The Choices We Make

Float

Dahlia was floating into the floor, blurred voices spinning around her with the shapes and colours she knew was supposed to hold some kind of meaning to her. Heavy rhythms had her rising and falling. Up She was definitely drunk. No-Scratch that- She was completely trashed, shitfaced, gone. In fact, she was further gone than she had ever been before in her life! She used to be that annoying person that, no matter how much she drank, was only pleasantly buzzed. That ability seemed, due to tonights thorough experiments on the subject, to be totally and utterly gone. She giggled, turned to her side, and promptly proceeded to lose the contents of her stomach.

It had been a week since The Day. The day that dwarfed all other Days of Fuck-Ups she had ever had. Because, clearly, calling on her father had been the single worst thing she ever had done. Now he was suddenly very, very, VERY real to her, and he was gone. She almost ached inside, and ever since it had all been a long string of light bulb moments, where she'd realized thing after thing in her life his presence had affected.

The way she had seemed able to walk out of anything unharmed? All him. The way she ever only heard about violent actions, and never in her life had witnessed so much as someone getting slapped? Apparently Daddy Dearest had just not approved of it, and had kept it away from her view. Much like a parent of a toddler would have done. Her alcohol tolerance? The dumb luck that meant she never met anyone she disliked, without ever trying to avoid them? The way money always made its way into her bank account when she was broke? All had been due to him keeping an eye on her.

She had been sheltered. Simple as that. And once she realized that, she also realized she'd have to find out who she could be in this world without him, before she could make any sort of choice.

And that, pretty much, is what had brought her here, heaving on the floor. The creepy neighbour she hadn't seen since he made her feel trapped in the hall that one time was giving her the once-over, and her best friend was in the middle of an heated argument that seemed dangerously close to being resolved with fists rather than words. Her incident with the car had left her with just about no money to her name, and she was pretty sure that when she fell against that fence the last time she was out for a smoke, she'd gotten splinters in her left cheek.

Still, she was giggling. She was on her own, without parental supervision. And even thoshe'd never know before, this had been long overdue.

- Hey! You! Down there!

Someone she thought was probably a man, based on the deep bass tones of the voice within them, came into view. At the moment the face looked only vaguely face-like and liquid, so she trusted other senses to make the final decision by firmly placing her palm on the face. Up There was stubble. A lot of stubble. And glasses. She should probably not be touching a strangers glasses, she assumed, and dropped her hand to the floor again.

- You're a man. A man with glasses.

- And you're clearly a genius when drunk!

He didn't sound mean, so she was probably supposed to laugh. She tried, but all that happened was a threatening burn at the back of her throat.

- can't laugh... laughter... vomit.

That had sounded a lot more coherent in her head.

- Yeah... The state you're in right now, sunshine, I'm thinking almost everything could do that. How about you trying not to speak or to move too fast, while I try helping you to the bathroom? Then we can get you cleaned up a little, and maybe you could even drink a little bit of this non-alcoholic beverage I've heard of? It's supposed to do almost magical stuff for you, I think they call it... what was it again? Oh, yeah; water!