(no subject)
She feels sick as she leaves the party and she's crying and it's so obvious and it's embarrassing. But she keeps moving, stumbling out of the nightclub and into the hallway.
She can't do anything right. She always has to fuck it up somehow and she's managed to do it yet again. What Wes said...it hurt but it was true.
She walks, gasping for breath as she cries, feeling so stupid. She just walks and walks until she finds herself at her room, not the one that she shared with Wes.
But the one that Zekka tried to kill her in. The one where she almost managed it enough times on her own. Her hands shake as she closes the door and leans against it.
(She knows exactly what she wants to do just now, and she knows exactly where there are the supplies to do it and if she could just move at the moment, she'd be able to get some of this crap out, but she's done so well and she's so scared to start again.
Because the first one feels the best and then the rest just gets more euphoric.)
Fingers pressed against her mouth, she moves to her dresser, digging around till she finds one of the things she was looking for.
She knows she looks a mess, in her red dress and strappy shoes, make up running down her face, hair limp and a now lit cigarette in her mouth.
She puffs out smoke around it before idly drawing a fingernail across an old scar. It sends shivers up her spine, and as her nail catches on a raised edge, it makes her gasp slightly.
She smokes till half the carton is gone. And somewhere along the way she fell into an unhappy sleep.
(She looks a bit like a sad doll, in her dress and with the make up on her face).
(Part of her hopes she'll never wake up).
She can't do anything right. She always has to fuck it up somehow and she's managed to do it yet again. What Wes said...it hurt but it was true.
She walks, gasping for breath as she cries, feeling so stupid. She just walks and walks until she finds herself at her room, not the one that she shared with Wes.
But the one that Zekka tried to kill her in. The one where she almost managed it enough times on her own. Her hands shake as she closes the door and leans against it.
(She knows exactly what she wants to do just now, and she knows exactly where there are the supplies to do it and if she could just move at the moment, she'd be able to get some of this crap out, but she's done so well and she's so scared to start again.
Because the first one feels the best and then the rest just gets more euphoric.)
Fingers pressed against her mouth, she moves to her dresser, digging around till she finds one of the things she was looking for.
She knows she looks a mess, in her red dress and strappy shoes, make up running down her face, hair limp and a now lit cigarette in her mouth.
She puffs out smoke around it before idly drawing a fingernail across an old scar. It sends shivers up her spine, and as her nail catches on a raised edge, it makes her gasp slightly.
She smokes till half the carton is gone. And somewhere along the way she fell into an unhappy sleep.
(She looks a bit like a sad doll, in her dress and with the make up on her face).
(Part of her hopes she'll never wake up).