The Womanizer

Chapter 37: My Medicine

A/N: It has come to my attention that a 'friend' (the audacity of this bitch. I use this term very loosely now 🙄) of mine has been going to ssweet-decadence comment section and had been completely rude to her and a few other people in the name of 'defending' me. I don't know if he was pretending to be me, or if he was just acting like I was innocent, but I do not condone this, and I apologise to all those involved on his behalf. I know what I did was wrong, and I ask for your forgiveness. To be quite frank, I've never been so embarrassed in my entire fucking life, and I don't agree with what I did nor with what he said. We were both in the wrong. To be honest, I'm also so fucking disgusted that he even tried to 'defend' me. I know taking someone else's work and using it in mine, in the first place was completely wrong, whether I was sober or not. So I do apologise for my actions.

**play My Medicine by The Pretty Reckless when you see (*) for a better read. (I know it's not a 2000's song, but it's a fucking banger, and I love The Pretty Reckless, so please appease me)

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Bel Air- Los Angeles

A heavy, oppressive silence hung over the condo like a thick fog. Dim light struggled through the drawn curtains, casting elongated shadows that danced like specters across the room. Once a vibrant canvas painted with the liveliness of a happy family, the space had now become a crumbling relic of neglect. Empty bottles, their labels peeling and stained, littered the floor, silent witnesses to the decay. The coffee table, strewn with drug paraphernalia, stood as an altar to countless nights sacrificed to a haze of oblivion.

Lauren lay sprawled on the couch, her body tangled in a disarray of blankets and discarded clothes. The air hung heavy with the stale scent of sweat and alcohol, mingling with the faint, acrid tang of burnt substances. Remnants of the previous night's chaos seemed to pulsate through the room. Lauren's hair, matted and tangled, framed her face in disarray, while dark circles under her eyes told tales of sleepless nights. Large cuts and bruises added to her haggard appearance, making her look as though she'd just got out of the boxing ring with Amir Khan.

The once sleek, modern condo now felt like a prison, every corner a reminder of neglected responsibilities and broken promises. In the sink, dirty dishes piled high, while a forgotten laundry basket overflowed in the corner. Unopened letters lay scattered on the dining table, their contents long ignored. Stripped of photos and mementos of happier times, the walls were now bare, save for the occasional streak of grime, whispering tales of abandonment.

The coffee table was a grim centerpiece of this descent into chaos. Cigarette butts overflowed from an ashtray, mingling with crumpled receipts and empty pill bottles. A glass pipe, cracked and charred, sat amidst the debris, a silent witness to the nights of excess that had become all too frequent. The flickering light of a dying candle cast eerie shadows, illuminating the remnants of a life that seemed to be slipping away.

Lauren stirred, her body aching with the aftereffects of a binge. Her head throbbed with a relentless, pounding pain, and her mouth felt dry and parched, as if she hadn't had water in days. She blinked against the dim light, trying to make sense of her surroundings. The room swam before her eyes, the familiar setting distorted by the fog of her disorientation. Shadows danced menacingly in the corners, and every sound seemed amplified, echoing through her throbbing skull.

She struggled to sit up, her limbs heavy and uncooperative. The blankets twisted around her like chains, trapping her in the aftermath of her own recklessness. With a wince, she shifted, her muscles protesting the movement. The taste of last night's excess lingered in her mouth, a bitter reminder of the cycle she seemed unable to break.