Law and Order- complete

XX

Two weeks had passed. And nothing.

In Harry's absence, alcohol became my best friend.

In all honesty, it's fucking underrated. No matter who you were, or what you were going through, alcohol never changed. It remained loyal, its ingredients consistent, and its effect as well.

Alcohol was who I turned to when Harry had left. The days were blended together, constant headaches and pain as I bled out both externally and internally. I couldn't bother myself with being upset, so upon feeling a smidge of emotion, I was leaning over the side of the bed, my head too heavy for my body as I clumsily felt around the empty alcohol bottles, clinking through the dark room until I'd grab one by the neck and shake it, determining if it was full.

If it was, it'd go straight to my mouth, my head tossing back as I coughed from the impact, awaiting the numb feeling to return to both my chest and my mind. I couldn't afford to think, because if I thought, I'd cry. And I'm sick of crying.

I'm sick of jolting up in the middle of the night, my body racking with tears. I'm sick of the sympathetic looks China gave me from the door, respecting the boundary I'd set when I told her I'd kick her ass if she thought about coming in here. We both know she'd easily take me down, but she agreed anyway, throwing her hands up in defense and only coming to the door of the bleak room whenever she'd hear me vomiting my guts out in the bathroom, dazedly stumbling back to grab yet another bottle.

"Fuck, you've hit fuckin', fuckin' rock bottom," I slur to myself. I sit on the floor, my back against the bed as I stare down at my feet. I tried to think of the last time I showered. I don't remember. I know I stopped bleeding about five days ago, I remember showering and not needing a pad. Did I shower after that?

I drunkenly raise my arm, smelling my armpits and groaning aloud, my head falling backward. "You stink," 

A sniff is inhaled when my stomach grumbles, begging me for food. I know if I'll eat, it'll take longer to stay drunk, and I need to stay drunk. I can't feel it. I can't.

I stammer up to my feet, using the bed for support and grabbing my phone from the nightstand. I check the notifications, fisting my hand to the bridge of my nose at the impending headache as I realize Harry hadn't called me back. I called him so many times. And he doesn't want to answer me? Does he still think he's mad? 

I dial his number for the 23rd time today, burping as it dials, and as expected, goes straight to voicemail. Did he block me? Is that why he didn't answer?

At the tone, please record your message. When you've finished recording, you may hang up, or press one for more options.

"Fuck-" Another burp. "Fuck you, okay? You think- you think this was easy for me!? I called you like 50 thousand times an-and you're not answering me. I fucking- I fuckin' wanted to explain it to you. I don't want you-" I sniff, taking in a shaky breath. "Fuck.This, this was so hard, Harry," My voice becomes a whimper as I slump down, falling back onto the floor with my back against the bed, my head tosses back, and that familiar ache tugs my chest down, urging me to take another drink. I can't feel it.

"Please..." I beg, my voice is desperate. "Please talk to me, I-I have a new friend and I feel like they're gonna get me in trouble." I sniffle and hold up the Svedka, taking a large gulp and coughing hoarsely. The ache dwindles down as my mind becomes fuzzier, pushing back each and every emotion I declined to feel. The weak moment passes and I find myself straightening up, my jaw tightening.

"Fuck you, don't fucking call me, then. I- I don't fuckin' care,"

The phone is hung up and I throw it against the room door, screaming into my hands as my head hangs between my legs.