A/N I just love commercial breaks,don't you? here's another chappy, which I'm posting sooner than usual (I usually wait for two reviews to post a chap, but what the hell, I can make an exception can't I?) And no one's figured out who the doc is yet? Butterbuns, I know you know who it is, so if you're reading, you have a chance at winning the prize. What's the prize? I don't know! Alright, I'm getting random, enough. Anyone else think that the umbrella was really funny?

I don't care what you do
I'm getting out, no nothing ever shames me
Don't want a thing from you
I'm getting out, I don't care if you're angry
I'm getting out, no nothing ever shames me
I should have thought things through
I'm holding out, not getting an answer
I wanna do right by you
I'm finding out, cheating gets it faster

Jimmy Eat World-Get It Faster

He sat there. The bottle was tantalizingly close. He would just go over and pick it up, pour a glass. Just one. One would be all he needed. Just to take the edge off. He had sworn to her that he'd stop though, that he was killing himself with the booze, but he wanted something, anything to take the edge off the pain.

He had used up the percocets, sooner than he was supposed to, taking them every four hours on the dot, they helped to numb the emotional pain as much as the physical. The physical had only hurt for a day or so, unless he accidentally hit it, but so long as he was careful, he didn't notice the fact that he had been stabbed.

But he still took the percs every four hours when he wasn't working, substituting them for the booze. And they had worked so well too. But now he didn't even have them to take the edge away, get rid of the hallucinations and nightmares. Now all he had was his own mind which was turning against him.

He wanted nothing more than to get rid of the taunting voice in his head, the face that would appear every time he closed his eyes, mocking him, asking him how could he be so blind as to not notice, how he couldn't love her. He felt horrible about it-he couldn't believe he had let that happen to his little girl.

He had killed her, by proxy. By not noticing, not doing anything, she had died, he had killed her. He had killed his own child, he had seen her there, lying on the cold metal gurney waiting to be cut open like any random person. He had allowed that to happen to her, it was all his fault.

He grabbed the bottle and poured a glass. Just one. One wasn't going to hurt him, one and he would be alright. Each slow sip traced the long slow burn down his throat, each sip making him feel better and better. Each sip numbing the pain more and more and more. Making it easier to cope.

He poured another. What he had promised himself be damned, it felt too good to stop, he wanted more. He needed more. He sighed at the realization. He needed it. But it was so good. He didn't need it all the time. Just at night. He wasn't one of those guys that was always drunk. Just from time to time. When the pain got too bad. That's when he drank.

He drank to keep away the nightmares. Every single time all he wanted to do was break down and he couldn't. She would appear from time to time saying that. Asking him why he couldn't cry for her. He wanted to, he kept trying to, but he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried the tears wouldn't come.

He gave up with the sips, and turned them into full out gulps. He needed it, he needed to feel better, to get rid of the nightmares. Two glasses. Three glasses, four glasses. Enough for the buzz, enough for beyond the buzz, enough to make him numb. That's what he needed more than anything. The numb. If there was a way to get it without the booze he'd do it, but he had yet to find one that wouldn't just replace the booze with another substance.

He needed the numb, he needed to forget about life, work, but most of all, her. But he had to drink more and more to erase her, with every drink she grew stronger, more noticeable. And it took more to get her to disappear, fade to the back of his mind. It was to the point where he couldn't even block her out. Just quiet her to a bearable level.

He hadn't even noticed when he finished off the bottle, he was well into his eighth glass, and just barely drunk. Drunk enough for him to block out the pain, but he wasn't stagger around and fall down drunk, he was still up, still functioning. He always stayed functioning, with the rare occasion where he drank until he passed out. There was no in between where he was too drunk to work, but still conscious.

He kicked back in his recliner, he didn't care anymore. He didn't want to hurt Jordan, but he couldn't stand the pain anymore, he needed something for a release. He needed it to get rid of the pain, he needed it to get rid of the memory of her.