A/N: This one goes out to two props who left STELLAR reviews, turkishdelightshaveviolentends on ao3 and melcreates here on fanfic. You each get a little forehead kiss because you are literally angels.

This chapter title is inspired by the song, Fuck Being Sober, by Annika Wells.


In an ideal world, Addison would be at the ER, or maybe at the police station. Either option is better than sitting in her bathroom with a pack of frozen dinosaur nuggets wrapped in an old tee shirt held to her head. A normal person would seek help immediately, but Addison can't do either. If she goes to the police, they would tell her father immediately, and she refuses to have him find out her life is somewhat falling apart like this. If she goes to the hospital, she'll be out at least a thousand dollars for an injury that probably doesn't even need stitches.

So, bathroom.

Her head pounds, the gash running from her the middle of her eyebrow down to the corner of her right eye throbbing painfully. It isn't close enough to her eye to cause any actual damage, though she knows in a few days her eye will probably be red from a delayed burst blood vessel. It stopped bleeding a good five minutes ago, and Addison's friend, Bree, an ER nurse, advised her to put ice on it to help with swelling while she waits.

She hears her front door open, followed by the quick footsteps of her best friend running until the bathroom door flies open. Bree, still dressed in her blue scrubs, rushes in, stopping in front of Addison. Despite being completely out of breath, her face twists with concern at the first sight of Addison. She drops her purse on the floor, slowly reaching out and gently lifting Addison's head by her jaw, a soft "Oh my gosh," leaving her lips. She takes in Addison, blonde hair frizzy, still awkwardly twisted from the ponytail it had been in earlier, dried blood on the shoulder of her work polo. "Let me see," Bree says.

Addison pulls the packet of nuggets away with a wince. Bree eyes the red bag, biting back a smile. "You know I said a bag of ice or, like, frozen veggies."

Addison pouts. "This is all I have," she mumbles.

Bree hums in acknowledgement, staring at the space just behind Addison for several long seconds. Not in a rude way, just in a 'her brain is going a mile a minute' way, like when they were in high school. Except back then, Bree's rapid fire thoughts happened out loud. Though Addison does miss listening to the way her friend's train of thought would spiral until they were on a completely different conversation in under a minute.

Bree refocuses on her, a wide grin spreading across her face as she pulls out her phone. "I'm going to order us a shit-ton of ice cream," she declares. "Then I'll get you all cleaned up, and we can watch whatever you want and forget about today."

A smile slowly spreads across Addison's face. She would really enjoy that. All of it, really. Bree always knows just how to make Addison feel better. "Lots of chocolate chips and brownies," Addison reminds her.

"I know, I know," Bree whines playfully. "You sugar fiend."

Addison giggles, grinning.

Bree pulls out her phone, scrolling briefly before letting out an audible gasp. Addison raises her eyebrows in surprise, which pulls at the cut on her forehead, though she ignores the pain. Before she can ask, Bree says, "We should make you a tinder!"

Addison blanches. "What!"

"Right, ice cream first, then getting you laid."

"I don't need to get laid," Addison argues. "I need my very sweet bestie whom I love very much to get me ice cream and fix my cut so I don't get an infection."

"But I've been trying to get you laid for forever and what better way to lift your spirits than judge Seabrook's tinder profiles!" Bree whines.

Addison snaps in the space between them. "Bree, focus! Ice cream."

Bree shakes her head, still smiling. "Ice cream. Then we'll judge horny men."

Addison rolls her eyes without much intent. Bree will be Bree, and most times, it's better to just roll with it than fight her.

A minute later, Bree puts her phone down on the sink counter, squatting on the ground to rifle through her purse. She lays out her supplies on the bath mat: a bottle of saline, a roll of tape, and some folded gauze. "I borrowed some stuff from work," she explains. "I figured you wouldn't have bandaids or saline solution."

Hell, she barely has tampons, let alone bandaids. She doesn't have a particular need for either. Sure, she keeps hydrogen peroxide around in the event she skins something or the other, but she could always make a makeshift bandaid out of tissues or toilet paper and some tape. If it's actually bad, she can run to the pharmacy and buy bandaids, but she's never needed to.

Actually thinking about it makes her life sound really sad. Everything she does is in an effort to save some money, even if it's just a few dollars here and there. Sure, she could move back home, save even more money by not having to pay rent for a two bedroom apartment that only she's living in Or she could even ask her parents for money without the hassle of moving home. But then she'd be subjected to her parents' harsh judgement of her life choices, which she decided a long time ago — with the help of a very kind therapist — is very bad for her mental health.

Now that she thinks about it,she's going to have to call her dad and tell him she lost his credit card. Which means he'll yell at her over the phone, and he'll get her mom involved, which will open a whole new can of worms about how she's unfit to live on her own and should have never moved out in the first place. And mother will throw in a jab about how she shouldn't have dropped out of college, then they'll naturally bring up her brother, who never would have let his life fall apart like she has. Which would make her want to cry, because they always do this, they always wish Danny was the twin who survived, even if they never say it.

She doesn't notice the burning in her chest until Bree firmly grips her chin, bringing her back to reality. She's vaguely aware of Bree calling her name, though the ringing in her ears, her parents' harsh words echoing in her brain, all of it and more drowning her out.

This is just another hit. She's a failure, a waste of space, a screw up.

Bree snaps her fingers twice in front of her face, finally catching Addison's attention. "Addy! Breathe, Addy. Just breathe."

Addison sucks in a breath and blows it out — too quick to do any good, but enough to bring a heavy, painful sting to her chest. She takes a few more breaths, progressively slowing down until she feels almost normal again. She can't think about her family right now. Make it a tomorrow problem.

Bree fixes her with a worried look, her eyebrows creased together, softly whispering, "You okay?"

No, she isn't. She hasn't been for a while, and she doesn't think she ever will be. But she nods anyway. Bree's been there for her through everything, but Addison can't bother her anymore. She's moving on in life. She has a steady, awesome boyfriend, she'll probably get married soon, maybe even have kids. And Addison will still be having mild freak outs based on hypothetical conversations with her parents, something she knows she should let affect her so much, especially after years of hearing it. She should be used to it, but it fucking sucks no matter what. Either way, she can't keep burdening Bree with all of her issues. That's a problem for her shower therapist, not Bree.

Bree nods, though the concern in her eye doesn't leave. She sits down next to Addison and gets to work cleaning the cut just above her eye. It's silent between them for a solid minute before Bree quickly launches into a story about how her boyfriend is freaking out because she isn't coming home, and how stupid he can be sometimes. Addison only half listens. Although she's grateful for the distraction, she can care so much right now.

Bree puts little pieces of tape on her cut, since Addison doesn't need stitches but the skin needs the aid in healing, then covers it with a strip of gauze and another layer of tape, finally pronouncing it done. She turns and grabs a bottle of ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet, passing it to Addison. "Now do you have actual ice or only frozen nuggets?" Bree asks.

"I think I forgot to fill the ice tray last night…"

"Messy," Bree mutters, affectionately patting the top of Addison's head. "I'm gonna go put these back so they're cold in fifteen minutes. Don't want your pretty face to swell up. Nobody's gonna wanna tip you."

Addison nods in agreement, despite knowing Bree is only joking. She gets better tips because a lot of people think she's pretty. And she tends to be very sweet, at least according to Wyatt, which makes her the money maker of the diner. At least that's what she tells herself. And she isn't wrong, considering the super attractive business man from earlier that afternoon tipped her more money than she makes in a day. Okay so that's an exaggeration, considering she works fourteen hour days more often than not, but still. It was a big tip.

"This guy tipped me a hundred dollars today," Addison says.

Bree seemingly chokes, looking at Addison with wide eyes. "No fucking way."

Addison nods. She can barely believe it either. "He was hot too. And wearing a fancy suit in the middle of the day. So, hot and rich. The full package." She laughs at her own joke.

Bree rolls her eyes, but the smile playing at her lips lets Addison know she finds it just as amusing. "Sugar daddy material?" Bree adds.

"Meh. He looked too young. Plus he wasn't giving DILF vibes."

"Too young, like, for you to date? Or for your daddy issues?"

Addison frowns. "I don't have daddy issues."

Bree raises an eyebrow. "You're like, the definition of daddy issues. The only thing you're missing is the attraction to DILFs." She says it so matter-of-factly Addison almost wants to believe it. She knows she has a lot of issues, a lot of them because of her parents, but daddy issues? Probably not.

"I'm not dating a DILF. I can't even take care of myself, let alone some man's kid." Addison shrugs. "Besides, he looked our age. And," Addison adds, switching gears, "when I was snooping to see if he had a ring, I saw he was sitting with Bonzo. Who either didn't notice me or didn't want to say hello in front of his rich friend."

Bree gasps, albeit a bit dramatically, in perfect Bree fashion. "How rude! You're my sister, which means he has to say hi to you in public if he wants us to work. I say hi to his creepy work friends. Ugh the nerve! Now I actually have a reason to give him all holy hell."

Addison giggles, standing up from the edge of the bathtub, taking a moment to steady herself from the pounding headache. At least the conversation isn't about DILFs anymore, or her hot yet kind of creepy stranger from earlier. As long as Bree is thinking about Bree things, Addison could continue to stress over how she'd explain to her parents the events of today without getting their holy hell.

"Don't be too hard on him," she says.

She takes the frozen nuggets and leaves, stopping in the kitchen to put them away before heading to her room. She changes out of her bloody work polo and jeans into an old tee shirt from her high school's basketball team, nearly three sizes too big for her. She's going to need to treat her work shirt, though it might be a bit unsalvageable at this point. Either way, she's way too exhausted to do any type of laundry. Walking alone makes her head spin, although the pain is slowly fading. Trying to clean her shirt sounds like trying to run in the olympics.

She heads back to her living room. Bree's moved from the bathroom to the purple leather couch the two of them picked out when they first moved into the apartment a little more than seven years ago. She sits on the left cushion, closest to the front door, her legs tucked under her. Bree glances up from her phone, her eyebrows jumping at the sight of Addison's shirt. Not in a good way.

"I…I didn't know you still had that," she says softly, her voice...tight or tense or cautious. Addison isn't sure. When she typically wears something that used to belong to her brother, everyone gets cagey and weird around her. She understands why, because when she first lost him, she was an absolute wreck. But nowadays, it's just a shirt, from his glorious basketball days, that makes her feel closer to her brother, even in a small way. It's big and comfy, and gives her some semblance of a home.

Addison takes up space on the cushion to Bree's right, crossing her legs. "I stole it from my parent's house," she says. "My mom keeps making me go 'take care of her' every couple of weeks, so I just take more stuff."

Bree nods slowly, as if that makes sense. "Well, Bonzo didn't know you worked there. He says he didn't even see you."

That checks out, honestly. She only saw him when she was pretending to clean tables, trying to get a closer look at his mystery friend. "His hot friend ordered for him."

Bree hums, typing away on her phone. Addison leans over, reading over Bree's latest text. 'Who were you with? Addy thinks he's hot and I wanna play matchmaker.'

"Bree!" Addison cries incredulously, hitting her friend's arm. Bree laughs despite Addison's 'violent' lashing.

"What?" Bree asks innocently. "You think he's hot, and if he's one of Bonzo's friends it'd be so easy to set you up! We could go on double dates! We could have a double wedding! Wouldn't that be so cute?"

No, not particularly. Considering Addison doesn't know this man, he's way out of her league, her parents would definitely hate him if not for nothing than his green hair, and that Bonzo is planning to propose to Bree soon. She only knows the last one because Bonzo enlisted her help in ring shopping a few weeks ago, and he made her swear to keep it a secret.

Before Addison can tell her her concerns, Bree squeaks, typing furiously on her phone. Addison barely manages to catch Bonzo's reply, 'Zed?' before Bree locks her phone.

"Zed!" Addison exclaims. "That was his name."

Bree looks at Addison with wide, frantic eyes, but doesn't say anything else on the subject. "Gee I wonder when our ice cream is coming."

Addison frowns. What about Zed freaked Bree out so much she's trying to change the subject? "What's wrong?" she asks.

"Forget it. You can't date him." Bree says simply. As if it's simple. As if she wasn't trying to set Addison up mere seconds ago.

Addison needs more than that. Based on Bree's reaction, she knew something serious about him. "What? Is he married or something? Or gay?" Though, based on Bree's terrified reaction, she doubts it's as simple as that.

"N-no. Just, stay away from him."

"Bree, if you're going to ominously tell me to stay away from someone you were just trying to set me up with, I'm gonna need an explanation," Addison says.

"Addy, just...he's trouble. Bad news. You don't want to get mixed with him."

Addison opens her mouth to pry more, but their ice cream delivery decides to show up right then. Bree hurriedly gets up, rushing to the door, leaving Addison with that.

Trouble. Bree said it like a curse. But Addison can't imagine the guy she met earlier being much trouble. Handsome and charming? A hundred percent. Trouble? …Maybe, if she really thinks about it. He had been having a quiet conversation with Eliza and Bonzo, one she couldn't overhear no matter how close she got to their table. But it seemed tense. And after he left, before Addison realized how much money he'd dropped in her tip jar, Eliza seemed extra pissed off. She didn't get a chance to ask about it, considering the hundred dollars took up most of her attention. But whatever it was couldn't have been good. Maybe he is trouble. Bree did sound pretty freaked out. She probably knows something Addison doesn't.

Bree returns with a brown paper bag which she sets down on the coffee table in front of them, retaking her seat next to Addison. She takes out and distributes both of their tubs of ice cream, passing Addison a spoon and napkins before getting comfortable on the couch again. "So how'd you get hurt again? You got robbed?"

"I think the technical term is mugging. These guys jumped me right after I got off the bus."

"Okay," Bree draws out. "Why were you on the bus?"

"My car died this morning. Wyatt was supposed to drive me home, but something came up and he had to leave early." Addison shrugs. Wyatt hadn't really explained what he needed to do, but he ducked out right at six, leaving Addison and the quiet part-timer to wrap up and close by themselves. "These two guys waved a gun in my face, asked for my wallet. I dropped my purse, one dude hit me, grabbed it, and ran. I think these other guys started chasing them but...I dunno, there was a lot happening."

Bree nods, giving her a gentle, sad smile. "I'm sorry."

Addison shrugs, popping the lid off of her ice cream. She can do anything about it now. "It's whatever. Just pissed that I have to call my dad now."

"Why?"

"I lost his credit card. He's going to absolutely crucify me." Addison shovels a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth, letting the cold, chewy-creamy goodness distract her.

"You still have that?" Addison nods. "I thought you got rid of it. You don't even use it!"

"I could. If there's an emergency…"

"As if you wouldn't rather get money from me or Wyatt before you used your parent's money."

Addison rolls her eyes. It was one time, and she paid them both back as soon as she could. "What's your point?"

"Nothing, nothing, just…" Bree pauses. She sets her ice cream down on the coffee table in front of them. "Addy, I love you. And I say this with nothing but love. But, your parents are the root of, like, ninety percent of all your problems. Yet you do all these things that basically give them more opportunities to cause you more problems."

"What?"

"Every time you see your parents, something awful happens. Yet, you won't set any boundaries with them. You're always at their beck and call. Hell, you won't do anything without worrying how they'll react."

"That's not true!" Addison cries incredulously.

"You stopped seeing Ricky because you didn't want your parents to find out you were with a firefighter because they hate firefighters. Which was dumb because firefighters are hot, Ricky was hot and a himbo and he was super into you."

Ricky was hot and nice, but he never understood that they were exclusively friends with benefits. Addison didn't want a relationship, and he did, plus, "He was clingy," Addison mumbles.

"Okay, how about the fact that you never do anything fun ever because you always need to work to prove to your parents that dropping out of college wasn't the terrible decision they think it was?"

Addison blanches at her best friend. She splutters, but can't come up with a response because, yeah, that was kind of true.

Dropping out wasn't a terrible decision. Especially not after losing her brother. She was spiraling, falling down a dark path, and if she hadn't dropped out she knows something awful would have happened. But that didn't stop her mother and father from hating her for it — and every decision she's ever made since then.

But that doesn't mean she's doing all this for them. Everything she's done, she's done for her own benefit. She has bills to pay, after all. Which is exactly what she tells Bree.

"Addy, the last time you did something for yourself —other than work — was when Ricky would send you 'you up' texts."

Addison frowns, thinking back on what she's done. She ended things with Ricky over a year ago, and she had to have done something fun at least once between then and now. But, unfortunately, Bree may be right. She can't think of anything marginally she's done other than work and take care of her mom, neither of which is fun.

"You skipped Wynter's birthday," Bree reminds her.

"I had to work in the morning," Addison explains meekly.

"And Willa and Wyatt's," Bree adds. "Addy, I didn't notice 'til I moved out, but you never go out. I worry about you sometimes."

"I'm fine, Bree. Seriously." Addison offers her a small smile. "Besides, some of us don't have awesome boyfriends with well paying jobs who spoil us. I actually need to kiss ass to get emergency money. Especially now that I need to take my car to the shop."

A knock at her door makes both girls jump. Addison frowns, looking at Bree, but from the confused curl of her eyebrows, she doesn't know who's knocking at her door either. Especially so late at night.

Addison gets up, walking quickly to the front door. She looks through the peephole, but can't quite see anyone on the other side. Cautiously, she cracks her door open, finding an empty hallway. She pulls it open further, looking around the empty space in confusion. She nearly goes back inside, before spotting a plain brown box sitting on her welcome mat. She crouches down, reading a small, pale green note taped to the top. Addison C. Jacobs. Suspicious package addressed to her, dropped off at almost midnight. She should toss it, or maybe even report it. Like a sane person, at least.

But hey, she's had a rough day. She's earned a little insanity. So she grabs the box, bringing it inside quickly.

Addison kicks the door closed, balancing the hefty box on her hip to secure the lock, then rushes back to Bree. "Who was it?" Bree asks.

Addison sits on the couch, box in her lap. "No one. Just this," she mumbles. She pulls the note off the box. It flips open, revealing messy handwriting, five chilling words scrawled in red ink: 'You forgot this. Feel better.'

She turns the note to Bree, who squints to read it. Addison takes the chance to look at the back, except it's blank. Even more ominous.

"Are you gonna open it?" Bree asks.

Addison shrugs. She doesn't see why not, to be honest. The worst it could be is like, a bomb, and she can't see why anyone would send her a bomb. She doesn't have many enemies, unless she counts people who hate her parents. But she's spent seven years distancing herself from them, even going as far as dropping the name she shared with them. Plus, people who hate her parents usually stick to a box of dog poop.

She closes the note, turning over to place it down between them. The pale green cardstock catches in the light, a weird, faint watermark on the back. Addison squints at it. It looks like a seven, except at the end it curved almost like a two, ending in a loop that looks like the bottom of an 'S.'

She shows it to Bree, who pales at the sight of it. Addison furrows her brows. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing. Open it!"

Addison eyes her suspiciously. Bree doesn't elaborate, and Addison doesn't push. She picks at the tape until she pulls it off, opening the box. Underneath crumpled pieces of tissue paper, she finds her purse, pretty much exactly as she'd last seen it. Even more strange, it's surrounded by two bottles of wine that definitely didn't belong to her.

"Oh," she mutters.

"Oh my god," Bree mutters. Addison eyes her, but Bree quickly turns away, her attention on her phone.

Addison sets the box down on the coffee table, next to her forgotten, melting ice cream. She pulls out her purse with careful fingers, as if it might disintegrate if she isn't cautious. She places it in her lap, peeking inside and choking on the air. Everything seemed in order, though she'll have to double check her wallet for her bank card and her dad's credit card. The object of her shocks, though, is a thick wad of bills sitting on top of everything else.

She hasn't seen this much money since her mother was the mayor and engaged in many not so legal activities. It weighs heavy in her hands. She tugs the beige rubber band holding the bills together until it snaps against her fingers, dropping it on the arm of the couch. A mix of hundreds and fifties. She glances at Bree, still typing on her phone. Instead of bothering her, she starts counting. Every second the number climbs higher, her heart pounds faster.

Two thousand, four hundred dollars. "Oh my god," she mutters.

"Addy?"

Addison looks to Bree, opening and closing her mouth in shock.

Bree chuckles nervously. "Looks like you don't need to call your dad," she offers.

Addison can't think of a response, instead looking back at the money in her hands. Two thousand and four hundred dollars. Someone stole her purse and to make up for it, gave her two thousand and four hundred dollars. "Oh my god."