Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.
Challenges listed at the bottom.
Word Count - 645
Totally, Completely, Utterly, (not) Fine
She hid it well, she thought. It helped that she was the one to do the cleaning and the cooking, the one to go through cupboards and the only one to spend time in the laundry room.
The bottles of firewhisky were slotted into the oddest places, but they were useful. A mouthful here, a gulp there, it helped to get her through the day.
She wasn't addicted.
She wasn't.
It just gave her that little boost when her emotions threatened to drown her. They were always pulling on her, the tragedy of her lost son, the pain of almost losing her daughter, the trauma of sitting across from her boy every day, knowing him lost without his twin beside him.
The firewhisky helped her to fight against that pull. It numbed it just enough for her to push back, to stay standing, to keep her head up and not give into the need to just cry and never stop.
Molly didn't consider it sneaking either. She wasn't sneaking anything, because she was the only person around for much of the day. It wasn't sneaking if she drank openly in the laundry room with a bottle handily placed behind the fabric softener.
It was just that nobody else was there to see it.
And it wasn't sneaking when she left Arthur alone in their bed to spend ten minutes in the bathroom, puking her guts up and washing away the taste with minty toothpaste that masked the taste of both the sick and the alcohol.
It was all fine.
She was fine.
Or she was until Christmas rolled around.
She told herself it was fine to have a houseful again because she wasn't hiding and she wasn't sneaking because she didn't have a problem.
Except maybe she did, because it was three o'clock in the morning and Charlie and Bill were still up and she was banging the silver pots and pans around in the kitchen, trying to bake her way through her pain.
She heard whispers of 'stress baking' and ignored them because she wasn't stressed, she was fine, there was nothing wrong with her.
Until.
"Mum? What's this doing in the laundry basket?" Charlie asked, raising a bottle to show her the half empty firewhiskey bottle.
"Oh, it must have been misplaced," she hedged, smiling brightly. "Just put it in the cupboard, dear."
"There's a lot of misplacement of bottles, Mum," Bill said, entering the kitchen with two more bottles.
"Is… everything okay?" Charlie asked, frowning. He glanced at Bill and then back to Molly. "Is Dad… is he okay? Is this… something we need to worry about?"
Molly swallowed hard and shook her head. She shouldn't do this, she knew. This was wrong. But she was fine, and she wasn't addicted and it wasn't a problem, and she didn't want to worry them.
"He's dealing with a lot right now, Boys, that's all. Don't worry, I'm keeping an eye on things. I have the situation under control."
Bill stared at her for a long moment. "If you're sure. You know… you know we'll help, if you need it, right?"
"Of course I do. You're good boys. Go on now, get yourselves up to bed. And… don't say anything to your father. I wouldn't want him to be embarrassed, especially at Christmas."
Charlie looked ready to argue, but Bill nodded, and tugged Charlie towards the stairs. "We won't, Mum. Love you."
Charlie echoed the sentiment, and Molly repeated it to them, watching them walk up the stairs. She looked at the three half empty bottles and sighed.
She'd have to find new places for them, or perhaps even get rid of them. She could do that, she didn't have a problem.
It was only three days and they'd be leaving. She could do that with no problem.
She wasn't addicted.
She was fine.
Written for;
Cheese Board - Meat; Salami - The Burrow
Pop Figure - Winter Soldier - 1. Tragedy / 2. Silver / 3. Sneaking / 4. Hiding something.
365. 15. Addicted
1000. 129. Stress baking.
