The Five Times Madison Clark Needed a Drink and the One Time She Didn't

(Warning: strong mentions of alcohol/alcoholism, child abuse, underage drinking, sex, drug addiction, swearing, suicide, depression)
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The first time Madison needed a drink she was only fourteen, maybe even thirteen, her memories of these years were blurred. It wasn't that she hadn't had one before, she had had plenty. That was what you got when your father was a drunk. It wasn't her first drink, it was just the first drink that she craved. The first drink that she longed for. The first drink that she actually felt that she needed.

She'd pinched it from the liquor cabinet. It was a bottle of cheap vodka, half empty. The first half was probably the reason why she needed it in the first place. He'd probably downed it, and in turn, taken out his drunken frustration on her.

He'd thrown a glass at her, she'd been trying to study when he had demanded a refill. She had jumped up and slapped him hard across the face. He recoiled, she had never retaliated before. Would she have quickly topped up the glass if she were to repeat the day's events? No she wouldn't, she would have stood her ground, she knew that he didn't need another glass.

She ended up pulling shards of glass from her upper arm, the pain didn't phase her, she was used to it, and she was used to abuse much worse. She never cried, she'd grown cold, oblivious to her emotions. She took a shard, a long pointed splint of glass, and ran it over her forearm. She didn't flinch, she felt nothing.

She remembered her first glass of the flat, clear liquid. It had been nice, refreshing. The burning sensation rough at the back of her dry throat. One glass had quickly become two, then three, four. She soon decided to drink straight from the bottle.

Her head grew heavy, her vision blurred, she felt nothing. For the first time in her entire life it seemed as though all of the pain was gone, all of her woes, forgotten. She wasn't hurting anymore, actually she felt quite carefree.

She had intended for it to be one drink, but before she blacked out, she knew the solace the liquor had given her was too real to be ignored.

X-X-X-X

The second time had come years later. Sure, she had needed a drink before, but never in the same desperate way.

It was her wedding night, she was supposed to be happy, she'd just married the man she claimed was 'the man of her dreams'. His name was Stephen Clark, he was a builder from Los Angeles. She supposed he was a good man, he seemed nice enough, but she honestly didn't feel a spark. There had never been a connection between the two, she had accepted his proposal out of pure need. A need to feel wanted.

The wedding had been a blur, a series of people she barely knew talking about things she couldn't care less about. Forged smiles during wedding photos, although she swore that she tried her hardest to make her's real.

She leaned back against the wall of the bathroom in the hotel suite they had booked. She squeezed her eyes shut, she was still dressed in a godawful dress that Stephen's mother had picked out. She ran her fingers through her mass of dyed blonde curls, a heap of bobby pins tumbled out. Her hairstyle was as fake as her love for the groom.

She was surprised that he had wanted to marry her, she had said yes immediately though. She thought that she'd never have a second chance. She couldn't turn down the opportunity. She was better off unhappy and with someone than unhappy and alone.

He hadn't wanted to make love to her. Hadn't wanted to have sex with her, she corrected quickly, as it was only love making if they loved each other. She'd come up to her room ready for a few meaningless moments before they both fell to sleep on their own sides of the bed. He had claimed that he had a headache. She'd retreated to the bathroom clutching a bottle of champagne that she had intended to share.