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14. I'd fall to pieces (1989 x Midnights)

I don't normally write third person present tense but long story short I read a fic, it made me sob, and here we are. 
This is raw, in an 'I'm not tiptoeing around anything' way, not an I haven't edited it way (which I haven't either). 

TW

She walks through the door, closing it firmly, not a slam, but firm, firm is not-twisting-the-doorknob-to-close-it so it makes a sound but not too harsh. Not too harsh. She's never too harsh. 

Midnights slides open a drawer, taking out a bottle. Bottles in her cupboard, hiding, just like her. The bottle is unscrewed, now she's drinking, tastes bad but oh well, it numbs what she needs numbed. She shouldn't be drinking on an empty stomach, she thinks, but oh well, too late, she ate breakfast so now she hasn't eaten all day, one meal a day limit, she learnt it from 1989.

Speaking of 1989, she's not here, hasn't been all day, not really there properly for a week, something about commitments that Midnights didn't pick up, she zoned out, it's been happening more and more. Even when she's with her favourite person she's not present, oh well, shut her out too, what's one more? 

She hasn't talked to any of the other 9 members of her household for- how long has it been? 3 weeks- no, maybe a month- more? She lost count long ago. 

All she knows is that she's hearing the front door open, and it's probably just someone going out on a late night chocolate run but then the clickety clack, clickety clack of heels come tapping up the stairs and oh now they're stopping at her door. A handle rattling, a confused pause, followed by a brisk rapping on the wooden door. 

Now her girlfriend is calling her name and asking her if she's in there, and why is the door locked? And she doesn't even know, she takes another swig from the bottle, and she doesn't know what type of alcohol it is but god this tastes like shit, and she's nearly drowned out the noise of Nine calling for her, but then- 

"Middy?" Her voice cracks, and Midnights herself knows she's fucked up by the tone of her voice, pleading, and oh no now she's really fucked because now she just has to let her in because by now she's already crying and god knows it'll only get worse from here and she's comforting her girlfriend when she's the one who needs the comfort, and please can somebody see that? 

She stands up, unlocking the door but not opening it, and please take a hint, please go away, she can't do people right now, but no, 1989 comes in and finds a familiar scene, one she's seen many times before, but more and more frequently recently. Midnights is sitting on her bed, drinking, getting drunk (or was she already drunk? She can't remember, the alcohol is fogging her brain) and she's probably still vaguely under the influence of some weed she took earlier, how much and when is unknown, she does it in a daze now. 

She shakes her head, to what she's turning down she has no idea. 1989 seems to soften, coming over to where she's sat on the bed and sitting with her, a hand meets a shoulder comfortingly but Midnights doesn't draw her eyes up from her lap. 

"Did something happen while I was out?" She asks tentatively. It's a tough topic, asking what's wrong- everything seems to be a tough topic at the moment, one wrong move and she's shut out from Midnights' impossibly high walls. 

"N'thin' happened," she shakes her head, speaking lazily, but hey, at least she's not slurring her words. 1989 gently places a neatly clipped and manicured hand over the one gripping the bottle like a lifeline, but as she tries to remove it from Midnights' grasp, she is shaken off and another swig is taken. 

"Baby I'm sorry but no more alcohol for tonight. i'm taking it," 

She hates being treated like a child, why does her girlfriend have to confiscate her alcohol? Why can't she be trusted with it? Fucking failure, she can't even take care of herself, but maybe she likes it that way, or at least she's fine with it, she's okay, she doesn't need, doesn't want, to be cared for.