Author's Note: This is probably getting old from me and probably losing all validity but this has seriously been the longest it has taken me to update and for that I am sorry. I probably lost most of my readers in the month it has taken me to update this bitch. Allow me to offer, however, a long explanation on the subject. I feel I owe it to you all. First off, I got a few pages done then got stuck and it took Jesse Static and I a while to sort it out.

Then something weird happened, I got inspiration to write another story non-fan fiction related. (It's on my FictionPress account if you are interested. I have been told it's awesome. It's called The Letter). Anyway, so all my effort, for a long while, went into that. Couple that with a writer's block for this story and that makes a long wait. Also, I had to move back to school and subsequently go back to school! You understand. Living alone for the first time and starting a new, real college is a pain! But anyway, I am super sorry about making you wait this long. And I am sad to say I cannot guarantee a quick update for the next chapter, but please bear with me.

Oh right, there was a bit of confusion regarding the end of Chapter 5. Where it gets harder to read and the grammar and punctuation get more and more sloppy, that was intentional. As the duo gets drunker the writing got worse, notice. And essentially at the end you are in Squall's drunken mind as he is having sex with Rinoa, get it? I tired to make that clear, perhaps I overestimated a little. Sorry. I hope that clears it up for you though. If you still don't get it, feel free to drop an email or something saying, "Carie, I still don't get. What the hell is the matter with you?" Or some variation of that.

Thanks guys!

P.S. Dear IronicEnding, the crap about bunnies is for you. Enjoy!


Chapter 6

She had woken up first, the sunlight taunting her through the cracks in the shades. She could feel her head spin as soon as her eyes opened. What the hell went on last night? Where the hell were they? Who the hell was "they?" Her stomach churned painfully as she thought. All she remembered were his eyes, his cold piercing eyes, demanding she go with him; Squall.

She curled up closer into his body, resting her head delicately on his shoulder. She watched him carefully as he slept his eyes moving rapidly as he dreamt. She wondered about his dreams. Did he have nightmares of his past misdeeds like she did? Or did he dream of happy bunnies in a colorful meadow? Or was that the nightmare? He whimpered slightly and stirred.

Quickly, she rubbed his arm soothingly, coaxing away the terror. When she reached the inner part of his elbow, she stopped. Here his smooth skin was tainted. The rough, bumpy texture made her stomach queasy. Slowly, she peeled back the sheet that tangled around them. Her stomach lurched at the sight of his arm, bruised, deformed, mangled. Her hand continued over the spot as she inspected it carefully.

She had seen heroin users' arms before but nothing like this. This was the sight of years of abuse, and even some resent use. She was used to month old scars. The kind easily hidden and ignored. The only way to conceal the black lines that coursed his inner arms was long sleeves. This was why, she suspected, he always wore a black thermal shirt beneath his white tee-shirt despite the heat in that place.

--

Pulsating pain shot through his frontal lobe. He cracked his eyes open, allowing the light to traveled through his body, seared his brain and used his stomach as a trampoline. Hangover. Wait, hangover? What the hell? Squall Leonhart did not get hangovers. Squall Leonhart, who began drinking at the age of ten, was beyond having hangovers. What the hell? Why now? His whole body ached except where she was stroking the inside of his left arm.

Wait, who is she stroking his left arm?

Looking down he saw her. He was now suddenly very awake and very aware of her naked body pressed against his.

"Oh shit," he thought as flashes of what he could remember from the previous night played in his head. He suppressed a groan as he looked down at her again. Yes, it was definitely the one and only, Rinoa Heartilly, socialite and daughter of the fucking general of the fucking Galbadian army. He could feel the chucks rising in his throat.

This was not good, not good at all. He could just see the headlines, "Match made in Rehab." Or some other shitty title some "creative" news editor could come up with to sell his shitty paper of made up crap. The pounding in his head increased with thought and stress. This would definitely come back and bit him in the ass, he knew it.

--

She didn't know why her insides twisted and knotted every time she saw him. More over, she wasn't sure why she suddenly felt light headed and ready to pass out whenever he was near. What the hell was he doing to her? She didn't know what was going on inside her, why he had this effect on her, why she cared so much, or even if she wanted the feelings to stop.

She felt like she needed him more and more each day. As sappy and cliché as it was, it was becoming more and more difficult to stop herself from going over to him. Stopping him in the hall, forget who he was with and allow him to have his way with her. To hell with everything else. She needed him, craved him. He was everywhere she was, even if he was nowhere to be seen. She had hoped if she volunteered for night shifts, while he worked day, she wouldn't see him, ever and, in time, this obsession, this stalking obsession would die.

But the hunger grew worse. The pain of her unsatisfied body cried louder. She had spent the day, time she could have been using to sleep, trying to calm those cries. She didn't know how but, she eventually ended up outside, watching him.

This had exhausted her, forcing her to consume more cups of coffee than she could count. But even still, with the caffeine buzzing through her veins, causing her limbs to shake, she would doze off, dreaming of him. Dreaming of his body, his image, his touch, his fuck, him. He haunted her every move, every thought.

--

The journey back was long and arduous. Not because it was a difficult path, but rather because of the sun. It assaulted the two alcohol craving bodies relentlessly with its bright, hot rays. A heavy cloak of awkwardness hung between them. No words had been spoken to each other since the night before. They silently rose from bed and showered separately while the other searched for various articles of clothes strewn about.

Both people cursed the day's existence and their own selves for being ill equipped for the sun's attack on their central nervous system. However, they had to make this journey, the more they prolonged it, the deeper in shit they potentially sank.

The knots in her stomach tightened and the bile reached her throat as their destination came into view. She couldn't help but feel as good as dead with each step. Suddenly, she stopped and crouched over, emptying the contents of her stomach onto the pavement. Upon seeing this, her companion did the same. Her knees buckled and she let out a failed suppressed sob. She felt herself begin to drop to her knees, but was stopped by his vice like drip on her upper arms, mid-fall.

"We don't have time for this," he said, pulling her back up. He began to walk away, but halted when he noticed she was not following suit.

"Let's go," he growled causing her to snap back to reality and run as fast as she could to catch up with him.

--

It was now seven in the morning with one hour of her shift left to go she was wired and shaking. That's when she noticed them walk in. Wait, she didn't remember them leaving.

"Where have you been?" she asked in a demanding voice, standing up. She noted the scared look on Squall's face. He didn't look so good. There was definitely something-

"We went out for an early morning walk around the courtyard. Don't you remember, we said, 'hi,' on our way out?" The lies feel easily off of Rinoa's lips.

"No, I don't," she replied crossly.

"See Squall, I told you she was totally out of it not ignoring you?" His eyebrow rose, she was good.

"Whatever," he shrugged. "I'm going back to bed." He walked off, leaving Rinoa alone with Quistis.

--

He watched them stroll into the lobby from his place in the back corner of the room. He'd been watching Quistis for a while. But now, now his attention was transfixed on them. Hearing the lies fall from that little whore's mouth. He knew they weren't out on a morning stroll of the grounds. He'd seen them last night hopping the fence. They probably thought they had gotten away with it. They were careless and Quistis was stupid, he could smell the alcohol on them from here.

He'd been at the desk at midnight when a call came in from the Balamb Hotel saying a Squall Leonhart and a guest had just checked in, utterly wasted. Everyone saw the television reports. Everyone knew Squall Leonhart was synonymous with this rehab. Hell, Squall Leonhart was the unofficial poster boy of the place.

He'd been the one to okay their check-in. He was the one assuring the girl that it was okay; they would take care of it and wouldn't hold her accountable. He was the one who stopped himself mid-dial to Cid's personal line, knowing information like this could and would be useful sometime soon.

--

he took a handful of pills before he went in he always drank before going drinking before led to a faster fight he lived for this he would be subtle about it though always make it look like an accident but always pick a hot head to throw the first punch

blood he loved the taste of his own the feeling of broken teeth in his mouth chaos god he loved chaos the feel of someones skull under his fist screams of rage torn from his throat jab jab hook elbow upper cut kick

blood splattered on his hands and face it didnt matter whose it was no pain the pills took care of that blood on the cement a group against him eyes swollen shut sirens too tired to out run those fat fucks blood bile battered broken let me die

--

Cold sweat soaked pajama bottoms clung to him like a second skin. He hated it here. But he hated out there more. Out there he was a has been. The cause of a lot of lost money. But he had had more at stake on that fight; livelihood. He lost that and everything else that day.

Here, he was Zell. Lovable, lively, Zell. He wasn't the wash-up, the subject of public ridicule or pity, not the addict, the man that picked random fights in bars. Just Zell.

He changed into normal clothes and left the room. As he stepped out into the hallway, he ran, almost directly, into something

"Yo, sor- hey, Squall. Whoa, you look awful," Zell said, taking in Squall's scruffy, sick look. His eyes were bloodshot and reeked faintly of alcohol.

"I know," Squall barked, walking away from Zell and toward his room.

Zell found Selphie and Irvine huddled around a table in the cafeteria, Selphie talking animatedly about something. Zell took a seat beside Irvine and muttered a greeting.

"Hey, Zell, have you seen Squall or Rinoa lately?" Selphie asked. Zell looked up from his spot at the table and nodded.

"Yeah, I just saw Squall on his way to his room; he looked horrible and smelled like booze."

Both Selphie and Irvine let out a disappointed sigh.

"Why does he do this?" Selphie asked herself aloud. Zell's eyebrows knit in confusion.

"What?" he asked looking between his two companions.

"Do you think he brought Rinoa with him?" Irvine asked.

"Where?" Zell asked.

"I do-" Selphie began when she was cut off by a presence looming over the table.

"Hey, have you guys seen Squall?" Rinoa asked, placing her hands on the table, looking slightly disheveled and nervous.

"Zell said he saw him on his way to his room." Selphie said, hitching her thumb over her shoulder. "Why?"

"No reason, thanks, bye," Rinoa said in a hurry and ran off toward the rooms.

"Well, I guess that answers your question," Zell said to Selphie, taking a long sniff of the air Rinoa formerly occupied. "Now would you mind answering me?"

Selphie let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose, before looking around the room for anyone who may be listening. She glanced at the nurses who were too close for her to comfortably reveal anything. She leaned close to the table and motioned Zell to do the same. Irvine, who knew the goings on, sat up and continued to pick as his breakfast.

"I can't say much now, but let's just say Squall wasn't here last night and Rinoa went with him."

Zell rolled his eyes. He may have been blond but that much he knew already. She may have just as well told him the sky was blue or the grass was green or Seifer is the world's biggest asshole. He knew the specifics, he wanted the details. If it was one thing Zell hated most, it was being kept out of the loop. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his expertly gelled hair and fell back into his chair, angry at the lack of information his friends were giving him.

He glanced around him from Irvine, to Selphie to the nursing staff on guard, to the hallway Rinoa had gone down, back to the table. Something was up, there was no doubt about that and it was big and things were going to get messy when the proverbial shit hit the inevitable fan.

--

Rinoa rapped quickly on the wooden door that cut Squall's room off from the rest of the building. There were so many thoughts running through her mind at that moment. Not about the escape, well what happened during said escape. They didn't have much time to talk about what transpired the night before, that morning. He, more likely than not, wanted to ignore this whole thing and continue on as if nothing had happened. She, one the other hand was a girl and needed to talk about it, damnit. She knocked again, louder this time.

The door swung violently open, revealing a pissed off and half naked Squall. She took a step back, holding the hand she had knocked with, in fright. His eyes softened, only slightly, upon seeing her.

"We need to talk," she told him in a hushed tone. She couldn't help but feel a bit insulted when he let out an annoyed groan, but let her in anyway.

"Whatever," he muttered, closing the door behind her. He sat on the unmade bed facing the ground, his arms resting on his knees. She stood with her back to the door, watching him. "So talk," he said calmly.

"Right, um, I dunno. What, uh, happened last night, exactly?" she asked, swaying nervously.

"Uh, from what I remember we got drunk and had sex. Do you need anymore clarification?" he asked with bitter sarcasm.

"So nothing has changed between us?" she asked, sounding as if looking for clarification.

"I don't see why it should. It was just sex, Rinoa," he replied calmly as if this was an everyday occurrence for him. Then again she barely knew much about him, perhaps it was and before this whole rehab gig, it was kinda like that for her too. But, that didn't stop the stinging feeling her in stomach.

"Right. Just checking, well I am gonna let you get some sleep now," she said turning to leave.

"Rinoa, wait," he called, forcing her to stop, her hand on the knob as she turned to face him.

"You aren't going to get all girly on me about this are you?" he asked walking over to her.

"No."

"Then how come your eyes tell me differently?"

She let out a sigh and looked him directly in the eyes. "Listen, Squall, you said so yourself, we were drunk and it was just sex. I am a big girl, I have had my share of one night stands before. God, get over yourself." On that note, she turned and left.

Squall ran a hand through his unkempt hair. His hangover was getting worse and worse by the moment. She was a talented actress, but he knew her acting better than she thought. He had played those same roles for years. She was gonna go "girly" on him, that much he knew. Sex really did change everything once you sobered up. That much he should have seen coming. Then again how long had it been since he was last sober for more than a day?

"Oh God," he ran to the adjoining bathroom and threw up what was left inside of his stomach, by this point, mostly acid. He flushed the toilet and went back to his bed and flicked off the light, he would deal with this bullshit later. God, he needed a hit of something, anything.

"Sleep," he told himself. "Just sleep."

--

Rinoa managed to make it back to her room before crumpling into a heap on the floor and weeping. How could he see through her? Why was it so much easier to act in front of the whole world than it was in front of just one person?

She stood on shaky limbs and climbed into her bed, instantly curling into fetal position and let out a strangled sob. She had had so many one night stands in the past, so why the fuck was this one getting to her so much? Squall was no different from the rest of her long string of lovers. No, "fuckers" was more appropriate.

This time felt different, however. This time she felt, filthy, used and degraded. Perhaps it was his patronizing, sarcastic tone. Or maybe, just maybe, unlike all the others for the first time she was sober, well not entirely, but for the first time she gave a shit what he thought about her the next day. Perhaps this was the only type of "love" a recovering addict can ever feel for another person. Yes, perhaps in her fucked up and fried brain, this was "love."

"Oh, God," she sobbed harder.