This chapter is a bit angst-y with a bit of happiness in the middle. Haha. Enjoy! Thank you for your continued interest in my story.

IX

After hearing my mother's voice on the other side of the door, the feeling of panic quickly spread through my body. I wiped my face on the small face cloth that was in front of me, trying to diminish the evidence of my tears, but it was a frivolous attempt; this amount of crying was nearly impossible to hide. I checked my reflection again, and immediately chastised myself for choosing to borrow clothes from Jeanette. The revealing tank top alone would probably give my mother a heart attack.

"Morgan? Are you okay?" my mother asked, sounding very concerned. If she was really that concerned, she should have been worried when I still wasn't home at whatever hour it currently was.

"I'm fine," I dismissed immediately, trying to sound like I was. I probably wasn't that convincing, but it was worth a shot.

"Did you just get home? Where were you?" she questioned, this time opening the door. My stomach dropped again. What was I supposed to do?

"I was out, it's nothing," I responded, trying to get past her to get to my room where I could pull my blankets over my head and sob.

"It doesn't look like nothing, sweetie. What are you wearing?" This time, she sounded more annoyed than anything as she finished her thought. I tried to subtly roll my eyes.

"What? Nothing," I replied, using my go to response when I didn't want to speak with her anymore.

"Well, yeah, I can tell it's nothing. What were you doing when you were 'out'?" she asked, using air quotations. I had no idea how to answer. Honestly, I was surprised that she hadn't figured it out already; my breath probably smelled strongly of alcohol.

"Mom, nothing, please just let me to go to sleep. Please," I pleaded, once again trying to get past her. She stepped in front of me, analyzing my face.

"If it was 'nothing', then why have you been crying? And why do you absolutely reek of alcohol?" Shoot, she could tell. I guess anyone with a sense of smell probably could. I felt tears well to my eyes again as I recalled the situation that had happen not too long ago.

"Please stop," I begged again, trying to keep myself from crying in front of her. Ever since the lead up to my parents' divorce, I had prided myself in never crying in front of either of them. It was my form of controlling what was happening, as stupid as that was.

"So you got incredibly drunk with all your friends without telling anyone where you were, and then something seemingly traumatizing happens, but you refuse to tell me?" she snapped, finally losing her patience. I took yet another shaky breath and tried to convince my brain to allow me to think about what to say next.

"I, just, I don't know, okay?" I snapped back, not sure how to finish my reply.

"Did something happen with a boy of some sort?" my mother said, closing her eyes for a moment, probably hoping there would be a negative response. I felt my tears threaten to overflow, so I merely tried to shake my head, but could barely even manage that. "Morgan…"

"Yes, okay. Yes! Are you happy now?" I yelled, tears slipping down my face. I wiped them away as if they were drops of acid burning through my skin.

"Of course I'm not happy, Morgan. Did someone hurt you?" she asked, holding my arm and sounding concerned again.

"I don't want to talk about it, okay? Can I please just go to my room?" I shot back, feeling desperate to get out of the situation. She shook her head, probably unsure of how to react as well.

"Fine, but we're talking about this tomorrow. I'm not ignoring the fact that you came home looking like a stripper and smelling like an alcoholic." I immediately pushed past her to my room, slamming the door behind me. Not even bothering to change out of Jeanette's clothes, I threw myself on the bed and under the covers, and immediately resumed crying. I put one of my blankets over my mouth, muffling the sobbing, and closed my eyes as if that would transport me away into a universe where none of this had ever happened.

After what must have been at least an hour of attempting to sleep through my own crying, I was lost as to what to do. I wasn't going to go crying to my mother. I had kind of burned that bridge; she probably wouldn't be too interested in being nice to me right now. It's not like I could call any of my friends; they were probably still drinking, and they probably hadn't even noticed I had fled the scene. I could only think of one possible person I could talk to.

"Catherine," I whispered to myself. Sure, it's not like we were related, or even overly close, but she had said in a recent email to me that I could call her anytime I wanted if I ever needed anything, or just needed to talk. I had never taken anyone up on an offer like that, but I was a little desperate and I still wasn't thinking clearly. I sat up in my bed and pulled my phone out of my pocket, quickly realizing that even though she worked the night shift and would still be reachable at this hour, I didn't have a way to actually contact her. I sighed internally, wiping another tear from my puffy eyes. Quickly deciding to just use the general number for the crime lab to attempt to reach her through there, I went through the contacts on my phone to find the number.

As I dialled, I crossed my fingers on my other hand that my dad wouldn't answer. It was unlikely, he probably wasn't even there, but you never know. Lifting the phone to my ear, my heart started to pound like it always did when I had to call someone, regardless of whether I wanted to or not. It rang once, and then twice, and then someone picked up. I had another moment of extreme worry while waiting for the person to say something.

"Las Vegas Crime Lab, how may I help you?" It was a secretary of some sort. That was a big relief.

"Hi, can I please speak to Catherine Willows?" I asked, my voice sounding considerably weak to me.

"May I tell her who is calling?" the secretary asked. This worried me a little; was she still going to let me talk to her even though this was a weird personal call?

"Just…just say it's Morgan," I said as another tear fell.

"Okay, hold on, I'll transfer you to her office." I immediately gave her a small thank you, feeling like an idiot for crying while talking to a stranger on the phone, even though I knew they couldn't see me. The brief few moments felt like an eternity, and I wiped my eyes for what was probably the billionth time.

"Morgan? Are you okay?" Catherine asked, sounding worried. I didn't really know what to say, even though I was the one who had made the call. Just hearing someone who didn't really know me ask if I was okay gave me a small sense of satisfaction.

"No," I said, my voice sounding even smaller than it did minutes earlier. I took a deep breath, trying to inhale without making a noise associated with the utter sobbing that had been occurring.

"What happened? Talk to me," she asked, not sounding impatient or rude like any other adult in my life would have sounded. I took another breath, this one sounding harsher than the last one, and mustered up some courage so I could actually speak.

"He… He cheated on me," I said, silent, salty tears streaming down my face. My eyes stung, but it's not like I could do anything about that.

"Ethan? Sweetie, I'm sorry," Catherine responded, and I nodded, barely realizing that she couldn't see me.

"Yes," I said in a barely audible tone. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called. I just… I just didn't know what to do." This time, the sobbing resumed, and I hardly tried to stop it.

"Morgan, do not be sorry. I totally understand. Why don't you tell me what happened? Take as much time as you need," she spoke slowly, probably trying to make me let myself calm down. I drew in a couple more sharp breaths, and started to attempt to recall the events from the beginning. Some things were a little unclear, and they were probably explained as such, but it's not like I had much chance of making sense, between my sadness and all of the drinking. Saying everything out loud was making it seem all the more real, and I'm not sure if that made it better or worse. It was better, in a way, because it assured me that I was not in a nightmare, but worse at the same time, because I wished I was in one.

"Please don't tell my dad," I begged as I ended my story. I lifted a blanket from my lap and tried to dry my face a little, the once pink blanket coming away with deep black smudges covering it. I could even tell when I was sitting here in the dark.

"All of this will stay between us, I promise," she assured me. A small, yet tearful, smile formed on my lips. "I'm so sorry to hear all of this, Morgan. I know you're not going to believe me, but you're going to be okay. I swear. I went through a similar experience when I was around the same age as you, and I know this doesn't make it any better, but I felt the same way. You're going to feel like crap for a bit, and honestly, it's going to suck. But that's okay, because eventually you'll start to feel better, and then all that will cross your mind when you look back is how stupid Ethan was to let you go. That sounds cheesy, doesn't it?"

"No," I confirmed, truly appreciating every word she said. She gave me a small laugh, and if the circumstances were any different, I would have joined.

"Alright, good. And Morgan, this situation was completely out of your control. I know there's nothing you could have done. He wanted to be a jerk, and he was, and you couldn't have changed that. He'll pay for it one day. But don't doubt what you did, because there isn't anything you can do now. You're probably running all the variables through your mind right now, but it will only make you feel worse. Try not to be too regretful," she explained.

"It was so stupid of me, though. I should have never gone in the first place," I cried, still feeling like an idiot even though I was trying not to.

"You did the same thing almost every single teenaged girl would do if they were placed in that situation. You felt the pressure to drink like everyone else, and you gave in, and that's okay. We all have to do that a few times to get it out of our system. It will only make you more assertive in the long run, because you know what the other side feels like. Everyone goes to parties and does something stupid, and you know what? You didn't even do anything stupid, or that's what it sounds like. Don't blame yourself," Catherine replied, making me feel just a little bit better, if that was possible.

"Thank you. I can't really put into words how grateful I am right now, but I owe you," I said, a humourless laugh filling my voice.

"It's absolutely no problem. I'm glad I could help, and I'm glad you called, because dwelling on it by yourself isn't going to help you. You can call anytime, okay?" she said. I gave a sigh of relief; even if I was causing a headache, at least Catherine made me feel like I was totally in the right.

Thank you. I will. And Catherine?" I said, having one more piece to express my gratitude for.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for not lecturing me on underage drinking. I know I'm going to get that from my mother, and I know it was wrong, but I don't like hearing from other people how idiotic it was when I already know for myself," I said as I saw a few more drops fall off my cheeks onto my bed.

"No problem, I understand. As long as you know for yourself that you might not want to make the decisions you did all that often, it's fine. And it's not my job anyway. My job is just to be cool, right?" she joked, and I gave a small laugh.

"Yeah, and you definitely accomplished that. Thank you again," I said sincerely, closing my eyes.

"Thank you for calling. I'm glad I could help you talk about it. Call me again soon, or email, alright?"

"Of course. Goodnight," I said.

"Goodnight, Morgan."

I took a sigh of relief, feeling a little less stress now that I had gotten my story off of my chest to someone who was willing to listen without judgment. I still felt horrible, and I thought it was impossible that I would feel better anytime soon, but at least there was a small beacon of hope after the conversation I had just been a part of. I lay back down, pulling the covers over my head to feel safer. I looked at the time on my phone before putting it on my bedside table. It was 3:30, which made me really hope that my mom would wait until a decent hour before waking me up to yell at me. I rolled onto my side and decided to go into the long battle that was trying to sleep while I was still upset. The tears continued to pour out of my eyes as if I was some sort of human fountain, and touching my cheeks to try and keep them dry made them sting and burn. I was fairly certain I had never cried so much or so hard in my life, even when my dad had told me that he and my mother were finally separating. That had barely sparked any tears, or at least not until way later when I was in my room with the blankets over my head to muffle the noise of fighting from downstairs. All of this was only going to make me stronger, right?

Eventually, I had succumb to sleep, and even though I kept waking up, either from a sudden remembrance of what had occurred only hours earlier, or from the pounding in my head that was only becoming more and more prominent. In the reasonably early hours of the morning, I gave up on trying to get back to sleep. I felt overly nauseated, and my headache was alarmingly awful. In an attempt to keep my mom from coming in and reading me the riot act, I tried to keep as quiet as possible. I knew that she would inevitably come in, not caring if I was asleep or not, but trying to control the volume of my continued sobbing made me feel in control.

"Morgan?" she asked, and I groaned internally. I lifted my head up as I pulled the covers back, looking at her with a clear look of annoyance. She had a glass of water in one hand, and two white capsules in the other.

"What?" I asked, exasperated already. She handed me both the capsules and the glass of water.

"Here, it will make you feel better," she explained. I swallowed the pills, one at a time, the feeling of them slipping down my throat making me feel like I needed to throw up again.

"Probably not, but thanks," I mumbled, keeping my eyes away from hers.

"Alright, Morgan, what happened last night? You have to tell me, so start talking," she said, no kindness in her tone.

"I got drunk, and then I don't know." I knew this would not convince her in the slightest, but it was worth a try.

"I know you remembered what happened, Morgan! You were pretty shaken up about it, to say the least, last night. What happened with the boy that I know was involved?" she asked. I sighed.

"Fine, fine, I'll tell you. I had a boyfriend, and last night, when we were at the party, he... He cheated on me while I was there and I saw," I said quickly, covering my face a little.

"You had a boyfriend and didn't tell me. Well, anyway, what was his name?" she asked. I glared at her. Did that really matter right now?

"Ethan. His name was Ethan, since that's obviously the important part right now," I replied, my usual snarky undertone still intact.

"Morgan," she said with a warning tone. "Alright, well you obviously don't want to talk about it, so I'll leave that there. As to the part about you wearing some of the worst excuses for pieces of clothing I've ever seen and then proceeding to get extremely drunk with all of your friends, you're grounded for two weeks, and I'm taking your phone away for a week. Deal?" There was obviously no room for negotiation, so her last word was only uttered to be obnoxious.

"Fine, as if I'm not as miserable enough as it is! Do you really think I plan on going out again anytime soon? I've pretty much lost all of my friends now, and I feel like I just got hit by a bus, both mentally and physically. So thanks a lot for all of your care and concern!" I snapped, looking away from her with tears in my eyes.

"Morgan, honey, come on. You know what you did was wrong, and I'm sorry for what happened last night, but I can't just ignore what you did. Be a little more mature," she said, anger seeping into her tone.

"Fine. Whatever," I mumbled, and with that, she left, my phone in her hand.

Would it be considered to be socially acceptable to just never leave my room again? That's what I felt like doing, and it's not like anyone would notice or care if I just wasn't really around anymore.

I hope that wasn't too much of a downer chapter...haha. And even though none of this is canon and I wrote it myself, I love Catherine even more after this chapter. :) Hehe. Hope you enjoyed!