Prologue:

Lizzie tripped as a hip banged into her side while she was wriggling through the throng of bodies in the frat house she had stumbled into. She had been to this house a few times before, and she knew where they would have the drinks. She continued her stumbling, jolting slide to the kitchen; littered with cans and bottles and dishes everywhere, she had arrived at her most prized destination. There were still people everywhere, but she was short and slight, and she slipped through easily enough to grab two beers from the counter.

Time for her grand escape, she turned to begin her return trip and found herself face to chest with a very tall man. He was peering down at her, a small smile on his lips.

"Feel up to sharing one of those beers with a poor soul?" His grin widened and he reached to grab one of the beers she was holding.

"Fuck off. Get your own." She shoved him aside to continue winding her way through the crowded house. She heard him mutter a slight curse as she struck out, seeking a quiet corner and her friend, whom the second beer was intended for. Halfway across the room, she glanced back to see him stumbling through the room like a hulking bear, not nearly as deft at navigating a crowd while drunk as she was. He appeared off-balance, like this was his first time experiencing the wonderfully embarrassing effects of alcohol. She couldn't help but let out a small laugh when he ran straight into two young women, immediately knocking them and their drinks to the ground. Shameful waste of alcohol that.

The night turned into a long haze, like so many others did. It felt good to forget, to disappear. She loved the way that she could be surrounded by people and feel like she was completely in her own world. One drink followed another. Sometimes it was beer, other times she found tequila in her cup. It didn't really matter what it was, as long as she kept the haze. She sat with her back against a wall, unconcernedly watching people laughing and stumbling, kissing, even throwing up occasionally. The few people she had come here with had long since melted away into the crowd.

Someone sat down next to her with a loud thump. "I am absolutely destroyed." Said a deep, overloud voice next to her. She turned her head, still leaning against the wall, and saw the stranger from earlier sitting next to her, slumped over a little.

"The only thing worse than being drunk," he said, "is being around other people who are drunk." He sounded exasperated, and after a moment he laughed out loud. "I guess I don't have room to talk though. Do you think that's puke on my shirt?" She stared at him flatly.

"I love being drunk. You wanna know why?" She asked, daring him with a look. He nodded silently. "Because people are so busy being drunk, they don't bother me." She got up to leave, but he caught her by the wrist.

"This is going to sound crazy, but please don't go. I usually don't drink. I hate being drunk. But I thought I needed it today, so I could forget. It's not helping. I want to be around someone, but no one else here is aware enough to do me any good. I don't know what it is, but I feel like I could talk to you. Please, stay."

Lizzie wanted to keep pulling away. She really, really wanted to. But she got it. She could see that behind his glass-eyed gaze and wobbly posture, he was in pain. She could see it, and she could feel it. It was inside her too.

"What are you hiding from?" She leaned back against the wall. She could feel his warmth next to her, and it was oddly comforting. Kind of like the quiet warmth that sometimes came over her when she drank. Before everything got nice and numb. She waited for his response, and she kept watching everyone around her. She could hear him sniffling next to her, trying to hold back that impossible pain. He cried and cried next to her. She didn't know how long it went on, before he took one deep shuddering breath.

"It's my dad. I found out yesterday that he died." The crying came back then, and Lizzie couldn't help but look over at him. Tears were rolling unabashed down his cheeks, his head was against the wall, his eyes closed. He had beautiful black curls falling over his forehead and his ears. They were mussed up a little more on one side, as if he had been taking a nap and forgotten to look in the mirror afterwards. He had long black eyelashes that blinked open as she stared at him. Such nice, warm brown eyes. The tears kept making tracks down his face, as he smiled at her.

"It hurts so bad, and I don't know how to make it stop." His smile was so heartbroken, she had to look away.

"Well, stranger. I've learned one thing that you should probably know. The drinking and the trying to forget, it never works. You drink and drink and drink. You party and show up at random frat houses. You hang out in bars and with sleazy people. You get yourself into bad situations, just trying to get rid of it. Numb the pain, forget, change the way you think. But as soon as the drink wears off, it comes back worse than ever. If you don't deal with it, you'll just drink until you die. That's my plan, anyway. Don't let yourself get to that point. This doesn't have to be the end for you." His arm was around her shoulders. She didn't know when he had moved closer, but she had started crying her own tears. He hugged her for what seemed hours. She melted away until all she was was tears and a warm hug holding her together. Finally, she let herself move away from him. What a strange man.

"You know," he said, "I don't know what you're going through, but it really helps me to know that I'm not the only one hurting like this. I've just been so alone."

"Alone is hard." She acknowledged. "Sometimes not alone is worse though."

"With you, not alone isn't so bad though." He was smiling at her again. Not the heart breaking smile, but maybe a mischievous smile? She couldn't help but laugh at him. He looked like he was trying to sneak the last cookie out of the cookie jar. She leaned up to him and kissed him. He tasted warm and sweet, somehow he didn't taste like alcohol at all. He kissed her back without hesitation, deepening and strengthening the kiss, until it consumed her. She knew that she likely would not remember what happened in the morning, but he felt good and warm. Maybe even safe. That was a rare feeling. She let herself sink into it. Consequences be damned.

—-

Lizzie woke up, her head pounding and ready to throw up. Not an unfamiliar feeling anymore, but always accompanied by problems. She tried to roll over onto her side and open her eyes, but bright fluorescent lights made the nausea immediately worse. She focused on taking deep breaths for a few minutes while the sensation faded.

Slowly, she came alive again. There were noises around her, voices talking, people moving around. The smell of sweat and puke and alcohol. And she hurt. Everywhere.

What did you do now, Lizzie? She thought quietly to herself. Not ready to open her eyes, she started feeling around with her hands. Fresh bruises around both of her eyes, pain in the right side of her ribs, a shallow cut along her right forearm, aching in her legs. The list went on and on. Worst of all though, her knuckles were bruised and painful, as if she had been hitting something. Or someone.

Finally, she opened her eyes. A medium sized room, lined with benches. Several other people lay or sat around the room, in various states of hangover or coming down. Most importantly, Lizzie saw the bars and the lock on the door. She had done something very bad this time.