Chapter 5

Bree reached for the wine as soon as Lynette was gone. She drank straight from the bottle, hoping to forget about her evening, and then went straight to bed.

The next few days progressed in a similar fashion. Bree and Lynette would not even look at one another, let alone speak. Bree intended to keep it this way for as long as possible. That is, until Thursday night rolled around.

Andrew came home around 9:30 from a friend's house. He was well aware that he was supposed to be home for dinner, but intentionally missed it anyway. When he walked through the door, Bree questioned him about his whereabouts.

"Andrew, where were you tonight? I prepared your favorite meal, and I had expected you to be here for it."

"Oh. I was out. Sorry." Andrew brushed off his mother.

"Don't you walk away from me. You're still living under my roof, which means that you abide by my rules."

"Not this again. Mom, I already told you. I'll do whatever I want, whenever I want."

Bree rose from the couch and walked toward her son. "If this is how you're going to behave, you shouldn't bother living here anymore. Go on, pack up your things, Andrew. You can live by your own rules somewhere else." Rather than trying to reason with her son, she essentially threw him out of the house.

Andrew laughed, shaking his head.

"Am I missing something?"

"No, it's just your breath, mom. You're completely wasted. You know, you probably won't even remember this conversation in a few hours. But don't worry I'll take your drunken decision to heart, and as soon as I can, I'll be out of here. You won't have to worry about me missing dinner ever again." and with that, he laughed to himself once more and headed upstairs.

Bree took a shaky breath, turning around to see the entire room spinning right in front of her eyes. She had another drink, thinking it would 'clear things up'. Of course this didn't work, nor did it make her feel even remotely better. Bree took another swig of wine, and after that didn't do anything, she threw the bottle onto the kitchen floor. She hoped it would provide her with some sort of relief…but it didn't.

Within a matter of seconds, Danielle came running down the stairs. "Mom, what was that noise?" she went into the kitchen. "What are you doing!" It was clear that she was much more annoyed than she was concerned.

"I…" Bree closed her eyes for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts in a logical manner. "I dropped the bottle of wine by accident. Maybe you would help me clean it up?"

Danielle just shook her head. "Your mess, not mine. Maybe if you didn't drink so much, you would be able to hold a bottle straight." Her words were cold and harsh; more than Bree could tolerate. She was trying to hold together a completely dysfunctional family and couldn't handle it anymore. Bree's anger was on the rise, and she actually considered reaching for another plate and smashing to the floor. Instead, however, she used the little sense she had left and realized that it was finally time for her to seek out help.

Bree left the shattered glass on the floor and quickly escaped from her home. She looked around at all the beautiful houses which lined Wisteria Lane. They all looked so perfect from the outside, but within, they were often anything but ideal. Folding her arms across her chest, Bree slowly crossed the street, approaching Lynette's home.

"Hey Bree." Tom answered the door. He was visibly shaken by her appearance, but tried not to make it too obvious. "Come on in." He motioned for her to sit down.
"Is Lynette around?" She didn't waste any time.

"Yeah, she's um…" he paused, scratching the back of his head,
"she's upstairs. Hold on, I'll get her."

Bree took a seat on the couch while she waited for her friend. She had alcohol in her system, but was anything but drunk. Her children seemed to assume that every time she had a drink, her goal was to get 'wasted'. However, this was not actually the case. She drank to ease her pain, and now that it didn't seem to be working, she felt somewhat frantic.

Lynette took her time. She still held a grudge toward Bree, and Tom didn't mention the severity of her situation. "Hey." she called from the stairs. Bree didn't bother turning around. "Or you know, you could just not acknowledge me. That works too", she continued, taking a seat next to Bree. She didn't plan on saying much to her neighbor, until she got a good look at her, and saw a few tears slowly running down her cheeks. "Hey, are you crying?" Her voice softened, the pitch higher. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, Lynette." Bree took a deep, long breath. Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper.

"No, no, it's okay." Lynette reached out, allowing Bree to find comfort in her embrace. She realized that she hadn't actually been mad at her neighbor, just disappointed. "Come here."

"I'm so sorry…" Bree continued.

"Stop it. You have nothing to be sorry for." The blonde smoothed down her neighbor's hair. "Just try and tell me what happened. Can you do that?" she sounded as if she were talking to a child.

Bree pulled away from Lynette, clumsily dabbing at the remnants of her tears. "I don't what happened. I don't know anything anymore."

Lynette noticed a hint of hysteria in Bree's voice. She gently rubbed Bree's right arm, trying to calm her. "You've been drinking." She was merely informing Bree about what had been happening in her life.

The redhead nodded. "It helped me, Lynette. You have to understand."

"I do… and it's okay." Lynette responded, while Bree looked in the opposite direction.

"But now I just want to stop. I don't want to drink anymore."

"I know." She gently squeezed Bree's hand. "Let me help you." She was relieved to hear her frend admit not only that she had been drinking, but that she wanted to put an end to it.

"You can't help me."

Lynette was a bit surprised with Bree's response. She seemed to have made so much progress. "What? Bree, look at me."

"I said you can't help me." She turned to face Lynette.

"Well, then who can? Do you have someone in mind?"

There was about 15 seconds of awkward silence which was eventually broken by two words.

"My mother?" Bree whispered, almost as if she didn't even want to hear herself speak.