The Perfect Mikaelson's

119|| Abbie 🧁

Abbie

I'm not sure how long I've been up all alone now, but this bottle of bourbon has done wonders at keeping me company. It's been the only thing keeping me from slipping into that dark place deep inside my head. The one where the reality of my family fate and my doomed marriage hide.

If I open that box, I'll never be able to close it again.

Every time I feel the tears sting in my eyes, I take another drink and then let the tears fall before pushing it all back down again. Can't think of the ugly truth, if you're too drunk to even remember your name.

I'm not sure what that spell did exactly, but it'll be my go-to until my life isn't such a dumpster fire.

I snort to myself, taking another pull straight from the bottle. If I got drunk every time my life went to shit or the family was endangered, I'm sure the laws of nature would rewrite themselves to actually allow me to die of alcohol poisoning.

I'm not even sure why I'm upset. Everything that was said tonight was the truth and we all know it. I've let the lies and secrets control me, it's too late to take it all back now. Why would I, when this is how they react. I could only imagine how they'd react if they understood why I did what I did.

Derek wouldn't have a damn foot to stand in and Damon could kick rocks for all I care. Asshome has the nerve to be mad at me, when all I did was do what he did. Why is he the only one allowed to be mad?!

"You look like you need sleep instead of another drink." I laugh to myself, closing my eyes and resisting my head against the lip of the bottle. Of course, in all my days of practicing magic, I never learned how to control my ability to conjure up my worst fears with a simple thought.

Is that some form of black magic? It sounds like it would be.

"I think I should finish off this bottle and then I'll consider what to do next in life. Thanks for the concern though." I roll my eyes, lifting the bottle with heavy arms.

The bottle doesn't even reach my lips, before it's snatched away and Damon's dark, looming presence overwhelms me. Tilting my head back, I blink my heavy eyes at him until he comes into focus. "You're done drinking." He sets the bottle down on the counter, holding his hand out to me.

"Come on. You need to shower. You reek of alcohol." Shaking my head, a grin spreads across my face. "I'd much rather continue to drink and possibly blackout on the nice cold floor. Why is it so hot in here?" I hope the last part came out clear, because I really want to know. It's like a million degrees and I'm the only one who notices.

Gripping the edge of my shirt, I pull it up and over my head, having to wiggle to get my arms and head free. Why the fuck is it so hard to get naked when you're drunk?

I drop my shirt on the counter with a huff, feeling a tad more sluggish now. Maybe I should slow down, but then again, why stop now? Sobering up isn't going to fix any of my problems and it damn sure isn't going to stop any new ones from popping up.

"Put your shirt back on, Abbie." I blink hard, looking up at him still glaring at me like I kicked his puppy. I don't understand him. One second he's being nice and decorating his house for me, then next, he's so cold and distant. Is it so hard to find a happy medium?!

Licking my numb lips, I take him in. His jaw is set, which is no surprise seeing as he's only ever in one mood. His eyes flicker between mine, but they dip down every few seconds like he can't stand to look me in the eyes. I wish the feeling was mutual, but it's not. I have to force myself to look away from him ninety percent of the time.

"Or what? You'll continue to ignore me?" I have to tilt my head back to look at him. Even on a bar stool, where my feet don't even touch the ground, he still has a good 6 inches on me. That's not enough for him though, no. He has to suck all the air out of the room and my lungs.