ever learned to mix. It was in a glass that I had gotten for a Christmas present the year before. Yeah, it had come in handy, best gift I ever received.

Numbers two through eight were for my sanity. I drank those to get rid of every ounce that was left of it. I thought it would be a harder task. But in the end it only took seven cups of sake to do away with it. Apparently I had lost most of it before I started this task. It was a lovely little thought that made me continue to drink.

When I started on my ninth drink the world spun around twice. I remember this because I saw my China cabinet go around me in a hazy circle that many times. It really didn't bother me that much. But bottles numbers nine through twenty-two were for remembrance. So when I woke up I wouldn't remember anything. I don't even think that I wanted to remember my name. And at the rate I was going, I wouldn't.

After the twenty-third bottle, a Smirnoff I think, I fainted. I don't really know or care how long I was out. I didn't dream, thank some unknown god. I really don't think that I could have survived if I had dreamed. It would have brought me right back into the reality I was so desperately trying to escape. And then the first twenty-two bottles would've been in vain. And that would have meant that I would have to start all over.

It was somewhere in-between my twenty-fourth and thirtieth bottle that I realized that reality is an illusion created by lack of alcohol. This world which I was slowly sinking into was a lot better than reality. My systems lied to me and my brain swam away from all my problems, which were every where but up. I slowly fell in love with this counterfeit world and I couldn't fall back out of it.

Between the thirty-first and thirty-ninth bottle I puked twice. My insides weren't used these foreign liquids that I was continuously forcing upon them. But that didn't stop me. After my intestines were dumped into my toilet and some on the floor, I went back and started again. My fortieth bottle I know for a fact was a Bud light. I know this because I wondered into my kitchen after I threw up, you know, to gather myself together, only to find a twelve pack of Bud light staring at me.

Forty to fifty-two, it shouldn't take a rocket scientist to know that was the twelve pack. Funny thing is I can't even remember how it tasted. I remember thinking about taking a drive around number forty-five. The only thing that stopped me from wrapping my car around a tree was the silly thought that one shouldn't drink and drive because one might spill one's beer. And that in itself was quite pitiful.

The hilarious thing about bottle fifty-three was that I actually started believing that I shouldn't listen to myself. I mean I was drunk after all, right? See, Strong Bow would do that to you. I made a decision to go for that drive. But somewhere on my way to my car I passed out. I actually remember what time I woke up that time. It was 4:45 in the morning. And what was it that woke me up? The biggest hangover of the century, that's what. But the best cure for a hangover in more alcohol. I wonder, what idiot said that first?

Shots, yeah that was what I started at five o'clock in the morning. I recall taking out fourteen glasses and lining them up on my bedroom floor. Then I filled each little glass to the brim. Within ten seconds all of the little glasses had become empty. The buzz was so loud now that I couldn't feel the hangover. Weird way to put it but it was the only way I could explain that feeling. So after my sixty-seventh glass I tossed up my insides again. I really started to hate my body for rejecting the little help I could give it.

Sixty-eight to seventy-two, my house had swallowed up almost all of my alcohol. Okay, I guess I really can't blame my house but most of my stashes were raided. Even my mini bar was empty. It stared at me mockingly as if saying, 'Ha-ha-ha, let's see you escape your life now…' I kicked it for saying that and I think I sprung my ankle right then. So I sat on my bed craving for something that probably didn't exist in my house. I couldn't walk at all because of my ankle. But then again that zigzagging I had been doing didn't count for shit anyway.

Lucky me, as I wondered/crawled from the bathroom after a fourth encounter with my guts, I found a stash under my bed that I had completely forgotten about. It is very easy to forget such things when one has chugged more beer/alcohol in less than twenty-four hours than many people see in an average year. Seventy-three up to eighty- two had been strictly Bloody Maries and Margaritas. Now at this point, you're probably wondering how in the hell I knew what number I was on. There's a small chalk board in my room, every single drink I took I forced myself up to it and marked it off.

When I found eighty-three to ninety-three under the kitchen sink my ankle had finally began to swell, gruesome sight too. I also realized that I was probably going to end up dead. At first I thought this to be quite amusing but in the end I really didn't give a damn, I just needed the buzz to continue. So down my throat the not so innocent liquor went. And after the last drip reached my lips, I passed out again the glass falling from my hand.

I woke up to find that I had cut my hand on the glass that had fallen and shattered. But once again, I didn't care at all. I just needed to get somewhere to empty my bowels again. The kitchen trashcan did just fine this time. I dragged myself into my room again to find another forgotten stash in my closet. Ninety-four and ninety-five, by now my hands were shaking uncontrollably. This had started in the late forties, early fifties but it was really bad now.

After that, the last four went by fast. Ninety-six was the last of a bottle of gin which I had mistaken for water all throughout this escapade. Hell no H2O was my new saying for the evening. Ninety-seven was coke-and-rum. I was seriously on a low supply of booze to result to such a drink but who cares, alcohol is alcohol and caffeine is caffeine. Ninety-eight was a small bottle of stuff I was given for some holiday. Now that I think about it, it probably was moonshine from some southern state in America. Finally, ninety-nine was a Sam Adams; I only remember that because I was so delusional that I started laughing at it for no reason. I think it was because the guy on the bottle started to tell me jokes or something of the sort. I passed out again after this last drink and fell into a coma.

That's how I ended up here. Sitting in this stupid hospital, being stared at by people I swear I have never seen in my life, as they walked in and out of the room. And out of all the nameless faces, I saw one that brought me some type of comfort. It was a soft, sad face with golden eyes. So I turned to it and asked the first question, "Do I know you?" He nodded slightly and then looked away from me. I thought I saw tears as he turned around and a curtain of silver hair followed him. "I'm sorry but what is your name?"

"Inuyasha…"

"That's a funny name. Do you know my name?" I asked. He nodded again. "What is it then?"

"Kagome…"