summary--
relapse. one shot. 4.19.6.
a character deals with withdrawal-- and relapse.

author's note--
this is an idea that came to me randomly and I decided to try out. please review, I love to hear what people think!

disclaimer--
it all belongs to Jonathan Larson.

--relapse.

The brunette had tossed and turned since she crawled into bed that night.

She went though hot phases in which she'd kick the covers off of her and onto the man lying next to her. She'd flip her pillow over to the cold side and wipe her sweaty hands on her flannel pants.

Then she'd get cold and shivers violently wrack through her. She'd snuggle into the blankets, burying her head under them to absorb every last drop of heat.

toss.

Her mind drifted as she rolled onto her back, groaning…

turn.

…then it snapped back to where it had been before.

She shot up, breathing heavily. The woman pulled her knees up to her chest and placed her clammy palms over her eyes, breathing in deeply. She shook her head as she let it droop down. She ran her fingers through her dark curls then turned her head to glance at the dyed-blonde man lying next to her. He looked so peaceful, so relaxed-- she loved him. She envied him.

sigh.

She gingerly stepped out of the bed, tip-toeing across the cold wooden floor. She sneaked past another bed, separated by a few old curtains, and peeked in at the man lying unconscious in it. He had probably had another fight with his girlfriend and was sent back here. Unlucky bastard.

pat- pat- pat- pat.

She moved quietly through the sloppily designed warehouse-apartment, stopping in the so-called "kitchen" and grabbing what looked like a clean enough cup from off the beaten-up island. She filled it with ice-cold tap water and gulped it down, then dropped the glass in the sink.

She leaned onto the island, resting her chin in her palm and tapping her fingers on the wooden tabletop…

Then she turned, kicking at the pipes showing underneath the sink…

She shook her hands, pacing through the loft, unable to concentrate. The cool air felt good on her palms…

Biting her bottom lip, the woman sighed, shutting her eyes. They opened quickly, clouded with determination and a hunger. She sped through the loft and into the bathroom, keeping it shut with her foot-- it was the closest thing to locking it she could do. She blindly felt around the back of the toilet, smiling when she found what she was looking for.

tear--

She ripped the small plastic bag of white powder off of the back of the toilet and tore the duct tape off of it, surprised that nobody had noticed it yet. Her fingers danced over the edge, then closed over the entire bag. She darted out of the bathroom and back into the open loft where she picked up the phone and dialed a phone number from memory, the bag clutched tightly in her hand the whole time.

"Hello?" the groggy male voice answered.

"Hey, it's me."

"Hey, what's up?"

"You guys up for something tonight, my treat?"

"Yeah, come on over." The voice immediately perked up and sounded more awake.

Maureen smiled slightly and breathed a tense sigh of relief. "Thanks, Rog. See you in a few."

Maureen tossed on a coat and shoes and left the loft to visit Roger and April, without leaving Mark a note.