A/N: Haha! I am back with a new chapter! You're just happy I'm still alive, right? Yeah, sorry for the delay but I had a big project due and had to focus on that…But not to worry.
Disclaimer: I don't own, I rent. Everything but plotline belongs to Jonathan Larson.
Angel closed his eyes and leaned back on the stiff, white pillows behind him. He could hear the psychiatrist's voice droning on and on but he wasn't really listening. He caught a few words here and there like "victim" and "traumatizing" and "emotionally scarring" but other than that it was just buzzing. Angel could feel tears burning behind his eyelids, he really wanted to cry and just let it all out but not in front of the shrink. He had woken up in this sterile white room feeling like he'd just fallen out of a tenth story window. He was sore everywhere and the lights were way too bright but then a nurse came in once she saw he was awake and hooked him us to another IV which he assumed had drugs in it because now he felt like gumdrops and teddy bears…well physically anyway, inside he felt worn, exhausted. He knew what had happened even if a lot of it was really hazy. A doctor had come in about twenty minutes after the first nurse had left and told him that he had been a victim of rape and hat he should rest. Oh, great, Angel had thought, another thing I've had the pleasure of being victimized by. The disease just isn't enough… He shook those thoughts out of his head the minute that he had thought them. He wasn't a victim. He was living with, not dying from, disease. Then the doctor told him that there would be a psychiatrist coming up to analyze him. This doctor had a shitty way of making his patients feel better. He didn't want to be analyzed! He just wanted a lifetime supply of whatever they were pumpin' into him and get out of this infernal white prison. He wanted to go home and be with Collins…. That is if Collins wanted to be with him. Angel understood now that maybe he had overreacted a bit. But he had trust issues and needed to work them out. He didn't mean to shove Collins away. Because now he needed him more than ever. He wanted so badly to cry right now. A sudden silence drew Angel out of his thoughts. He opened his eyes to see the shrink, Dr. Owens, looking at him expectantly. Angel shook his head to clear his thoughts, "Huh?" he managed to say. He hadn't said a word since he'd woken up. "I asked" the doctor said in a slow voice "how you're feeling."
"Oh. Um…Well I feel…physically fine, I think, but I feel sort of …drained on the inside." He answered truthfully.
"Ah, well that's normal." The doctor said, "Do you feel any depression at all? Any form of sorrow?" Angel thought for a moment. It's true, he did want to cry but he didn't think that it was because of sadness he just needed a release. "No" he answered finally. "…You're sure? Okay then, I'll let you get your rest. But I'll be back tomorrow to check on you. Goodnight Mr. Schunard."
Angel didn't say anything in return to the man. He just watched as he shuffled out the door and as soon as it was closed, he burst into tears. They weren't noisy sobbing tears, just…tears. Streaming one after another down his cheeks. Every now and then he let out a tiny sniff or a pathetic little moan but that was it. He stared up at the ceiling and tried to recount his night before he had been attacked. He remembered going out to drum in his street clothes. And then stopping into a bar to see a drag show. Some of his friends were performing and he just wanted to say hi before going home to an empty bed. One of his fellow queens, Miss Kitty, had insisted that he have one drink with everyone before he left. "We never see you anymore, girl!" The fe/male had said. So Angel agreed, feeling a little out of place in men's clothing. He'd enjoy this a lot more if he were wearing makeup and a wig. One drink had turned into countless shots of tequila. Finally Angel had stood up, knocking over his chair and stumbling a bit. "I reallhafta gow" he slurred, his vision doubling some, "You guys rgonna gimme alchal posning", with that he staggered out onto the street with his pickle tub hanging off his wrist. And that's it. Angel strained his memory trying to remember. But nothing came to mind. The only thing he could see was the blurry outline of a pointed face. Maybe it would come to him later. Maybe it wouldn't. At the moment he really couldn't be bothered. He just lied there staring at the ceiling. He had stopped crying. Now he just felt empty. Detached from reality. Alone.
A/N: Wow…Drunk!Angel. Just incase there was any question, de-slurred, Angel is saying "I really have to go. You guys are going to give me alcohol poisoning." So yeah…I know you guys just want to see Angel and Collins reunite, I'm getting there, I'm getting there (watch me make a few more chapters from everyone else's POV just to piss y'all off…nah, I wouldn't do that) Reviews are cocaine for the fic writer!