Disclaimer: I honestly own nothing. Just like a billion other people, only I get to say it more often than I'd like.

AN: What's this? Immi actually wrote a second chapter? That's... odd.

Oh God, how is it possible for someone's head to hurt so badly?

Right, the alcohol. After I saw Catherine with her…

Date.

Not a boy toy. Judging from the look on her face last night, not any sort of toy.

Great. Now I feel drunk all over again. How is that fair?

Then again, since when is my life even remotely fair?

This sucks.

What time is it?

I groan as I try to roll over and look at the clock on my nightstand. My head hurts like hell, and the movement is definitely not helping.

Come to think of it, my arms hurt too. Now that's never a good thing. Especially not after waking up from a drunken stupor.

I open my eyes, only to close them again when a shaft of light burns them through the gap in the curtains.

Damn, this is going to be fun.

I open my eyes more slowly, and try to get some grasp on my location.

Okay, good. The light hurts like hell, but I can see. I'm in my bedroom.

And… yeah. My shoulders have some pretty nice cuts on them. Damn it, I thought I was done with cutting myself when I got drunk. Guess not.

I look at the clock. Oh that's just perfect. Just a little before shift starts.

Pills. Pills are next to the clock. Did I put them there? No… Greg did.

Greg came over earlier. While I was still drinking. That would definitely explain why I'm actually under the covers.

He must've guessed that I'd come home and do something self-destructive. He probably wanted to make sure that I didn't do something really stupid.

I glance down at my arms again and snort. I'd say this qualifies.

I really am an idiot. I fall head over heels in love with a coworker. A female coworker, who on all accounts appeared straight. A female coworker who hated me until several months ago. And then, after I figure out that said coworker isn't actually straight, and is in fact dating a woman, I go home, get drunk, and cut myself.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I shake my head blearily. My parents used to ask me that question all the time. They usually answered in the same breath. Nothing flattering, of course.

I should get up and take a shower. Or at least clean up my cuts. The caked blood on my arms isn't really comfortable. I definitely need to take a shower.

Sighing, I grab the pills Greg left and down them in one gulp. For a second after I get up, I feel dizzy, but that quickly passes. Good. Maybe this hangover won't be as bad as I first thought.

Yeah, my luck is just that great.

I need more cough drops. The second I open my locker, I can tell that there is no way I have enough to get through a shift.

Of course.

I think through my options. I could ask Jim for a few. He keeps some cough drops in his office out of habit.

But I really don't want to give him any more evidence that points towards a drinking problem. I have a 'me' problem, that I occasionally deal with using alcohol. That's it. Not a drinking problem.

Not Jim, then.

I could ask Greg for something I suppose. He already knows that I got drunk last night, this morning, and this afternoon.

"You planning on standing there all shift, or are you actually going to move?"

I spin around to see Catherine standing in front of me, smirking. She always looks so damn sexy when she smirks. But for once that isn't what catches my attention first.

There are bags under her eyes. There is no way she got a lot of sleep last night.

But she's glowing.

Oh God. No, no, no, no. I'm not going to think about it. No way am I going to think about her date and what obviously happened last night. No.

"Uh… Hey, Cath."

She frowns at me. "Are you feeling okay, Sara? You sound a bit off."

No, I'm not feeling o-freakin-kay. I'm hungover, I'm pretty sure the woman I'm in love with spent last night fucking her girlfriend, and I can't seem to avoid being turned on by her amazingly hot body.

I really doubt that saying all of that would go over well.

"I think I'm catching some sort of cold." I cough for good measure. "Do you have any cough drops?"

"Yeah, sure. I keep some in my locker." She walks over to her locker, opens it, and tosses a bag at my head.

The bag hits me, and the cough drops fly everywhere. Catherine rolls her eyes and leans down to grab them.

"Geez, Sara. And here I thought you were athletic."

She grins up at me, and just like yesterday, it feels like one of those smiles. And just like yesterday, I'm rendered completely immobile. How can she have such complete control over me?

Too late, I realize that she's cleaned them all up and I'm still staring.

"Hey, are you sure you should be at work today? You look terrible."

That snaps me out of my stupor. Of course, who wouldn't notice when their unrequited love says they look terrible?

"I'm, uh, fine Cath. Just a little out of sorts. Work won't be a problem."

She looks a little concerned, but shrugs anyways, handing me the bag of cough drops. This is one time I'm glad that we aren't really friends. If I were her friend, she would probably want to talk to me about her date. And she would object to me working while sick.

She looks like she's about to walk out of the locker room, but she pauses when she catches a glimpse of my locker.

Shit. She saw my own collection of cough drops. There is no way she's going to overlook that. Not after I took some of hers.

But she doesn't say anything. Her concerned frown just becomes more pronounced.

As she closes the door to the locker room, I sigh in relief. I don't think I would have been able to lie to Catherine if she had asked why I needed more cough drops than I already had.

I shake my head and pop one into my mouth.

Either we're better friends than I thought, and she didn't want to invade my privacy…

…Or we aren't friends at all, and she didn't give a damn.